The sound of tennis ball on racquet, the roar of the crowd and Dan Maskell going "Oh I say!".... it takes me back to when I was little, coming home from school during Wimbledon fortnight.

My mum, normally in perpetual motion and possessing boundless energy, sitting in a darkened room in front of the flickering black and white TV screen while Rod Laver and Ken Rosewall battled it out.

Once Wimbledon was finished, school broke up and there'd be no time to herself for our Mum. Because there were four of us, we kids amused ourselves most of the time; you could play out all day without anybody panicking about where you were. Playing cowboys one day with my big sister and cousin Geoff (Geoffy James the famous outlaw), I spent hours locked in the shed until they remembered to come and let me out. I threw away my Sheriff's badge after that - outlaws had much more fun.

We had epic days out at the seaside; Mum and Auntie Ivy, Geoff and his little brother Keith, me and my two sisters and our little brother. Staking out our patch on the beach with blankets and a hired windbreak, and a deckchair each for the grown-ups.

Down to the sea for the ritual paddle. "Tuck your skirt in your knickers, dear - nobody will see you." It seemed straightforward enough; straight down the beach, have a little paddle, inspect my pale underwater feet with the brown bits the shape of my sandals. Turn around and head straight back again. But wait! While my back was turned all these strangers had taken the place of my family!

Where was the striped windbreak, and my mother's jaunty sunhat? After anxious minutes spent scanning the hundreds of alien faces, I was rescued by Geoff and my naughty sister, splashing and laughing. They escorted me back up the beach and suddenly there they all were, they hadn't moved at all. My good sister helped with handing out plastic cups of warm squash, and jam or marmite or cheese sandwiches, and hard-boiled eggs. I really thought they were called sandwiches because you ate them on the beach and they were full of sand.

We had to go to the loo in relays because it was always miles and someone had to guard our stuff; Geoff got all red and cross because he thought he was too old to go in the Ladies and Auntie Ivy wouldn't let him go in the Gents by himself. In the end he ran off and when he came back he said he didn't need to go any more.

At the end of the day, dragging back to the station, trying not to cry because my legs were so tired and I was so thirsty, then falling asleep on the train and having to walk all the way home again, carrying my seaweed for telling the weather. Sand in my shoes when I took them off. A perfect day...

Published: 20/06/2003