Wimbledon Final Memories: Boris Becker, John McEnroe and Summers We Never Forgot

There are some events that tell you exactly where you are in the year.

The first daffodils mean spring is on its way.

The start of Strictly Come Dancing means we're on the countdown for Christmas..... And Wimbledon means summer and a bit of gorgeous Rose wine which we've now decided is traditionally bought from Daylesford farm. Just because we blooming love tradition and we blooming love Wimbledon!

Wimbledon means we've officially reached that glorious point in the year where it's perfectly acceptable to sit for hours watching even after work, thanks to the roof.

Seems odd that we become so invested in people you've never met hitting a fluorescent yellow ball over a net.

For our family, Wimbledon was never just about tennis.

It was summer and time to dust off our trusty Trinder swing ball and accuse each other of cheating.

Growing up, those two weeks took over the house. The television was permanently tuned to Centre Court, strawberries inevitably found their way into the fridge and our mum somehow became convinced she was Wimbledon referee, commentator and tournament director all rolled into one. She had a particularly colourful reaction to John McEnroe.

Every outburst was met with an equally passionate response from our living room.

"Oh, honestly, John!" I've edited this reaction.

"I'm going to ring the BBC if they don't stop showing him!"

Wimbledon simply wasn't Wimbledon without Mum having a running commentary of her own.... Albeit we love John!

Like so many sporting heroes, the players became part of our childhood.

I can still remember having the opportunity to watch Boris Becker play what would become his final Wimbledon live. I cried hysterically, even though I quite liked Patrick Rafter (the other fella).

Sport has a funny way of bringing out emotions. The athletes become markers in your own life. You don't just remember their victories; you remember where you were when you watched them, who you were sitting with, what was happening in your own life.

They're woven into your memories. I always thought Boris and Steffi Graf would get married... but I was about 8 when they were at the height of their fame and that made perfect sense.

Years later, Katie and I finally made our own pilgrimage to Wimbledon.

Like so many iconic places, you half expect reality to disappoint.

It didn't. The immaculate grass. The atmosphere..... but the Gift Shop? The Gift Shop was CHEF'S KISS!!!!

Television simply can't capture what it's like to be there.

You suddenly understand why people queue for hours just to experience it.... well sort of. I hate queuing!!!

It's one of those places that feels both incredibly grand and surprisingly familiar at the same time.

And yes... the strawberries taste better there.

This year there's another reason to be excited, particularly with the unexpected return of Serena Williams.

Like thousands of readers, I loved Carrie Soto Is Back by Taylor Jenkins Reid. Even if you're not a huge tennis fan, it's a brilliant story about ambition, ageing, determination and refusing to let people decide when your story is over.

Ever since reading it, every Wimbledon brings with it a tiny, irrational hope that we'll witness one of those magical comeback stories.... and I was really hoping this year was it. I secretly hope next year Serena will come back and nail it.

So whilst I'm sad there's no Serena in the final, I'm really excited for a weekend tennis... and maybe a bit of Rose!!!!