My ambitions as a child were largely based on professional outfits. At various points, I wanted to be a ballerina (the tutu), footballer (the socks) and a socialite from the 1920s (the sequins, the headband). And, thanks to the neat polo shirt, pleated skirt and crouching tiger stanch, despite having not even a passing interest in tennis, I always wanted to be a ballgirl.
Twenty years too late, my ambition is being fulfilled. I am in the bowels of Wimbledon’s training facilities on the fringes of a ballgirl and ballboy training session. I’m with 50 or so teenagers, and we are being put our paces by two fierce coaches.