Tennis: Simply singing in the rain: Paul Hayward sees the conga and the teapot song performed during an official rave on Court One

A HISTORIC day at Wimbledon. It can be officially recorded that the British tradition of reserve expired here on 3 July when at least 20 green-blazered officials did the conga around Court One in the rain. This followed their rendition of the teapot song.

You had to stop in at the international press centre to appreciate it. Journalists from countries far better known for free expression watched the proceedings with the kind of bewilderment they normally show only when studying the British on holiday. John McEnroe, stuck in his bunker waiting for play to start, will have greatly appreciated the irony of touch judges singing, 'I'm a little teapot'.

Knew it all along, McEnroe would have said. Not that he was to be seen or heard in the players' lounges and restaurant. The last thing a semi-finalist needs, people here will assure you, is to wander among familiar faces receiving constant attention and encouragement. Not for him, or Andre Agassi, the constant trips to the frozen yoghurt machine which his colleagues seemed to be making to stave off boredom.

These days Vijay Amritraj has only the '35 and over Gentlemen's Invitation Doubles' to worry about so he is content to wander about the concourse swapping stories, and borrowing policemen's hats to join in the singing. 'It's a mental battle,' he said of McEnroe and Agassi's predicament. 'A very interesting mental battle.

'I remember,' he continued, 'in 1978 I think it was, being 6-1, 6-2, 3-1 up against Jose-Luis Clerc. He was seeded and I wasn't, but I was chewing him up. Absolutely eating him. Then the skies opened. We came back the next day and he beat me in five sets.'

Monica Seles appears in an expensive black outfit, eating a tub of - you guessed it - frozen yoghurt. Players are slumped in soft chairs, distractedly flicking through newspapers; others are queuing for phones to make travel arrangements for future tournaments.

'It wouldn't be Wimbledon without this, would it?' Amritraj said, but he was not referring to the unscheduled rave developing on Court One. Only this was a rave with a difference. This one had been started - not stopped - by police officers and uniformed members of the Army, Navy and Airforce.

'I've been coming here for 25 years and I've never seen anything like this,' a secretary in the referee's office says while the floral dresses of the female line adjudicators are hoisted for the hokey cokey. That's right. The hokey cokey. Interestingly enough, this spirit of abandonment has failed to spread to the Centre Court.

You have a right to be sullen when you have queued all morning and been rained on all afternoon. Some sat patiently for the obligatory umbrella shots. 'That's it ladies. Just look . . . miserable'.

Bedraggled celebrity-chasers clung to the metal barricades outside the players' entrance, oblivious to the conditions. Question: 'Where have you travelled from?' Answer: 'Er, Kenya.' 'Just for the tennis?' 'Yes. Only I bought the wrong ticket. I thought they were playing singles on Court One (doubles matches were scheduled). And it's raining.'

Only on the outside.