It went downhill quickly...

AS the sun blazed down on the people’s picnic, patrons of SW19 could be forgiven their seven deadly Pimm’s.

Among midsummer sporting audiences, the 1st Battalion Upmarket Hampers are thirst among equals when a British underdog explores the parts of Wimbledon other peers cannot reach.

Up on the slope once known as Henman Hill, Murray Mount and, all too briefly, Robson Green, they drank their Pimm’s, waved their Union Jacks and packed every square inch to support Cameron Norrie on his mission impossible.

But as Novak Djokovic, unbeaten at Wimbledon since 2016, asphyxiated the last hope of a British triumph like a boa constrictor, Norrie seemed to be the hardest word.

On the Cape of Good Slope, the No.9 seed’s polished first set was greeted with regular outbreaks of an Aussiestyle chant: “Norrie, Norrie, Norrie – oi, oi, oi!”

Security staff blocked off both entrances to the packed escarpment because it was so full (above), and hope sprang eternal as the gallant southpaw’s first serve tested the six-time champion’s nerve and patience.

But as soon as the world No.1 gained control of the baselines, and Norrie’s serve became less reliable, the Pimm’s brigade’s encouragement became more supportive than optimistic.

When Djokovic’s exercise in strangulation was complete, and home interest at the Championships finally expired after two hours and 34 minutes, the gulf between the best of British and the best in the world was vast.

The Serb is through to his 32nd Grand Slam final, his eighth Wimbledon final, he has stockpiled 27 consecutive wins on the hallowed lawns and only an Aussie firebrand stands between him and a recordequalling title here.

On Centre Court, the boos which greeted Djokovic’s moment of victory – he blew an unromantic kiss towards a knot of spectators whose behaviour had been unruly – were not replicated on the escarpment.

There was a ripple of applause as the defending champion said: “Cameron didn’t have much to lose. He’s a great player – I have a lot of respect for him.”

In truth, that first set turned out to be a mirage in the desert, but he gave us a fantastic run for our money and he has no need to reproach himself for being reeled in by a serial winner.

Nozza began the fortnight out on Court No.2, somewhere in deep backward Southfields, but he finished it on centre stage with a grassy slope packed with his supporters like an Alpine climb on the Tour de France.

“To reach the Friday of the second week is pretty sick,” he admitted. “Handling the occasions and playing the way I did was a lot of fun.”