My word! I mean, I thought it took me a long time to get home after two and a half hours because of a line-side fire at London Bridge, but a four hour or so game of tennis? They must be shattered, I know I bloody well am! Fair play to the gent though – he’s through to the Quarter Finals and a step closer to being the Brit we Brits hoped would once again win Wimbledon…and the Scot he hoped would. It’s not the same thing, but anyway, most people tend not to notice…

I am slightly perturbed by one thing however, and that’s my mum’s insistance that ‘that could’ve been you playing at Wimbledon’, soon to be followed by a comment along the lines of ‘You like his [Murray's] girlfriend, don’t you’, after my purely innocent comment that I thought she had a hell of a lot of hair (she does). Two things wrong with that. One, I never seriously played tennis when younger, and two, that might be the most bizarre compliment likely to mean you like someone ever. I can see me trying that one out in Central London. 

“Excuse me random lady, you appear to have loads of hair.”

“Oh, my, they say that about Murray’s girlfirend – you must really like me.”

No. Exactly. By the by, another golden parental moment was when she randomly said at a happy lady in the crowd (on the TV, may I remind you) ‘Yes alright, Boobs McGraw’… but I suppose you had to be there for that.

Anyway, aside from my Mum’s insistance that I could have been Andy Murray, though as my mum, she should realise I could never have been, and the insistence I want his woman, I must admit to feeling a little lost as I do when I watch most sports I enjoy. I really wanted to be a pro sportsman when I was younger. Immensely so. Now it’s rather grating that I probably can’t ever be, but there we go, horses, courses, roads and forks etc.

To be honest, I’m just glad that I’ve managed to fill the first Monday Mandible with some words. Oh and that I can go to bed Murray’s through.

G’night.