Forgive the outburst of patriotism. And the apparently endless theme of colour. I can’t help it. In the midst of Obamamania, legitimate though it is, I feel obliged to draw your attention to this surprising product of Scotland, a tennis player of rare talent and an athlete of remarkable ability, one Andy Murray.
Yes, our Andy, as we Scots can call him, unlike you English, much as you would like to, finds himself down under. The Aussie Open, the first Grand Slam of the year just got underway. Andy’s last few months have seen him finally emerge from the shadows of unkempt teenager hood into the bright sunlight of a Number 4 rank in the world and expectations of a first Slam sooner rather than later.
His recent record, eight matches played, eight matches won, and his list of victims, topped by Roger Federer, the world No2, and Rafael Nadal, the world No1, has fuelled expectations of greatness to come, preferably imminently.
The excitement has even got to his best mate at home, whom I caringly picture, even though he is not a Westie and, at a stroke, destroys the whiteness theme to which I have clung so fondly.
So “Good on you”, Andy, as they say on that far far away continent, blessed with some of the most seductive beaches in the world and a more venomous selection of land and sea creatures than anywhere else on the planet. Another of God’s jokes? I mean Australia, not Andy. Though if he fails to win Wimbledon one fine day in his career, that’s for sure how he will be remembered. Yes, it’s a cruel old world, even from this tranquil viewpoint in Dog Heaven.
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