PRE-TOURNAMENT
Hit some balls at Roehampton. Wrist feels fine. The real test will come in match play but I am going to give it a belt. If it all goes belly up, I'll just retire from the tournament. This will give the press the chance to say some nice things about me. Not. Head up to Wimbledon with Brad his coach for a knock. Meet Jamie his elder bother who is going on about some piece of tennis skirt he has met and how he is going to play mixed doubles with her. The excitement, Jamie. Yawn.

FIRST ROUND
So much rain you would think it was the Dunblane Highland Show. the only injury I am in danger of getting is a bout of pneumonia. We are on and off the court so fast you would think we were Jamie after some girl.

Play Nicolas Lapentti, once a golden boy, now in his 30s. He plays almost exclusively to my forehand. Fair dos. I would do the same. Wrist stands up well, though. Beat Lapentti over two rain-soaked days and three easy sets (6-4, 6-2, 6-1). Tabloids go into a fervour and that's just my column. Ha!

SECOND ROUND
The rain is not easing up, though the focus on me is. Tim Henman is doing his national hero bit so I'm relegated to being the Scotsman with the attitude. Apparently at the press conference after the Lapentti win I was "surly". I was. If surly is spelled bored.

Play Jo-Wilfried Tsonga. Match lasts longer than some of Jamie's relationships. We are on and off the court with the hyperactivity of Jamie on the prowl. Lose first set, sloppily. Forehand stands up well and I get the momentum. Well chuffed with 6-7, 6-4, 6-3, 6-4 victory.

THIRD ROUND
Day of national mourning. Tim is out. "Surly" Scot is now "Saviour" Scot. Now Tim has been really great to me but the idea that I want to beat Feliciano Lopez because he beat my mate is worthy of only the tabloid press. So I put it in my column in the tabloid press. When Jamie sees it, he nearly soils his whites. Lopez is left-handed and awkward. He is also limited. Forehand does the business. Serve even better. Loving it (6-4, 6-2, 6-1).

FOURTH ROUND
Tabloid frenzy. I am going into the second week of Wimbledon. At this rate, the tournament will finish round about the same time as Jamie decides to settle down with a nice girl. Yeah, that's going to happen. Straightforward win over Gasquet. I was up for a tough one but I broke him quickly and then just kept the ball in play for him to make the errors. Brad said it was my best performance on grass.

I said I hadn't smoked anything. Joke. (6-2, 6-4, 6-3).

QUARTER-FINALS
Fever pitch. The Sun are giving out Andy masks which make me look like something out of Planet of the Apes. It is in as good taste as Jamie's choice in music. Britney Spears and Pink, if you must know. Roddick is a breeze. He can't move and doesn't have a backhand. I make him move and play to his non-existent backhand. Straight sets (6-3, 6-4, 6-2).

SEMI-FINALS
The Sun are going as mad as Jamie at the school disco. And, believe me, that is very, very spooky indeed. Can the Brit With the Hit (Surly Scot has disappeared from all press mentions) beat The Fed Express? Said Fed Express has been in the sidings for much of the week. He seems slightly off. I get some joy on his backhand and then I get the joy of joys. Serving at 3-3 in the first set, his racket twists when making a forehand after the ball has jumped on the baseline. He is finished. His physio tells him that at the change of ends.

FINAL
Call for Gordon Brown to declare a national holiday. Beat Rafa in what the press call a classic. I call it torture. I grit it out 6-4, 2-6, 4-6, 6-3, 6-4. Rafa runs about more than Jamie when the women's tour is in town. That reminds me. I wonder how he got on in the mixed doubles