I'm having trouble writing this, I'm having trouble functioning on any level this morning having stayed up until just after 3am this morning watching the incredible Wimbledon final! Now, even if tennis isn't your bag you have to be able to understand how overwhelmingly huge this is for the British..... we love our sport just as much as anyone else and we needed this. We have waited so long for a successor to Fred Perry, the last British man to win Wimbledon which he did in 1934, 35 and 36. That last time was three years before the outbreak of World War II... it's not easy to get your head around. I have been thinking about this a lot over the last few days... the huge span of time. My father loved tennis. One of the strongest images I have of him in my mind, never more so than today, is of an old photograph of him, taken in the early 1960s, with his two prized possessions; his motorbike and his tennis racquet. Apparently he sold his motorbike to buy my mother's engagement ring but he kept that wooden racquet for years before upgrading to a fancy modern aluminium frame! He taught me to play and instilled in me the love of the game that I will take to my grave as he did three years ago. So although I am bursting with pride and aware of the writing of a new page in history today, I am also so sad that it didn't happen in the past seventy seven years, in my father's lifetime. But I know he will have enjoyed the game last night from his own special seat.