I remember when I was kid the summers were long and the grass was green. Even in the inner city. In those days, Wimbledon was a big thing in our house. Me ma and Tex used to go down the District Line and nick strawberries and champagne of the toffs.

And I always wanted to be a ball boy. Bastard Bunny Ball Boy. Had a ring to it. Anyways, the old man soon beat that school boy dream out of me sayin’ he’d rather I became a Bastard Bunny Buftie Boy. I didn’t know what he meant but I don’t think he was being aspirational.

Next week school is out and Wimbledon starts. And guess what? It’s raining cats and dogs. Of course it is.  The weather people have forecast a summer of saturation. Again!!!

So if any of you lot out there are hoping to stand proud on the hill in SW19 called Henman’s Hymen or Murray’s Misery, I strongly advise you think again. You’ll get washed out like the Scottish bumbler himself.

Go to the Stella Artois tournament instead. Down me local boozer.  Love Forty? Yes I would.