Tell the Wimbledon bandwagon I live in a Cul De Sac

You could almost hear the ghost of William Wallace shitting through whatever ghosts have instead of eyeballs tonight as former Scotish loser Andy Murray was given a guided tour of 10 Downing Street before being labeled a British hero by shiny faced shitehawk David Cameron.

The most unlikely transformation since Optimus Prime turned into a Breville Sanwich Toaster and was given away as a prize on Bullseye was completed when Cameron went on to suggest that Murray may be in line for a Knighthood.

“I can’t think of anyone who deserves one more” Said our most subprime of Prime Ministers.

To be fair Dave, I’m with you there. I can’t think of anyone who deserves a place on the honours list more either, although I suspect our reasons differ.

I can’t think of anyone more deserving of a Knighthood in the same way that I can’t think of anyone more deserving a Unicorn saddle, a soluble snorkel or a hat made of soup whereas for Mr Cameron the process is quite tricky because everyone he knows has already got one.

But anachronistic systems of royal patronage aside I’m fucking fed up of being told what kind of day I’ve had by politicians.

Sunday was according to DC, as he’s known around my way “a fantastic day for Andy Murray, for British tennis and for Britain”

By my reckoning, taking each point on merit and in order; that’s a “yes” and another “yes” swiftly followed by a giant neon purple shiny vibrating “is it fuck mate.”

Has the public posturing of UKIP and the rest of the Daily Mail’s band of malcontents so convinced us that our national identity is under threat we’ve got to hang on to this?

Has our collective self worth sunk so low that the result of a tennis tournament dictates what kind of day 60 million people have?

I assume then, it must have been a terrible day for Britain every time that Andy Murray had his arse handed to him on a plate in the early rounds of the French Open then.

Quick. Staff up in A&E. Murray’s a set down in Roland Garros, we could be knee deep in wrist cutters at any moment.

It was a great day for people in Britain that like tennis, for people in Britain who sell Pimm’s, for people in Britain who like Andy Murray, for people in Britain who are Andy Murray and for the Dunblane Tourist Board who’ve been waiting quite some time for this.

End of list.

The idea that if you didn’t experience some kind of spiritual enlightenment because a highly paid professional sportsman was good at what he does in some way diminishes your Britishness is utter tits.

Ever since the stage managed uber grief over the death of Princess Diana the country has been mired in this horrifically mawkish need to publicly and simultaneously experience exactly what they’re told to experience like some kind of heavily medicated collective.

It’s perfectly fine for people to have great days separately. Also awful days. Same goes for just plain ordinary average ones.

Congrats to tennis bloke for doing his tennis thing better than the foreign tennis bloke did his suspiciously non-British tennis thing and all that but please don’t bother inviting me to the open top bus parade.


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