As the sibling of a professional tennis player, much of my childhood was spent mooching around various tennis courts killing time, in particular the National Tennis Centre in south-west London. On one of these occasions I was knocking balls about and waiting for my brother, a certain Sir Andy Murray walked past, and up to the door of one of the meeting rooms. Knocking and waiting patiently outside the door, he then said to the starstruck room, “Hi everyone, I’m so sorry to interrupt, I’m Andy — could I sit down?”
