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People say Murray's miserable because he doesn't smile very often. He's not miserable. He's normal. Have you walked down a street recently? Any street in the country? Go on, pick one. Take a stroll. Bring a notepad. Make a note each time you spot someone walking around beaming like they just taught their dog to shit money. Chances are you'll cross six postcodes before you glimpse so much as a smirk. Which isn't to say people are inherently unhappy. Just that they've got better things to do with their faces than walking around bending their mouths up like idiots.

The people who want Murray to smile are the same ones who try to make me dance at weddings. They want the world to conspicuously enjoy itself in a manner of their choosing, and they turn vaguely sanctimonious when they encounter pockets of resistance, as though their definition of fun is the only one that matters.

So Murray isn't going to win the Merryville Festival of Grins any time soon. What difference does it make to you, you needy pricks? Can't he just play tennis without having to turn around after each point and pull a happy face just for you, like he's your dad watering plants in the garden and you're a toddler watching him through the kitchen window? What do you want, a tennis champion or Mister Tumble? Make your mind up, because you're not getting both.

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