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I assure you I'm not, but I feel hungover.

You find me demolishing a takeaway, watching a re-run of the final set and wondering, in that hazy, morning-after way, what on earth happened and was it for real?!

My head feels like the opening scenes from "The Hangover" movies. Something pretty major happened last night. I think.

Yes it did, the TV tells me so. It's just a case of piecing it all together to establish how.

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Sometimes with Andy Murray we need to stop for a moment. Stop, take a step back, and consider where he is, what he is doing, and against whom.

We get caught up in matches and tournaments and break points and unforced errors. We get emotionally drained, emotionally torn and, I don't know about you, emotionally wrecked after a match like .

Like most top tennis players, Murray is sprinter and marathon runner at the same time, with the skill of a painter, brutality of a boxer, endurance of a triathlete.

Friday provided unequivocal evidence that he possess all these attributes to a world-class standard. He ran the best player in the world so close, over five sets and almost five hours, and is getting even closer to winning one of these big ones.

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A tanned Ivan Lendl, wearing a huge smile and a patterned blue polo shirt, strides past a snoozing gentleman in a leather armchair and into the members lounge at Kooyong Lawn Tennis Club.

The former home of the Australian Open, out to the east of Melbourne city centre along the River Yarra, has an exclusive feel, not dissimilar to in London, and the presence of an eight-time major winner only adds to the prestige.

It was here, in December 1983, Lendl lost a fourth successive major final, to Mats Wilander. (The Australian Open was played on grass at the end of the season in those days). He remembers the feeling. He was still young, only 23, but people were already asking "would he ever win one?"

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