Image:  Clive Brunskill/Getty Images Europe.

For a few hours yesterday afternoon, national embarrassment and patriotic self-hatred were reluctantly suspended in Britain as Andy Murray powered, limped, flailed and panicked his way through the Men’s final at Wimbledon, before heroically lifting the trophy and shinning his way up the scoreboard to hug his family in the now traditional manner.

Since that time, those fearful of another happy uprising in the vein of the 2012 Olympics have done their best to suppress the positivity. Efforts so far have included op-ed pieces about how irritating the commentators were and attempts to jump-start a diplomatic incident over a Saltire that Scotland’s First Minister Alex Salmond retrieved from his wife’s handbag.

Image: Clive Brunskill/Getty Images Europe.

A message to the haterz? For most of us, this is the first taste we’ve ever had of major sporting glory and if you want to take it from us, you’re going to have to have to pry this momentous occasion from our cold, dead hands.

Concentrate on what you’ve already achieved. I’ll warrant that this is the only democracy in the world whose Prime Minister can end up looking like a tit after watching one of the greatest sporting triumphs for several embarrassing generations.

For me, it was the cherry on a most excellent cake. Congratulations, Muzza.