To Wimbledon then for men’s final day courtesy of my progeny, a definite upside to the cost of having children.

Tom was kindly invited by Ralph Lauren and I nosed his mum out to be his plus 1. A Jaguar the size of a boat picks us up. Tom is resplendent in his brand new suit by Ralph Lauren. I am passable in my old gear – all from TK Max.

Whisked from our boat (car) straight in to the belly of luxury within the grounds of the most hallowed sports complex on earth? It is hot and so are the people. Celebs and beautiful people abound. As far as I can tell, I am the only celeb dad in attendance. I assure myself that I might be little known but that I am the funniest bloke in the joint!

A quick lunch – poached salmon (what else?) and in to the stadium for the tennis. Djokovic appears to be just too good.

I thank Tom for having me along. He shrugs. Sure, man.

But then I get a tweet from an old friend, Ellie Oldroyd, the BBC sports anchor inviting me to join her in the commentary box?

I assume that this kind invite extends to Tom as well. I tell Tom that I have been invited and that I will try and get him included also…

Maybe this is my time to reassert myself and perhaps rebalance the relationship of father and son.

Royalty, Cumberbatch, Hiddlestone and Redmayne are ensconced in the Royal Box but I am about to trump even them.

Tom – you can get me in to Wimbledon Centre Court on men’s final day…

…but I can get you in to bloody commentary box, man!

Thank you Ellie.

Stick with me Tom.

It’s all about who you know!

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