The second victory was the toss. I’d dreamt about winning the toss, because I felt if I could hold my first service game, I could go all out to attack his opening service game before he’d got his big serve working and the nerves out of his system. I won the toss, and elected to serve.

These little things may seem insignificant now, but taken together, it meant I wasn’t afraid in the final whereas he started nervously. And that meant my plan worked like clockwork. I won the first service game, Curren started to double-fault, and he lost his serve probably for the first time in the week. He soon settled down, but that break was enough for me to win the first set.

Curren then came back and won the second set on the tiebreak. Game on! Early in the third set he looked more likely to win. He broke early, and I started to shout and scream, and lose my focus a little. He began to read my serve, his backhand return was working well, and a break up should have meant the set was his. I wasn’t out of it, but things were looking ominous for me.

But then I broke him back for 4-4, and the momentum switched back to me. Finals are often won and lost on waves – if you’re on top of the wave you have to ride it because it means you’re up, but if you fall down you have to stop the fall. We call it ‘stopping the bleeding’, and I had to stop the bleeding before the wound got too big to recover from. Breaking back for 4-4 stopped the bleeding, and once that happened there was an emotional switch. After that, when I won a big point, I started my little shuffle of satisfaction, and that was also something no-one had done before. Some people felt I was getting into my opponent’s face, but I wasn’t doing it to get at him, it was just as an expression of how I felt in that crucial moment. I was a boy who was excited.