You have to hand it to Rafael Nadal. Not only Wimbledon's top muscleman but a thorough professional down to the tops of his white socks. After demolishing Andy Murray on the Centre Court and fielding questions at his press conference, Rafa went straight back to his rented house and immediately started bashing out his blog for The Times. Neil Harman, our esteemed tennis correspondent, tells me Rafa is one of the most delightful players he has had the pleasure to work and young Harman, the best in the business, has been around all of the top names over the years. It seems Rafa is a refreshing contrast to some of the surly, spoilt egotists that populate professional sport these days.

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For Murray, it was back to the penthouse suite, Maggie the dog and Kim Sears, his lovely girlfriend. Spotted the radiant Kim in the press restaurant before Murray's match with a gaggle of friends and Murray relatives, including Judy, his mum. But Judy broke away from the excited chatter to peep over the balcony where we had a terrific overhead view of young Laura Robson, Britain's next Big Thing, making her way into the quarter-finals of the girls' singles.

Robson is only 14 but happily working her way through the tournament beating much older girls, which included getting rid of the No 1 seed in the competition, Melanie Oudin. Yesterday, it was the turn of Holland's Lesley Kerkhove to feel the sharp edge of Laura's racket as she was dispatched in straight sets. Robson looks the part, trim and athletic with a range of big groundstrokes, and certainly caught Judy Murray's eye. Maybe one for Judy to train up for the future in the Murray mould. Then again, best not.

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Strange that Robson will come through the Lawn Tennis Association system but Murray didn't. She lives in Wimbledon, around the corner from the All England Club, and is trained at the National Tennis Centre in Roehampton, doing her schoolwork with the help of private tutors. Murray left school in Dunblane in Scotland at 15 without so much as a GCSE in woodwork to his name to pursue his tennis career in Spain. And, to be fair, the Spanish appear to know how to turn out tennis players with five men ranked in the top 20 at the moment.

However, such dedication to tennis has left Murray with a rather fractured upbringing and some glaring gaps in his life skills. He has a lovely soft-top Mercedes, for example, but can't drive, relying on Kim to ferry him around. He could always have a few lessons over the next few days while Wimbledon winds up.

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Of course, life is not so tough at the top, even when you take a beating in front of the watching millions. Murray has banked about £1.2 million in career earnings, apart from the £187,500 he will take away from Wimbledon as a quarter-finalist. Oh, and the £1,700 in living expenses he will pocket for his ten days at the tournament, even though he only lives three miles down the road in Wandsworth. Each player is paid an £170-a-day allowance, which might sound like a lot but disappears pretty rapidly in hotel bills and food.

Restaurants here at Wimbledon are not cheap, including the first-floor restaurant for the exclusive use of the players and their guests. Last year, I bumped into Arsene Wenger with a tray of food on his way to lunch with Justine Henin, who had invited the Arsenal manager down for the day. Seemed like a good egg to me. Wenger, not the lunch.

Even we journos have our own, very nice, restaurant, although cheap it is not with main courses at about £11-a-time. We do, however, also get an allowance: a magnificent £3.40 - not quite enough for a bacon butty and a cup of tea. Lovely butty, though.

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The range of journalists here is quite astonishing, from those we disparagingly refer to as "fans with typewriters" through to some serious big-hitters who write like a dream. The latter category definitely does not include one hack, who shall remain nameless but works for one of the red-tops. I was reminded yesterday that our colleague once wrote a piece in which he wanted to get stuck into a female tennis player, describing her (before his amusing error was pointed out to him) as a pre-Madonna. You can't get the staff, you know.

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And now the end is near, and so I face the final curtain, if I might quote Old Blue Eyes himself (actually, think Sinatra's comeback song was written by Paul Anka). With the demise of Murray, I am dispatched to Silverstone in search of another plucky British hero in the shape of Lewis Hamilton. One thing is for sure, rain at Wimbledon is a bore; rain at Silverstone would spice up the British Grand Prix no end, and give Lewis a chance of a famous victory.