When is a Scot a Brit, or is he just Scottish when he's shit? That is the thought that has been occupying me during Andy Murray's glorious run to the semi-final of the Aussie Open.

When Murray wins, he is proclaimed as great British tennis player, yet when he fails, he's suddenly portrayed as this dour Scotsman who's never going to win a Grand Slam event. And it's usually the English (public and press) putting the boot in.

I'd say it was fair to say that Scots have more sense of pride in their nationality than the English - you only have to look at celebrations this week's for Burns night - while the English don't exactly all go overboard celebrating Shakespeare or even St George's Day for that matter. The Welsh love to have a good national sing along and wear bloody massive leeks or daffs and proclaim Dame Shirley their unofficial Queen, while the Irish really don't need an excuse to make every day a celebration of St Patrick and their true national symbol, the pint of Guinness.

Being a great British hope in a sport like tennis, which hasn't has a male Grand Slam champion since 1936, brings with it a great weight of expectation. And if, heaven forbid, you should be a little dour and Scottish, you should expect the poisoned barbs to be arrowing your way should you fail. 

Get this everyone. Murray is the finest British (and Scottish) player of the Open era and if you can't appreciate him now, then you never will. To be a top 5 ranked player (and higher as he has been) is a superb achievement, but until he wins a Grand Slam event (especially Wimbledon) there will be knockers, and plenty of them .

Of course, if Murray chokes in his semi against Marin Cilic this week when he's hot favourite, I'll be cursing his name momentarily out of frustration, while the choker headlines will last far longer. Win the bloody thing and he'll be made M.B.E, O.B.E or a Knight of the realm. You can't get any more British than that.