Glorious weather. Fabulous tennis. What more could you want if you're currently enjoying a credit crunch holiday where you only go as far as your back garden?

And tennis doesn't come any more awesome than Murray's Monday epic - almost four hours of agony and ecstasy under the beautiful Centre Court roof.

The director seemed besotted by the new dome, which shimmered against the inky, hot summer's night sky.

At every opportunity, they cut away to an aerial shot of the court, looking like the mother ship had landed.

Inside, two gladiators slugged it out in the punishing heat. Murray and Wawrinka made this gripping match the latest finish in Wimbledon history.

Brilliant, as ever, the BBC coverage gave you everything: cheering crowds on the hill; supporters in fancy dress; close-ups of fans' "oohs!" and "aaahs!"

Talk about tense! After a nail-biting battle, where his Swiss opponent doggedly refused to lie down and roll over, Murray finally triumphed.

Can I just apologise to my neighbours, and clarify that my whoops of: "Yes! Yes! Yes!!!" were work related (that sounds bad. You know what I mean).

Spent and shattered Andy sank to his knees. Like many of the 12 million viewers, so did I!

From one of the best tennis matches ever, to The Best Job In The World - £70,000 for six months' work as caretaker of Hamilton Island.

Duties in the job description included: "explore the islands of the Great Barrier Reef, swim, snorkel, make friends with the locals and enjoy the Queensland climate and lifestyle."

All in return for some simple light blogging duties! Wish you were there?

Around 34,000 stampeded to interview. But the job search was really a genius, hugely successful publicity campaign promoting the holiday destination.

Sadly, we saw little of the paradise and all too much of the reality TV-style contest to choose the winner.

As we already knew Brit Ben Southall (a relentlessly perky/borderline irritating candidate) was the winner, the competition element lacked drama.

I found the bouncy applicants eminently slappable. I was delighted when Russian contestant and pouting marine biologist Julia was disqualified for her blue movie past! Was it simply envy?

Perhaps I've succumbed to Big Brother fatigue. I'm tired of dedicating summers to desperate numpties, who'll do anything for media attention.

And finally, another destination - Malawi - and a very different contest.

This was the battle between a rich, white celeb and a poor black community. At least that was the gist of Jaques Peretti's documentary, Madonna And Mercy: What Really Happened?

To cut a long story short, it was a confusing tale in a chaotic country.

Basically, Madonna's now adopted her second African "orphan" - young Mercy. (Although neither child, it turns out, was actually an orphan.)

Is this colonialism at its worst? Is Madonna's charity work, with its links to Kabbalah, fantastic, or terrible?

"I can't really tell," admitted Jaques, who, I suspect, had intended this report to be a hatchet job on Madonna.

Sure, I have reservations about anyone swanning into Africa to "buy" babies. But Madonna's adopted children are loved. And the orphanage she set up looks wonderful. So give her a break!