ANOTHER Wimbledon has come and gone and Tim Henman has missed another chance to be a champion.

They say it's all the pressure he's under: the burden of expectation; the hopes of a nation; Henmania. Well, let me tell you - Tim knows nothing about pressure compared with what I've just been through.

It was the Parent and Child Tournament at the local tennis club and, even though he wasn't really considered old enough at ten, Jack was allowed to make up the numbers with his 42-year-old, creaking dad.

It was just a bit of fun really - but not to Jack. His nerves were jangling all morning. He couldn't sit still. He couldn't eat.

I did my best to dampen down his expectations, explaining that all the other kids taking part were older than him so we didn't really stand a chance.

"I just don't want us to come last, Dad," he said in the car on the way to the club.

The tournament was based on a points system. We played a doubles match with our own kids first and then the partners were mixed up throughout the afternoon before finishing off with singles matches. However many games we won in each set equated to points added to a running total.

Don't ask me how we did it, but we were still in contention going into the singles.

Jack rushed over, his eyes wild with excitement: "Dad, Dad, you've got to win your singles match at all costs."

Now this is what I call pressure. Forget the millions watching around the world, forget the prospect of sporting immortality, forget the mind-boggling sponsorship deals.

It's nothing compared to having to win for the sake of your little boy - so he can take his first ever tennis trophy home.

My heart was pounding faster than an Andy Roddick ace and my palms were sweating so much I could hardly hold the racquet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jack watching me, his hands clasped together in silent prayer.

"C'mon," I said to myself through gritted teeth. Win and I'd be a champ in his eyes. Lose and I'd be a chump. Hero or zero.

Slowly but surely, I managed to drag my ageing bones around the court and get on top of the dad on the other side of the net. Don't ask me his name, I couldn't allow familiarity to get in the way. Few words. No eye contact. He was just a dad who had to be beaten.

Back at the clubhouse, they added the points up. Far from being last, we were joint first!

And so we came to a tie-break decider for the title - the first to seven, winning by two clear points. Our opponents were a mum and a 16-year-old boy.

"Just do your best, son," I said.

"You too, Dad."

Love-one. (The first point was lost through my weak forehand into the net.)

Love-two.

Love-three.

Love-four. (Oh well, never mind.)

One-four. (At least we'd won our first point.)

Two-four.

Three-four.

Three-five.

Four-five.

Five all.

Six-five.

"Dad, it's match point to us," whispered Jack, hardly able to breathe.

The mum was serving to me. All I had to do was return the serve and win the point.

"Don't mess it up, Dad," said the voice to my right.

The pressure, the pressure. The serve came over... I returned it nervously to her backhand... She played it back across the net... Jack hit it down the line... The mum sliced it back... In slow motion, the ball drifted towards us, spinning wickedly... It caught the top of the net, thought about crawling over, and fell back harmlessly onto their side of the court. WE'D WON!

As long as I live, I will never forget that look of joy in Jack's eyes as he ran over, gave me a high five and said: "We did it, Dad."

He took his little trophy to bed with him that night. I was going to sleep with mine too but my wife gave me a look that said I shouldn't.

"That was the best day of my life, Dad," he said.

And when Tim Henman looks back when he's 42, he'll realise that there are some things in life which are much more important than winning Wimbledon.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

CLAIRE Tate was teaching at Viewley Hill Primary School at Hemlington, Middlesbrough, and telling the kids all about the Royal Family.

"Does anyone know who the Queen is married to?" she asked.

"A man," was the only reply she received.

"I'll give you a clue - he's a Duke," she said.

A little boy called Paul immediately put his hand up: "Is it the Duke of Hazard?" he shouted.

SHEILA Almond, another Viewley Hiller, was writing the date on the blackboard - the 12th of November - and remembered that it was her Dad's birthday.

"My Dad is 80 today," she told the class.

"Wow - he must be up to the ceiling by now," suggested a boy in the front row.

(Sheila and Claire are members of the Langdon Ladies, who meet at Coulby Newham Community Centre in Middlesbrough. More from them next time.)