It's probably not what you want to hear if you're reading this on a typical early January Scottish morning but, the fact is, it's been roasting in Melbourne.

Actually, it's been way too hot - last week in particular was horrific, 105 degrees - so bad that I was genuinely pining for a wee bit of grey Caledonian dreichness.

Yeah, for about a nano second.

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The good (or bad) news however, is that the temperature is back to a pleasant and balmy 25 degrees, perfect weather for the big fella - Andy Murray - to start getting serious in his annual bid to land the Australian Tennis Open.

Andy played (and won) today at Hisense Stadium, lesser Hampden to the bigger Rod Laver Arena; good news for the many ex-pat Jocks who've gathered here to cheer him on.

Good news for a couple of reasons: it's easier to get tickets and, much more importantly, it's cheaper (well, we do have a certain reputation to preserve.)

His opponent in this 4th round match is a Frenchman by the name of Stephane Robert, a big lanky fella who's being referred to as Boaby by the more than a few Scots/Murray fans courtside.

Boaby, who's said to be a 'lucky loser' - he exited the tournament early doors only to get a reprieve due to another player's injury - isn't looking too lucky today however, as he is, not to put too fine a point on it, getting his a**e well and truly felt.

Andy is peerless. A colossus of a man; I thought he looked pretty ripped last year. But this time around, he's even more defined if anything, rippling with muscles and power and giving poor old Boaby the run around.

By the looks of him, Andy has had some dental work done and even though he's losing the wool slightly - more noticeable as he sweats up, it's semi-disguised by a trendy haircut and he truly looks the business.

So buffed is he, Koula my companion, a trendy, not to mention gorgeous native Melbournian, pronounces Andy 'sexy', not an affirmation we've heard too much in the past.

Grumpy, yes. Sexy, no.

'All Scotsman are sexy', I tell Koula, somewhat desperately. She appears unconvinced.

If this was a Hollywood blockbuster, Robert, the lucky loser, would triumph, Rocky 1, 2, 3 and 4 style, but Andy, being no romantic, despite his f.i.t.-ness, isn't having a bar of it, as the Aussies say.

He whips through the first two sets in super quick time and although Rab puts up a bit of resistance in the early part of the third, Andy, in a white t-shirt emblazoned with a St Andrew's Cross blue, is a class apart. On the comeback trail from a well-publicised back operation only a couple of months ago, the big fella has rattled through the early rounds somewhat under the radar, even though he hasn't yet lost a set.

You know what, he could win this.

But then. Andy is a Scot. He's one of us. And with us, it's never that easy. After failing to break the Frenchman's serve in the early part of the third set, the crowd are treated to a bit of classic Andy mumping with a couple of well-chosen agricultural expletives managing to find their way in there.

Suddenly, it's the 33-year-old Frenchman who's looking the goods. In the twinkling of an eye, our boy fades out of the game and it's Robert who takes the third in a tie-break, Andy looking wabbit and more than a bit ordinary.

British? As if. Andy is a Scot through and through.

Freeze frames of Peru 1978, Iran 1982 and just about every international game under the rickety supervision of George Burley flash through my mind as Andy changes into a shirt of the darkest blue prior to the start of the fourth set, which at least keeps Koula interested.

Ah, that's ok. Nae borra to the big guy.

He breenges through the set, putting the bold Rab to the sword, triumphing in four, proving once again that despite the handicap of being Scottish, big Andy is actually quite good.

As he's taken away on a golf buggy - Hisense Arena being quite a long way from the dressing rooms - the crowd disperse, happy with another victory but nevertheless slightly drained by the fact he made it harder than it had to be.

Next up for Andy is either Roger Federer or Jo-Wilfred Tsonga, neither of whom will exactly be a cakewalk.

But then, Andy's a Scot. He could easily gub both of them with his hands tied.

Or possibly not. And that's why we love him.