interview Living in the full glare of publicity, Andy Murray has learned many lessons – some more painful than others, he tells Hugh MacDonald

THERE is an impression of Andy Murray as burdened by his past, tortured by the present and fearful of an under-performing future. It would not survive five minutes in his presence, yet it persists. It is five years since his ‘anyone but England” joke on the eve of a World Cup match with Paraguay caused the sort of media storm that should be reserved for bloody revolutions. It is one year since this correspondent witnessed an “anyone but Murray’ T-shirt on the chest of a Londoner pacing the outside courts of Wimbledon.

The comment by Murray was that of a 19-year-old reacting to cheerful provocation from Tim Henman, his friend and fellow pro. The T-shirt speaks to a wider feeling about Murray particularly prevalent in Middle England.

He is seen as dour, anti-English, underachieving. Most grievously, he is not Tim. Most pertinently, he is, of course, much better.

As he approaches the trials of Wimbledon, it was instructive to hear Murray address the perceptions people hold of him and reflect on the turmoil that is the unavoidable product of growing up in the public eye.

The first impression of Murray in 2011 is that he is much more relaxed, particularly with the press. He has even found opportunities to employ his dry humour in media conferences.

However, he has learned hard lessons in the past five years. “That was a horrible period for me in terms of how I felt about the press in general and how I acted in press conferences. Yeah, I was bitter about the whole thing. It really disappointed me,” he said of furore over the football remark.

“I understood then that I needed to grow up, handle myself better and stick up for myself better. I still hear it sometimes, people still say to me: ‘Why did you buy a Paraguay shirt?’. I was like, ‘trust me, I never bought a Paraguay shirt’. I did say I’d support anybody but England but I definitely didn’t buy a Paraguay shirt. It was a joke. I learned a lot from that; it was definitely tough.”

The impression endures, however, of Murray as some sort of anti-English yob. It is absurd. “A member at Queen’s came up to me the other day and said: “I support you all the time and congratulations on everything but a lot of my friends don’t like you because you’re Scottish. And I’m like, well, yeah, that’s fine. A lot of people feel that way. I think that England-Scotland rivalry is fun, it’s a good thing, it’s good banter. I joke about it with my friends all the time, have a good laugh about it. I have many English friends; I’m proud of being Scottish.”

This move from resentment at being misrepresented to acceptance that he will never be loved by some in Middle England is part of the growing-up process.

More relevantly, he has had to show maturity over his career. Murray has sacked coaches, changed his backroom staff and constantly reappraised himself in the cruel light of failure in three grand slam finals.

“That’s something that I needed to get better at: being more responsible and being, yeah, more selfish in terms of letting people know how you’re feeling about things, if there are things you want changed. If they don’t like it, that’s tough. You’ve got to do what’s right for yourself. And that’s something that I’ve realised over the last six months or so that I need to get better at,” he said.

This makes Murray sound like one of those young fogeys who grandstands vacuously for The Apprentice. But the top-class tennis player has to make decisions that can not be universally popular.

“The thing that’s difficult is that, like, when I was 21, 22, telling someone that’s 45, 50, that they’re not doing their job properly -- it’s not an easy thing to do,” said Murray who has parted company with Mark Petchey, Brad Gilbert, Miles Maclagan and Alex Corretja. It was “difficult” dismissing Maclagan and Corretja in particular. “I’m good friends with both of them and that’s where it can get very difficult. Emotionally it’s hard, like, even though you know you’re doing the right thing.”

He added, however: “You do benefit from it in the long run. It can be difficult for the few days afterwards, getting used to not having the people you’ve had around you for three, four years, which I had with Miles and Alex. It was a big change at an important time in my career, one I feel has worked well and was the right thing at pretty much the right time.”

The watchword now is responsibility. “You just make more decisions for yourself,” he said.

The passing years have also seen off a Ferrari. “It was something I enjoyed driving, it was good for me to experience it but it was something that I didn’t need and wasn’t necessarily me -- so I wasn’t comfortable with it so I got rid of it,” he said.

He now toddles around in the Volkswagen Polo he learned to drive in. And an Aston Martin, in deference to a hero: “I’m a big fan of James Bond. And I thought Sean Connery was the best.” Because he is Scottish? “Yeah, exactly,” said Murray, with a grin.

With Darren Cahill, Sven Groeneveld and Dani Vallverdu on his coaching staff, he is concentrating on making the adjustments that can bring grand slam success. He is working on being calmer, quieter on court. “When the stress levels are at their highest, that’s when you’re likely to say something you don’t mean or get angry or upset. That’s something I really need to improve on. But I think that I’m a decent guy, I don’t feel like I’m rude to people, I take time to sign autographs, take pictures. I’ve got good manners. But on the court ...”

The growing-up has been painful but has been accompanied by humour. The biggest smile, one suspects, is reserved for a grand slam victory.