Blooming

The daughter in the window, finishing up in the Florist's after I called in to pick her up and ferry her back for a meal. All her own calligraphy in that shop. She was a bit hacked off as she'd been running the place a bit short handed as others were away preparing for a big Crolla funeral on Tuesday.
Earlier I'd been to see the Maw. We had a fine chat about old times at Gatehouse, and then she surprised me by telling me that twice this week she has woken to think she was dead. I was most interested - what was it like? Her concern was that sis and I would argue about her funeral. So we had a good chat - she's getting popped into the family lair of course, though ever since she was a child she's wanted cremated. Turns out that was because she was told as a child about an old woman whose will included a clause to ensure her wrists were slit, so concerned she was about being buried alive, and the horror of that fate had stayed with her ever since.
What about that Andy Murray though? I stopped watching at 3-3 in the third set. What happened?