Johanna Konta- Britain's newest tennis hope.

Johanna Konta- Britain's newest Wimbldeon tennis hope.

Remember where you heard the name first. Her name is Johanna Konta and she's safely into the next round of Wimbledon without so much as dropping a single bead of sweat. Konta beat Taiwan's Hsieh Su Wei so rapidly and clinically that it was all over before the last of Wimbledon's evening shadows had fallen lingeringly and lovingly over No. 1 Court.

For what seems an eternity but is now exactly 40 years ago, Britain will place its faith and trust in our latest female tennis hope for the future. It only seems like yesterday since Virginia Wade curtsied in front of the Queen in a mauve cardigan before lifting the women's singles Final trophy. Wade beat the robust but ultimately outclassed Dutch player Betty Stove and Britain began to wonder whether that day would ever repeat itself in the future.

 Sue Barker bravely suggested that the potential was always there and Jo Durie was gallant to the bitter end but none really seriously challenged the supremacy of Chris Evert, Martina Navratilova or more recently the Williams sisters even the powerful Steffi Graff. So Konta got down to the task in hand and patiently wore down Su Wei before swatting away her opponent like one of those familiar summer wasps.

And so it was that Johanna Konta bounced and skipped and jumped gingerly on the baselines of Wimbledon rather like the eager debutant that she was. She looked confident, she played with all the confidence of a new kid on the block and simply brushed aside Su Wei so swiftly and purposefully that the match was all over in just an hour and the crowd had barely finished off its first punnet of strawberries and cream and its deeply appetising chicken salad from Waitrose.

In two quickfire sets Konta swept aside her Taiwanese opponent 6-2, 6-2 and seemed to treat the whole game as if it were some leisurely dress rehearsal or a fun knockabout practice match. Poor Ms Su Wei must have felt like some unwelcome impostor who needn't have bothered to turn up. In fact such was the efficiency and sheer power of Konta's groundstrokes that the game was all up before most of us had had time to form any considered analysis of her game.

But then we settled down and began to form our first impressions of Konta and it has to be said that those impressions were positive and bode well for the future. It is impossible to gauge this debut performance because the Wimbledon fortnight is a gruelling schedule and many are the obstacles that Konta will have to overcome. Still, although there is a long way to go, we will calmly follow her progress in much the way that we might have done with Virginia Wade.

The signs, even at this early stage, are good and we will cheer, encourage, yell triumphantly when the forehand winners go fizzing down the tramlines and then privately hope that she might go that step further. After all, the men had to wait over 75 years to find a Scotsman named Andy Murray and we all know what happened after that. Yes the man was knighted and suddenly Britain had discovered a genuine legend. At times it was hard and punishing to watch but after all our hearts had been broken by Tim Henman, Andy Murray has lifted the British game to its highest Olympian plateau.

So what are to make of Johanna Konta on her first display at Wimbledon? Rather like an actress on her first night at the National Theatre, she naturally looked nervous and possibly apprehensive but those feelings were soon cast aside. In fact once those initial exchanges had been negotiated Konta just breezed through like a seasoned veteran. Shortly she would glide and waltz her way into shots as if the Centre Court was her second home.

Konta was tall and angular, correct and imposing, totally in control from the start and the serving stance was one that had to be observed and remarked upon. Only the most hardened critics would have found fault with it but Konta just rose to this occasion with the sturdiest maturity and a nerveless poise. Dare we say it but could Britain begin to believe that its tennis players have finally found its long awaited star quality, players who could take on the very best without freezing on the big occasion? Surely not. But this could be the moment we've all been waiting for so long now.

With yellow strings on her rackets, there was an intensity and seriousness about Konta's game that maybe we hadn't really seen in a female tennis player for many a decade. Her serving action was the most pleasant of revelations. She briefly twirled and twisted her racket quite impressively, leant down to the ball and then bounced it in a kind of slow motion, deliberate fashion. The leg lurched forward like a 100m sprinter on the blocks and then Konta launched herself into the swing of the racket, soaring up onto her heels before blasting the ball with so much ferocity that most of the crowd must have thought they were witnessing a missile in full flight.

Then Konta released the full array of strokes. There were the meaty, double fisted backhands that seemed to fly across Su Wei's body, rising all the way and then becoming impossible to return. There was a vicious swing and whip to a vast majority of Konta's strokes that stole the hearts of the purists in the Wimbledon crowd. For many years British tennis has yearned for a player who can dictate a match, shape its destiny and then just clatter the ball with merciless intent and a winning mentality.

This is not to say that the likes of Sue Barker, Annabel Croft and Jo Durie were any better or worse than their most recent successors but the truth is that the ladies have somehow agonisingly missed out on the big time and Wimbledon glory. So now we home in on our Johanna and hope against hope that this could be our year, Britain's year to clinch a first ladies singles title since Her Majesty's silver Jubilee and the whole nation put out its tables for those patriotic street parties.

Konta, once into her full stride, moved easily and fluidly around the court, punched her shots firmly and authoritatively into her opponents chest and then recognised almost immediately that this tennis malarkey was a piece of cake. Nothing to it. She sent down her serves like rockets into outer space, hammering forehands with purpose and finality, cross court forehands that whistled past her Taiwanese opponent and then mixing it all up with a generous helping of backhand slice and spin. It was a technical masterclass and Wimbledon just sighed as if it were about to get another tantalising glimpse of greatness.

Before Wimbledon had time for any kind of sober reflection Konta had wrapped this one up, done and dusted, put the prettiest bow on it and marched into the next round at Wimbledon with scarcely a shrug of the shoulder and very little to imply that there was anything wrong with British tennis. Once  again Wimbledon looked summery, floral, ivy clad walls glowing beautifully in the summer light and then just a quintessential English picture postcard.

Now a stillness falls across the smooth green lawns of Wimbledon, the crowds quietly expectant and an early evening settles across London SW19 restfully and happily. This is the first day and the serving lines are still green and yet to turn a dusty brown as the tournament progresses. But this is part of the Wimbledon charm offensive and how we look forward to its much anticipated arrival. The umpires are ready, the ball boys are ready and the players have never been better prepared. So then. The British public would dearly like Andy Murray to complete a hat-trick of wins. No pressure there Andy.