You know what they say about buses?  No sign of one for ages and then two come along within seconds of each other.  Well, it seems to me that the same sort of thing is happening in golf as regards change.  Nothing of any great significance happens for years and then a flurry of activity explodes centre stage.

On Wednesday I was the guest speaker at the Hertfordshire County Ladies’ annual dinner at Porter’s Park golf club, a venue and dinner I first spoke at ten years ago.  There’s a lot going on in the county at the moment, what with the men’s and women’s side of things amalgamating and new initiatives and names coming into being.  In my experience this is seldom a smooth path, with the inevitable flexing of muscles on either side but with patience, strong listening skills and an eye on collective goals and aspirations I have no doubt the joining together of the two sections can and will be successful – and Hertfordshire golf will be the better and stronger for it.  With members the calibre of Elaine Radcliffe, former professional and Curtis Cup player, in their midst, Jane Walter, the intrepid captain in this time of change and Lesley Hewitt, the first president of the new collective, there is a strong and stable base for success.  I just hope that there remains room in the new association for some separate men’s and women’s dinners and lunches.  After all, everyone enjoys them and surely we don’t have to be joined at the hip ALL the time, do we?

My evening at Porter’s Park was made complete by meeting up again with Brickendon Grange member Deirdre Martin from my home town. The dinner brought us together after forty years or so!  Our fathers were great pals and had a regular fourball for many years at Portstewart and when they were a man down I was called in to make up the numbers, first doing so at the age of 12.  The boys played off anything from 7 – 12 handicap and, believe you me, it was a tough school – no quarter given.  I loved it and those games certainly helped shape my golfing career.  Meeting up with Deirdre again made the decades slip away and it was just lovely.

At the weekend it was off to Muirfield for our annual match against the members of the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers (HCEG) in the Madill Trophy.  Huge change is afoot here too.  Scaffolding is shrouding a large part of the clubhouse as preparations are made for building ladies’ locker rooms and readying the club for the inclusion of the fair sex within its walls as members.

We are homing in on this match’s quarter-centenary celebration and although there has been undeniable momentum towards history-making changes there has been one indisputable constant – the welcome and hospitality afforded us by our impeccable hosts.  That has never altered.  This year we were treated to the club’s famous Sunday lunch and, afterwards, just prior to the trophy presentation, my February landmark birhday was marked by a cake and a rousing rendition of Happy Birthday. This was accompanied by a gift of Peter Brown’s lovely photographic book of the 2013 Open at Muirfield – the one in which Phil Mickelson triumphed.  I must admit I never thought I’d be celebrating a birthday within the hallowed walls of the HCEG but I came crashing back to reality when it came time to present the trophy to secy Stuart McEwan as his team won for the third time in the last four years.  They are closing the gap!

Life is unpredictable and one of the only things we can be sure of is that things never stay the same.  Any change can be scary, uncomfortable and disorientating but as I said earlier, as far as golf is concerned, if we have a positive attitude and collective will I believe we can make our great sport even better and share the fun we all have with even more men, women and children.

All the golf talk is of the Masters and the big buzz around this year’s tournament, which starts next Thursday, weather permitting.  Can Tiger conjure up the comeback to end all comebacks and win again; will Rory complete the coveted grand slam; what chance Sergio celebrating Azalea’s arrival with another green jacket;  is Danny Willett still a major factor or a busted flush; can anyone beat Bubba at Augusta if he’s at his idiosyncratic best; can a fireman make the cut?  [Matt Parziale, a firefighter from Brockton, Massachusetts, won the US Mid-Amateur to qualify.]  So many questions and all being well, we’ll have all the answers a week on Sunday.

Luckily for all of the above, I’m not putting any money on anyone or anything, having learned from bitter betting experience.  My men/women/horses/50-50 chances invariably come to grief, so I’m giving up, even on the Grand National – I think Team Spirit, in 1964, was my last success, a fluke of mythical proportions but I was too young to realise that that sort of luck couldn’t hold.  Lee Westwood, a golfer who likes a flutter and takes more than a passing interest in horse-racing, had an amazing punting run at Cheltenham the other week but I suspect he’d swap it for another four competitive rounds at Augusta National.  I believe he has to win in Houston this week to get in.

In the meantime, over in California, the first major of the season is already under way:  the ANA Inspiration at Mission Hills Country Club in Rancho Mirage, hard by Palm Springs, started yesterday.  Hard to believe I used to go there every year, starting in the days when Dinah Shore’s name was still in the title and she was the hostess with the mostest.  I’d drive across the desert from Phoenix, home of the Standard Register Ping of blessed memory, won four times in a row by the inimitable Laura Davies and the event where Annika Sorenstam posted her record-breaking 59 [I was there!].  The course was called Moon Valley, so perhaps there was a certain mystical magic in the air.  Dame Laura is still competing in California, on the Dinah Shore Tournament course, in an event she has yet to win, a particularly irritating gap in her formidable resume.  Will she win this week?  Doubtful, given that the best players in the world, younger and fitter, make up the opposition and LD started with an 81 but golf is a funny old game.  Keep an eye out.

To lower the tone and the skill level considerably, I am feeling a tad overgolfed this week.  It was the captains’ drive-in at Whittington Heath on Sunday and there was a 9-hole comp, not won by me and my long-suffering partner.  She used to class me as a good player – until she saw my opening effort at the 1st.  I was lucky to make any sort of contact and my ball ended up on the 18th green, a holeable 15 feet from the pin.  I’d driven all of 30, perhaps, being generous, 35 yards.  “I’d have gone and picked it up for you,” my partner said, “but I didn’t want them [the guys playing the last] thinking it was mine!”  Steps: 1,537 [forgot to put my phone in my pocket].

Fortunately, the following day, in the final of the Winter Foursomes, I was playing the evens, though we did start at the 10th because the golfers of the West Midlands Fire Service were out in force.  I made a better fist of my drive and avoided most of the trouble, though my partner Bev Chattaway and I were outhit (well, I, of the non-existent swing speed, was) and outlasted by two of Whittington’s many Sues – Spencer and Sims in this case – who won the final three holes to win 2 up.  Congratulations to them, it was a good battle.  And thanks to Bev for her equanimity in the face of adversity.  Steps:  14,150.

Tuesday was the Grandmothers’ comp, with a stableford for those of us who aren’t grannies.  I played like a particularly decrepit great, great granny whose chosen sport was bowls – or bridge, or bagatelle, anything but golf.  I don’t often change my putter but my stroke had been so peripatetic that I’d rooted out The Little Swan, a minute, aged mallet by John Letters of Scotland, that is dwarfed by the ball.  If you don’t make a decent strike, the ball goes nowhere, so it concentrates the mind wonderfully.  Not that it worked on Tuesday.  Steps:  12,873.

On Wednesday, it was off to Moor Hall in Sutton Coldfield for the first round of the Annodata, a five-a-side team event off handicap.  We had hail, torrential rain, ordinary rain and beautiful spring sunshine, so my opponent and I, who hadn’t the luxury of a caddie between us, were kept busy juggling towels, brollies, hats, gloves, specs, whatever.  No wonder our golf was a trifle sclaffy.  The course wasn’t quite as wet as the Loch Lomond of the 2000 Solheim Cup but it was soggy enough and striking the ball cleanly was cause for celebration.  When spring is properly sprung and everything is blooming, Moor Hall is a lovely place to play golf and it’s where Maureen once had so many birdies that the scoreboard ran out of red numbers.  Oh happy days.

For the record, WHGC won 4-1 and can still dream of the finals in Spain.  Steps:  17,642.

Yesterday, blog day, I contented myself with tai chi and a trip into Birmingham to give blood.  I’m up to donation number 48 – it was a sluggish effort but we blamed the slow flow on the cold – and I’m hoping to hit the half century by the end of the year.  Steps:  10,018.