Firstly, many thanks to those of you who have been in touch offering advice and ideas as to how I may fill my time if I do, indeed, find myself unable to get back out onto the golf course.  It’s been entertaining and informative all in one go and I will definitely try out a few of your suggestions.

Secondly, well done to those of you who correctly identified two of Wales’s finest, seen here below playing a friendly game at Wimbledon.

On the left is Jane Peel, nee Roberts, who played golf for the Principality at junior level and on the right is her doubles partner Pam Chugg, nee Light, who represented Wales at full international level, as well as hoovering up tons of titles and awards along the way.

Pam was refereeing this week at the R&A Women’s and Men’s Senior Home Internationals which took place at Pyle & Kenfig, a wonderful course a mere stone’s throw from its better-known neighbour Royal Porthcawl.   It’s a great stretch of golfing landscape, which I’ve been fortunate to visit a few times down the years, starting with playing in the junior home internationals and the British Girls’ Championship back in the mid-seventies.

I can honestly say that if I were to declare a favourite nine holes anywhere, it’d be hard to look past the second nine at P&K.  After hitting your tee shot at the 10th I recall the overriding feeling of being subsumed by the majestic dunes, the beautiful turf and the golfing challenge all around.  Truly unforgettable.

There’s been a new format for these championships this year with mixed teams of 14, seven men and seven women, battling to become overall champions.  There are six foursomes matches in the morning, alternating women’s and men’s pairings, followed by 12 singles matches, again alternating women’s and men’s matches.  The historic trophies for the countries winning the separate men’s and women’s championships are still awarded but it’s the overall mixed team winners that will have the serious bragging rights.  So, huge congratulations to Scotland on sweeping the board in this inaugural series – even though it was at the expense of Ireland….

There has been lightning change recently in the running of golf, seemingly accelerated since the pandemic, whereby all manner of championships, whether it’s girls’ and women’s or boys’ and men’s, seem to have amalgamated into playing at the same time at the same venue.  And as at Pyle and Kenfig some men’s and women’s teams are joining forces in having their own events.  On the one hand it makes a lot of sense to play several championships during the same week at the same venue.  It only requires the golfing bodies to find one host club and take up the course for one week, whereas in the past it would have required two separate weeks, two different venues, two different lots of championship officials and, crucially, two lots of expenses!

I can’t help but feel, however, that the plethora of national age group championships and the crammed fixture list is contributing to devaluing some of our great old individual titles.  It used to be that as amateurs we had two or three “majors” each year.  Now, they seem to come along like London buses and every Tom, Dick and Jane seems to be a champion of some sort or other.  It’d be a bit like having eight or ten majors a year in the pro game.

Talking of the pro game, I think the DP World Tour got it absolutely right last week at Wentworth with first suspending play and then curtailing the championship to 54 holes.  They reacted to the very sad news of the death of Queen Elizabeth II swiftly and with dignity (see top picture and the flag at half mast).

By Sunday it was a bit of a light relief to be able to indulge in a little restrained whooping and hollering when Shane Lowry won the curtailed BMW PGA Championship, an event that has been on his bucket list for a long time after a couple of near misses.  As an unashamed supporter of all Irish golfers I was in the happy, no-lose situation of waiting to see, a) would this be Shane’s first win since the Open at Portrush or b) would it be a Shane/Rory play-off?

Shane’s two shots into the final green were reminiscent of his play when he won the Open and his closing birdie was just enough for him to squeak home.  After the Clara man prevailed Rory revealed they were both staying in the area that evening so would probably head out together to have a bit of a celebration.

Meanwhile, out on the PGA Tour Champions in St Louis, Padraig Harrington held a one-shot lead going into the final round and had time to watch the TV coverage from Wentworth.  Undoubtedly inspired by Shane’s bogey-free play for the week of the tournament, Padraig went out and continued his education in “winning from the front” as he puts it.  Yet again he was successful, tucking away his third victory in his last seven starts in this, his rookie year as a senior.

Once he’d finished his media and tournament duties he decided to give Shane a ring to congratulate him, confident that, although 3.30 in the morning in London, Shane would be having a bit of a party.  When Shane didn’t pick up, Padraig was disappointed, dubbing his countryman “a lightweight”.

Don’t worry, Padraig, some of us are happy enough to celebrate properly for you both.

I’m not much of a monarchist and my republican (small ‘r”) friend pours scorn on all notions that the royal family beats a president into – what?  A cocked hat?  A diamond-encrusted crown?  She’s even reluctant to concede that Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II was a boon, doing a brilliant job – perhaps not faultless but brilliant nonetheless – for 70 years.  And she got better as she aged, more sure-footed and publicly funnier – beat Bond and Paddington if you can.  There’s a lot to be said for stability – and a sense of humour.

On Sunday, friends and I queued at Lichfield Cathedral to sign the Book of Condolence and become a minute part of history.  The pages will be bound into a Staffordshire volume – or volumes – and “will be retained in the Staffordshire Archives as a record of Staffordshire’s collective respect for Her Late Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II”.  I just wrote “Thank you” but made sure I included my maiden name and home town of Portstewart as well as my married name and current home town (sorry, city – it’s a cathedral thing) of Lichfield.  Think I had in mind far-distant episodes of “Who Do You Think You Are?”  And the pen was fine, no ink flying everywhere, no excuses for my poor plebby signature; although at least it was more than an ‘X’ marking the spot.

After signing and ensuring that the young woman struggling to juggle a photo of the Queen, a wee Paddington and a lighted candle in her left hand as she attempted to take a photo with her phone in her right hand had not burned down the cathedral, we repaired for a coffee and a cuppa  before the next ceremonial.

That was the proclamation of the accession of Charles III, with various local dignitaries, clergy and most importantly the town crier and quite a few citizens in attendance.  There were introductions, including a misplaced mention of the late Queen when it was time for the King  but that was inevitable after decades of nothing else; she’s engrained.  Then the crier, at his most mellifluous and voluble, did his stuff, the assembled multitude sang “God Save The King”, gave three cheers and that was that.

It felt historic, not least because Lichfield is one of the earliest centres of Christian worship in the UK, dating from 700 AD.  There have been a few lumps, bumps and destructions since then and the place was besieged three times in the Civil War.  The cathedral is famous for its three spires, known locally, apparently, as the “Ladies of the Vale” and is pretty impressive, even though Matthew Engels and Simon Jenkins have called it second-rate (I think they might even have relegated it to third…).  St Chad must be turning in his proverbial.

Given my recent experience of trains and their lack of reliability, there’s no way that I was going to be tempted to head to London (or Edinburgh) to join a queue and am content to be impressed by the endless pageantry on the telly.  I have to confess it also persuaded me to renew my NOW tv sports subscription, just for a change of pace.

Friends are always asking me what I’ve been up to, how I’m passing my time and I shrug, not quite knowing how the days rattle past so quickly.  There’s football; motorway exploring; golf; tai chi; singing; lunch with friends; bridge; blood doning; worrying about all the important things I should be doing and am not (insulating the attic, fixing the bifolds, the front door); cooking (well, cobbling together something to eat); shopping for veg; sending birthday cards or greetings…

I’m always writing lists, then forgetting to look at them or losing them, so to find a list that was completed, eventually, over a period of several days, possibly weeks, was a triumph.  I cheered – and took a photo.  It’s a better result than Spurs managed in Lisbon on Tuesday.

I see I have walking on my list of things to do and that’s in addition to tramping around the golf course, a very long way these days, thanks to HS2-enforced changes.  Nice to know the government continues to waste billions on a white elephant that’s going, if not nowhere, then not very far.  And I see La Truss is giving the thumbs up to fracking, putting goodness knows how many fingers up to the world’s eco warriors and advocates of gentler forms of renewable energy.  Her conversations with Charles III should be interesting.

Dogs, I forgot to mention dogs but I’m being trained up by the dog walkers and every bag I own, every pocket of every garment, every receptacle is now stuffed with poo bags, mostly not very bio-degradable because they’re the cheapo rolls from Wilko but a vital bit of kit nonetheless; I even came to the rescue of a young woman with two dachshunds who was scrabbling frantically with a couple of tissues; goodness me was my halo glinting in the evening sunshine….

My latest house guest was Barney (no pic because he’s sensitive about his image rights and wouldn’t stay still enough to show his best side), whose owners were taking part in the Great North Run and he and I looked for them in vain on the telly.  Turns out they started after the coverage finished but they completed the course in very respectable times and Barney and I were proud as punch.  Well done Sophy and Liz.