If recent results are anything to go by, my bridge is in danger of becoming better, much better, than my golf. So that’s where sixty-odd years of playing a game get you. Must be going wrong somewhere. And, for the record, my bridge is not up to much.
It’s better than it was a few short years ago because I’m enjoying it – thank you Jackie Rose, who started a goodly number of us off and is still helping us improve – and playing it regularly. But the kitchen is where my bridge will stay.
Question is, should I take my golf out on to the golf course? Probably not, judging by the recent sets of results. Stone last, twice in the last two weeks, despite the help of more than competent partners. Am I dragging them down to my level?
It was greensomes a couple of Tuesdays ago, and I was a late sub. Helena, my partner, was a member of the winning Taskers team, so her form wasn’t in doubt but she was tied to the proverbial turd (a Bernard Darwinism, one of his cruder, more cruel descriptions, applied to himself when he was partnering the incomparable Joyce Wethered). We came bottom of the pile by some way despite having a birdie four at the last and four points.
Next came the Texas scramble, a team of three, with all three driving and all three putting but only two hitting the shots in between. In other words, if yours was the shot chosen, you didn’t hit the next one. A speedier format than the usual interminable scramble and it kept us on our toes.

We battled until the end (that’s the 17th green) and at least we beat the rain – just about! We also had two balls nicked by the crows but I was too slow to get the picture!
Sadly, none of us was on her game, despite some good shots here and there and in general our chipping and putting was the wrong side of woeful; we were a mere eleven shots behind the winners, who had a 63 nett. Ossome, as Dai, who spent far too much time in America, used to say.
And, as the regular reader knows, as Dad used to say: Every result makes somebody happy. Talking of which, his beloved Sunderland are currently five points clear at the top of the Championship in the EFL (English Football League). Of course, it’s such a volatile division that it could all be different in a couple of weeks.
Well, here we are back with the dreaded footie, so I may as well confess that I’m going to three matches in five days. At the time of writing there’s the tantalising prospect that my teams could win all three!!! On Wednesday night, in the much-derided (not by me) Carabao Cup, the mighty Spurs beat Manchester City, definitely one of the best club sides in the world, if not the best, 2-1. And I was there.
Wow. Blimey. Amazing. Stunning.

Think it’s called playing a high line! The City goalie is just out of shot on the right.
We had our slices of luck; they were not at full strength but they still looked so smooth, less frantic, more composed than us. All three goals came in the first half and I doubt anybody in the ground would have put any money on a goalless second half. It’s Manchester United next, in the quarter-finals but at least it’s another home draw. COYS.
Next up, on Friday, the first day of November (shock, horror), it’s a trip to Tamworth, to see the mighty Lambs take on Huddersfield in the first round proper of the FA Cup. (Apologies to my WHGC quiz team for deserting them but my remaining brain cell is no longer to be relied upon.) It (the match not the quiz) will be on the telly, BBC2, which means a nice chunk of money for the home team, much appreciated at any level but a lifeline for those of us lower down the pecking order. Note that I’m staking a claim closer to home, already preparing for life beyond the Tottenham Hotspur Stadium in N17.
It’s not an easy journey and after the City game (kick-off a very unfan-friendly 2015 – late trains wait for no man or woman) I got home at 0300, not too far ahead of the bin men. Those of us travelling home on the 2330 to Coventry, Birmingham International and Birmingham New Street had to get off at Rugby and get a bus.

Aaaaagh. What’s happened to Brum?
Hey ho, if only I’d been a bit quicker off the mark and caught the tube at Tottenham Hale that I missed by a few seconds, I’d have made the 2300…It’s a bit alarming how many of us eejits there are: any number of Spurs fans got off at Milton Keynes Central, Rugby and then Coventry. I was the only one left on the coach going to International! There’s no fool like an old fool.
I’ll be braving the train again, on Sunday, for the game against Villa and it’s not a word of a lie that it’s easier for my fellow Totspurs tragic to come from Dublin than it is for me to travel from middle England. Admittedly, my carbon footprint is a bit lower but my stress levels are far higher.
Talking of Ireland, congratulations to Sara Byrne and Lauren Walsh for making it through to the Final Qualifying for the LPGA Tour. Byrne, who impressed in the winning Curtis Cup team at Sunningdale earlier this year, made it comfortably but Walsh had to hole a 15-foot putt at her last hole at Plantation Golf and Country Club in Florida.

Sara Byrne (left) and Lauren Walsh successful in Florida. Now for Alabama. [From Brian Keogh’s outstanding Irish Golf Desk; not sure of the photographer, probably LPGA]
Good luck.
Morphing as I am into a mostly uncompetitive being who is increasingly bad at everything, I’ve still set myself the challenge (sort of) of finishing the Scilly jigsaw by Christmas. This year? Well, perhaps. Or it could be next year. Or the next. Or never.

Coming along. Slowly.
And Mo is also coming along slowly. Thanks for all the messages. She’s a lot chirpier now that the pain is receding and very grateful for the support.