Things didn’t start particularly well for my team in the annual playing of the Madill Trophy on the sublime links at Muirfield last Sunday.  I know the captain of the club deserves to be accorded the odd privilege but I didn’t expect my team to extend that to allowing Gareth Baird, the current incumbent, to stroll to the 2nd and tee off one hole to the good, not having hit a single solitary stroke on the opening hole.

Yes, you’ve guessed it – one of our number played a wrong ball and if you haven’t quite worked it all out, the matches in question are foursomes, the staple diet of our hosts, the Honourable Company of Edinburgh Golfers (HCEG).

it is an unbelievable thirty years since the first playing of this match and if I were the winning captain and still in possession of the trophy I would be able to tell you how many times “The Lads” have won and how many times “The Lasses” has been inscribed on said cup – but, I’m not, so I can’t.

Muirfield’s golf course is in such good condition it could host any tournament at the drop of a hat.

Our opponents drafted in a couple of newbies to bolster their team this year.  The net was cast wide to pull in a transatlantic addition of note, Jack Bonner, while the other rookie was the slightly more local, Colin “did I mention I was the Recorder of the club?” Dempster.  I’m sorry to say it turned out to be a bit of a masterstroke by team captain Stuart McEwen, the secretary of the HCEG.  Added to that formidable mix was the combined experience of  Michael Beamish, Tom Walker, (my host), Andy Irvine and next year’s captain Mark MacLean, which meant we found ourselves on the wrong end of a 5-3 scoreline.

Contributing two points to our total, Catriona Matthew may just merit another invitation next year.

We are no strangers to losing, of course, but it’s the first time I’ve ever witnessed one of our opponents check his yardage, come up with a number of 138 to the centre and then select his putter and calmly proceed to hop, skip and jump the ball to 35 feet.  I remember both Tiger and Mickelson using their putters from the fairway in an Open or two – but that was from 50 yards tops.

Stuart McEwen emulating Tiger by wearing red on Sunday and putting from miles off the putting surface.

Apparently, this is a speciality of Stuart, the secy, but it was to no avail on this occasion as our opponents required three further stabs with the flat stick and the hole was halved in fives.  As my Dad used to tell me,  “every shot is a joy to someone”.

Gill Stewart, one of the stalwarts of this match,  just adores this part of her native country and we invariably spend time having a wee look in various estate agents’ windows.  She calls this corner of the world “Planet Golf” and it’s difficult to argue with her.  Mr Google informs me there are 21 courses in the area, all within 30 minutes of each other – a veritable golfing and dog-walking paradise.

And I DO believe the locals when they tell me how dry it is.  In the 26 or so iterations of our match (we lost a couple of years because of snow and a couple to Covid), we have had at least twenty occasions when the sun split the sky from dawn to dusk as it did on Sunday.  There are some things that simply do your soul good – and, for me, this trip to East Lothian is one of them.

A further, slightly unexpected, treat this year was the opportunity to meet up with former Solheim Cup player and prolific tournament winner, Kitrina Douglas.  Kitrina no longer plays the grand old game but has scaled the heights of academia and this particular professor was visiting Edinburgh as an external examiner for a PhD student.

Rolling back the years with Gill Stewart and the Prof – Kitrina Douglas.

We had had a very brief encounter at Sunningdale last September at the Curtis Cup so it was lovely to reconnect over a more leisurely dinner and sweep the years away.

Finishing off this spring visit to Gullane was the opportunity to have a Nordic Walking lesson from one of my team, Pat Smillie, who had a Nordic Walking company for five or six years after she retired.  She put Gill and me through our paces up and down Gullane beach – and I have to say it was enlightening and exhilarating in equal measure – and if done correctly it does wonders for your posture!

Trust me, it’s much more energetic than it looks!

In the middle of all this indulgence, and up at the pointy end of the game where folk can REALLY play, I was gratified to see Viktor Hovland back in the winner’s circle after a lean eighteen months or so.  Mind you, according to him, his game is still “off” and not near where he wishes it to be.  Be that as it may, he was still thrilled to win the Valspar Championship, his seventh PGA Tour title, even without his best stuff.

After a phenomenal season in 2023 Viktor embarked on a few changes which took him down rabbit holes from which he couldn’t find his way out.  It seems to happen all the time to golfers and, sadly, some never do find their way back to what made them good in the first place.  Striving for perfection can be quite poisonous.

Earlier I mentioned last year’s Curtis Cup and one of the victorious members of that home side, so brilliantly captained by Catriona Matthew, recorded her first professional win on the Ladies’ European Tour (LET).  Huge congratulations to 23-year old Mimi Rhodes who, with her younger sister Patience, played such a pivotal role in that epic win.  Competing in only her fourth tournament as a full member of the LET, Mimi protected her slender one-shot lead by going bogey free in the final round, eventually winning The Ford Women’s New South Wales Open by two shots.

Sandwiched between the Rhodes sisters at the Curtis Cup. Mimi, the latest LET winner is on the left, Patience on the right.

That’s what you call a dream start for the Englishwoman and it was a lovely finale to a dream few days for me on Planet Golf.

Round about this time of year, before Easter when high season starts and the prices rise, Dai and I would do our damnedest to head for the Isles of Scilly, one of our favourite places on earth.  We usually stayed on Bryher, one of the smallest of those small islands, our decompression chamber.  The only downside when we got there was having to wear a watch to make sure we didn’t miss any boats.  Whatever time does, tide waits for no one.

We’d hurry down to Penzance, to get the helicopter or Land’s End for an itsy-bitsy flight on a teeny-weeny aircraft – a grass runway in those days if I remember right.  We did our best to avoid the Scillonian – Maureen, probably the most reluctant sailor in the family, perhaps in the country, was on it once and swore she’d never set foot on it again.  It wasn’t even particularly rough that day but the waters are shallow and the draft is low…

Spot the Scillonian: the Scilly jigsaw is coming along, though there’s a distinct lack of sea in this snap.

We’d hurtle down the A30 – within the speed limit, of course – zooming past whole swathes of mainland Cornwall, so spending a few days in Lostwithiel – ace name – and surroundings was a new experience for me.  There are no sea views in Lostwithiel but the moment I stepped out of the car I felt myself relax and breathe deeply; I hadn’t even realised I was tense enough to need relaxing!  No wonder people flock here at every opportunity.

I went with Mrs M and the sainted Alice, so it wasn’t long before we hit the nearest beach, particularly popular with dog walkers because it allows dogs all year round – no summer bans.  It’s not the world’s most beautiful bay – lots of seaweed – and no great sweep of golden sand, so it’d never be swamped with sun worshippers but it is a beach and there is sea.  Alice dug and I paddled; we couldn’t have been happier.

Alice digging furiously on Par Beach; she must be scratch or better.

We walked and walked and walked, to a pub that wasn’t as nearby as we thought – and the cliff tops of K(n)ernow aren’t always the place for knackered knees!  Still, it was well worth the detour.

The view from the Rashleigh Inn at Polkerris.

Last year I rejoined the National Trust and I remembered to take my card to Cornwall, so the visit to Lanhydrock was a no-brainer.  It’s described as “Cornwall’s most complete Victorian country home” and has the most wonderful gardens, renowned for its camellias, rhododendrons and Himalayan magnolias.  So at this time of year, even on a Monday, it’s packed with people keen to see the magnolias in full bloom.  They’re amazing but very short-lived and at the mercy of the next bit of rain or wind.

Magnificent magnolias.  Stunning.

If you’re armed with a National Trust card, it’s not a bad idea to have a Senior Railcard, just in case.  It won’t save you as much as flying economy instead of business – have you looked at those prices recently?  Eye-watering – but if you’re old enough, it’s a good deal; and always handy if the car is on its way out, perhaps hastened along by the odd  (very odd) visit to the sister’s rockery.  (That’s just trying for a cheap laugh; the car passed its MOT and Mrs M drove us down.)

It took exactly six hours from Lostwithiel station to my front door, with changes at Plymouth and Birmingham New Street, so the train journey could hardly have gone any more smoothly.  Mind you, I was a bit worried when the train for St Austell, Penzance, wherever west, pulled in on the opposite platform.  It was beyond ancient – you opened the door by pulling down the window, leaning out and pushing down the handle.  Can you imagine!  Sounds ridiculous doesn’t it? Fortunately my train was a bit more modern.

Still at work on the rails, probably being eyed up by the National Trust…

I left my book in the bag for the entire journey because I was staring out the window, admiring the views and wondering exactly where I was – geography isn’t my worst suit but the phone helped me pinpoint exactly where we were, even though I was travelling backwards and had to factor that in to the equation!  Tricky when it’s reckoned that you get 90 per cent of your 50-50 (it’s either left or right) chances wrong; is that even possible or mathematically likely?

About to cross the Tamar from Cornwall in to Devon.  Bridge by Isambard Kingdom Brunel.

Ah Brunel, what a genius.  Being hopeless at maths, measurements, angles, rivets, anything practical, I’d love to have been an engineer, a builder of bridges.  Imagine inventing something so good and ingenious that it stood the test of time for well over a hundred years.

He didn’t always get things right but according to Wikipedia he was very good at railways:  “On the GWR, Brunel set standards for a well-built railway, using careful surveys to minimise gradients and curves.  This necessitated expensive construction techniques, new bridges, new viaducts and the two-mile-long Box Tunnel…”  And the GWR is still chugging along.

Wonder what Brunel would have made of HS2; he’d probably have had it running from London to Aberdeen and Inverness by now, bridging that old North/South divide, turning dreams into reality…

A dog in dreamland – and not a bridge in sight…