Scorchio.

Are you enjoying the weather at the moment?  Or is it all just too, too much?  After all, consecutive days in the 30s in May are not usual for us here in the UK and Ireland.  I wonder have you altered your usual mode of going so that you can “get things done” before the heat of the day?

Boy, it reminds me of playing the Asian tour back in the nineties and using those special umbrellas that reflected the heat back away from you.  We, the players, all carried those while the poor caddies laboured under the weight of golf bags laden with several litre-bottles of water.  After each set of three holes each unopened bottle was swapped for one directly out of the fridges at the handily-placed refreshment huts – so there was an unending supply of cool, refreshing liquid.

We were normally out in Asia in February and perhaps a bit of March and the tour took us from Taiwan (now Chinese Taipei) to Thailand to the Philippines and Indonesia.  Generally, it was considered too hot for us to be safely on the course in the heat of the day so it was as if time had slipped and our working/waking hours changed drastically.

Alarm clocks were set for just after 3am with our transport from the hotel departing at around 4am.  Normally we had at least an hour’s travel to the course – and as you can imagine there wasn’t much chat on the coach at that hour of the day.  We arrived at the course in the dark, had breakfast and were able to hit the range just as the sun was coming up.  The first tee-off time was 6.30 and I seem to recall us all being off the course and back on the coach around 2pm or so.

We’d roll back to the hotel roughly twelve hours after we had left it.  This was in the days when, on this tour, it was mandatory for the players to all stay in the tournament hotel and use the official transport – it was considered safer to do so.  It did, however, make for very long days indeed, because if your tee time was, say, 9.30am, you still had to be on that bus that arrived at the course just after 5ish.

By the time 7pm rolled around you were bushed, searching for dinner and bed in very quick order.  It really was a strange existence shifting our waking and working hours to the 3am to 8pm timeframe.  Don’t get me wrong, we were very grateful for the tournaments but we did have a lot to contend with in those early days – apart from the awkward timings, travel and different food, that is.

I remember playing in Manila and I was drawn with a Japanese player who spoke no English and of course, I spoke no Japanese.  Neither caddy spoke English and we were a two-ball as the third member of our group withdrew because she was ill.  I had the habit of putting my identifying mark on my golf balls on the 1st tee and I always put one dot in a specific place on the first ball I was going to use.  I would always give my caddy a ball to keep handy in case of a need to reload or, indeed, play a provisional.  That ball would have two dots on it to distinguish it from ball number one.  (I always played the same number.)

Anyway, on this occasion I knocked the ball on in two at the par 4 1st hole, marked the ball and handed it to my caddy to clean.  A couple of putts later and I had a nice opening par under my belt, as had my Japanese partner who maintained the honour from the 1st.  It was inevitable that as a two-ball, in amongst a load of threes, we would be waiting all day – and so it proved.

As we were waiting on the next tee for the group ahead to get out of the way I looked at the ball in my hand and my heart stopped as I saw two dots on the ball.  I realised instantly what had happened.  I had given the ball to my caddy to clean and she had handed me the other ball which she was keeping in the pocket of her caddy bib.  That was going to mean I had a two-shot penalty for playing the wrong ball and I’d have to return to the green to the point from which I had putted, replace the correct ball and proceed from there.  Try explaining that to a trio of non-English speakers who couldn’t understand why on earth I wanted to retrace my steps to the 1st green!

Eventually, a referee arrived who did speak English and confirmed what I already knew and a six was entered on my scorecard after I had returned to the green and re-putted.  It was my own fault but my little Filipina caddy didn’t meet my eye for a few holes.  Finally, she took a deep breath, drew herself up to her full five feet, and in very broken English said, “So sorry, Miss Mo.”

I tried to reassure her by gesture that I wasn’t blaming her and so we continued on with the round.  As chance would have it the referee who had come out to confirm the ruling was doing a stint in the recorder’s office when I arrived to sign my card.  When the clerking was all done she complimented me on how nice I had been to my caddy.

I said, well, it was ultimately the player’s responsibility to which she responded, “Yes, you’re right, but so many players use a particular ball for putting that she would be used to handing over the “putting ball”.  I couldn’t believe my ears and asked was that common amongst the Asian players to which she responded with a cheerful affirmative.

Did I kick off about the unfairness that at least a third of the field were merrily doing what I had mistakenly done and yet they weren’t being penalised?

No, I didn’t – I sucked it up and got on with it – two wrongs don’t make a right.

And anyway, a bit like this week, it was far, far too hot.

Scorchio, in fact.