I’ve been suffering from stress this week, first-world stress admittedly but stress nonetheless.  My home insurance is up for renewal and I’m not happy with the supposedly sainted John Lewis, my current insurers, Which? recommended no less – if I’ve understood all the small print correctly, which is far from guaranteed.

The flooring in the lounge, the supposedly sainted Karndean, is rippling like the ocean wave, making me feel like Captain Pugwash and visitors who aren’t great sailors decidedly queasy.  Even copious amounts of ginger tea – good for settling landlubber tummies – haven’t helped.  There’s no getting away from it:  the floor will have to come up and that means clearing out all my stuff, a prospect to make the strongest heart quail.  My insurers?  Not interested.  Badly done; not their problem……Oh.  What’s the point of having them then?  Aren’t they there to help in times of need?…….

What’s more, according to the local broker I spoke to – face to face, hooray – if I’ve had a claim turned down, which I have, that puts me in bad odour (I paraphrase) with potential future insurers.  Oops.  Discussing the options with the broker made my head spin and when he asked me – an ageing old doll admittedly but one who’d told him that she owned a laptop, an iPad and, heaven help us, a smart phone – if I did email, that did it.  I took several deep breaths, I tried to remain calm, I eventually replied civilly in the affirmative – and then I snapped.  And took him to task.  He looked baffled.  He had no idea what he’d done, why I was taking umbrage.  He’s probably still baffled.  But if he isn’t, he’ll be a better broker.

Then, the next day, I heard the sad news that Bev Lewis had died, at the age of 71 and my insurance woes were put in their proper place, off the stress list altogether.  Bev, in her quiet, unassuming way, was a pioneer who represented all that’s good about golf, an Essex girl who gave the county a good name, not remotely showy or bombastic but staunch and steadfast, kind and patient, reliable and thoughtful, funny and passionate.  She was the girl who started on the local pitch and putt course and became the first woman to be captain of the PGA, familiar with places like Augusta National.  She bought her first driver from a junk shop; played her first round of golf in open-toed sandals; won the Essex Championship at her first attempt; turned professional as a founder member of the WPGA (now the LET); became its chairman; won a couple of times; became a coach (a PGA Master Professional), a broadcaster, a writer, an after-dinner speaker and a referee.

She wrote the foreword for Dai’s and my version of Teach Yourself Golf and said, “The image of golf is that it’s for the rich, an elitist sport and it just is not.  You know what Ken [her husband] and I see all around us in golf?  We see people having fun, so much fun and that’s what golf can be for everyone.”

Ask people about Bev and they use words like welcoming, helpful, encouraging, generous……Alan Walker, a good friend and himself a captain of the PGA, said, “I will remember her as a beacon for all that is good in a person – someone who always did the right thing, acted with courtesy, humility and professionalism and her enthusiasm for golf and life was overwhelming.  We have lost a beautiful person.”

Our hearts go out to Ken and all Bev’s family and friends.

I’ve come to the conclusion that at times like this the best we can do is enjoy our lives, cherish our family and friends  and do our best to live life to the full.  That might mean sitting in the garden watching the butterflies on the buddleia,  trekking in the Himalayas, hitting Las Vegas or helping out at the local food bank – or all of those things.  Who knows?

Yesterday I played in Whittington Heath’s Captains’ Charity AmAm, in support of Newlife, the charity for disabled children.  It was a beautiful, slightly chilly, breezy morning, the company was good, the golf was pretty good and despite a couple of dodgy holes we ended with 90 points, spot on for the format – two scores to count from four, 90 per cent of handicap, men off the white logs, women off the red with two shots added to their handicap because we’re using the men’s stroke index.  The non-golfers will have left already!  One of the game’s many authorities has an iron rule of thumb for this format:  you’ve got to average five points a hole to have a chance.

Well, we were out early and led for quite a time but in the end we were pipped by a four who finished with what can only be described as an unbelievably theatrical flourish.  The 18th, for reasons that include a new bunker that is destined for another hole, is now a par 5 for the men as well as the women and the winners surged to the top of the leaderboard with an outrageous NINE points on that one, crucial hole.  An eagle 3 and a birdie 4 by guys who both had shots did the job and we were relegated to the runners-up spot by a single point.  Hey ho.

Probably the worst part of my round was losing a precious commodity, a relative rarity – in this country at least.  Bearing in mind the prestigious occasion and the stellar company, I opted to play a new ball and chose one of the Honmas I’d been given at the AGW dinner at Portrush.  Honma’s the Japanese company with a mole in the logo and they make exceedingly expensive clubs – Justin Rose is one of their men – as well as balls.  I was three quarters hoping that the balls were also exceedingly expensive, maybe two or three times more than other balls but that doesn’t seem to be the case, although our pro’s shop doesn’t stock them.  So I just lost a ball, not the crown jewels, when I skited mine off the 7th tee into the ferns in front of my nose.

Our 7th is a longish par 3 and there are bunkers to carry if you’re to make the green.  Mostly I have to take my driver, assiduous gym work notwithstanding and yesterday there was a strong breeze against.  My last swing thought was “I could do with Jordan here” as I attempted my version of a long-drive launch and hurtled the ball off the heel into oblivion.  So much for delusions of distance.

Fortunately, Jordan Brooks, our long drive maestro, did a bit better at the latest World Championship in America and finished third.  He really is world-class.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was reading something the other day and it made me realise that I haven’t a clue, couldn’t even hazard a guess, as to how many courses I’ve played in a long and largely undistinguished golfing life.  Well, that’s not quite true, a lot of the courses and some of the playing partners have been distinguished in the extreme, so perhaps there’s distinction by association….

Anyway, the person who wrote the piece had just chalked up his 750th course and it transpired that there were quite a few of his readers who were galloping towards 1500 and more.  They all seemed to have meticulously documented their rounds, how they’d played, who they’d played with, what the weather was like, how many pitchmarks they’d repaired, the works.  Blimey, how casual had I been!   I used to collect the scorecards, intending to file them neatly but eventually I accepted the inevitable and got rid of all but a few.  There are enough boxes of photographs to sort without adding to the clutter and guilt mountain.

The first course I played will have been the Old Course at Portstewart, the wee course, which is still going and is really the sort of place you should play wearing a helmet.  The first few and last few holes are squeezed into a narrow strip of land between the sea and the main road into town from Portrush and when you’re a beginner or an occasional player, you soon learn what Fore! means and how to shout it loudly and duck quickly.  You wouldn’t be allowed to build it now.

The most recent course I’ve played is Whittington Heath, where, after nine holes, I thought I might be in with a chance of winning the Tripp Trophy.  Who knows where the decent scoring came from?   My training consisted of loading several sacks of soil into the boot of the car to take to the tip post golf.  I must have engaged what passes for my core effectively enough because I was able to walk and swing the next morning.  Perhaps the low expectations helped.  The back nine, as the temperature rose into the highs 20s centigrade, not ideal for someone brought up on Ireland’s windswept north Atlantic coast, saw my scoring rise too.  Triples and doubles proliferated and thoughts of glory evaporated.  Ah well, gallons of tea and an egg mayo sarnie restored what passes for my equilibrium.

I went to the tip via a posh dress shop that I only dare visit during the sales and came away empty-handed, with my credit card and nails intact.  The card survived the rest of the day ok but the nails suffered soil and rubble damage because I’d forgotten to take the gardening gloves with me and dumping all those bags was not a white collar job.  I was revived with tea, wine and chat at the in-laws round the corner – and came away fortified with home-grown string beans and, even better, the best raspberries I’ve had for years.  Janet and David haven’t been wasting their time on the allotment.

Moving on to proper golf, it’s lovely to see that Rory, weighed down with dollars and kudos after his victory at East Lake last week, is playing at Crans-sur-Sierre, giving the Omega European Masters an extra sprinkle of stardust.  I always think of Crans as a magical place.  It was one of Dai’s and my favourite venues – even though I could never quite afford one of the Max Mara coats I coveted.  Rory is there with his wife Erica and her parents and that’s just perfect; it’s that sort of place.  The golf course is right in the middle of things, so if you’re there with a non-golfer, you have no need to worry about them – unless they’ve got your credit card.

Rory, who’s got his sights set on overtaking Brooks Koepka as world No 1, will be playing in the BMW PGA Championship at Wentworth towards the end of next month and has also signed up for the Alfred Dunhill Links Championship the following week.  If you get a chance to see him play in the flesh, do; he’s a special talent. (Which reminds me, I should really be heading up the road to Derby to watch Steve Smith bat for Australia.  He’s another one of a kind.  Ben Stokes, I hope, is having the week off.)

Keeping track of what golf’s on where is a full-time job and hard for a part-timer like me.  Did you know, for instance, that the Astor Trophy is taking place in Canada as I write?   It’s played every four years and when Maureen played in it, it was called the Commonwealth Trophy but that changed and now GB has become GB and I and they’re taking on Canada, Australia (the defending champions), New Zealand and South Africa at Royal Colwood GC in Victoria, British Columbia.  Olivia Mehaffey, Lily May Humphreys, Emily Toy and Alice Hewson sat out the first day but will be in action (foursomes and singles) from now on.  They’re playing South Africa first and I eventually found some details (via randa.org) on something called golfcanada.bluegolf.com.  As for the state of all parties, well, I’m sure I’ll work it out, given time.  It seems to be a thing of the past to start with the day’s results and work from there….

Over in Oregon, many of the world’s best women professionals are playing in the Cambia Portland Classic at Columbia Edgewater Country Club.   A lot of the players are trying to hone their games for the Solheim Cup at Gleneagles next month, including Marina Alex, the defending champion and Suzann Pettersen, whose golf disappeared off the radar after she gave birth to her son more than a year ago.  The Norwegian was champion in Portland in 2013 and 2011, so the vibes should be good.

Closer to home – and gleaming at the top of the page – there’s the Jacques Leglise Trophy (GB and I under-18 boys v Europe) at Aldeburgh Golf Club and the oldish codgers (50 and over) of the Staysure Tour are contesting the Sinclair Invitational at Hanbury Manor Marriott Hotel and Country Club in Hertfordshire, where Joakim Haeggman, the first Swede to play in the Ryder Cup – as one of Bernard Gallacher’s picks at The Belfry in 1993 – is making his senior debut after turning 50 a couple of days ago.

He hasn’t played competitively for several  years and spent time as a sales rep for John Deere in Sweden but decided he’d like to have another go at competitive golf and has been in training since last November.   “It’s great to see everyone again and have a chat,” he said.  “I think the Staysure Tour will offer me a lot of enjoyment, a chance to play golf and hopefully I’ll be able to make a living out of doing this.  I’ve said to myself I’ll play this year and then at least a couple more years, so we’ll see where I get to.”

Good luck Joakim.  Play well.

 

It’s Thursday night and that means it’s blog night and I have to think of something to write.  Mo’s done a tip and I wish I’d read it earlier because I’d like to go and test it out right away but my clubs are all in the locker at the golf club – when you don’t have a garage, your shed is so small and crammed that your bike is in the lounge and your car has a small boot, a locker is a good idea.

The other day we at Whittington Heath all got an email from Mike Raj, our lovely pro, suggesting that we might consider investing in a new set of clubs.  I think it said that after about five years clubs start getting a bit beyond their best and you might consider an update.  I hear that there are people who change their clubs every year – don’t think I know many of them – but when I asked Mike how old my Ping Eye 2 irons might be, we came up with something like 20 years.  They’re classics!

My take is that when you play golf at my lowly level, with a swing speed that barely registers on any known scale and bones that are starting to creak off the scale, it really doesn’t make much difference what you’re using – a manufacturers’ dream NOT.  And it’s probably not true.  Maureen and her mate Gillian went on a coaching course at The Belfry not so long ago and came away astounded at how much difference new wedges made to the quality and accuracy of their pitching.  Apparently, the top men change their wedges every three weeks or so, maybe even more often, so no wonder we can only wonder at their skills……

Anyway, Mo tells me that I’m not to change my clubs until she’s given me a few lessons and sorted out my swing, so I’ll be one of the many members not making Mike a rich man.  Given that most of my lessons are in the garden or on the patio and last less than five minutes, it could be another 20 years before I’m eligible for a new set of clubs.  That’d make me more than elderly, given I last that long.

As usual, there’s lots of golf going on all over the world and I have to admit that for me the least interesting is the stuff that’s going on at East Lake in Atlanta, Georgia, where the big boys (or most of them) are playing in the Tour Championship, the culmination of the FedEx Cup.  They’ve tweaked the format this year but you know what, I really can’t bring myself to care about it, it’s just a load of multi-millionaire golfers playing for shedloads more money, which is great for them – they’re professional players after all and that’s what they do, play for money – but matters not a jot to the rest of us.

I’ve just started reading Matt Cooper’s book about the rise and fall of Tony O’Reilly, the dashing Irish rugby star who became the boss of Heinz, a man of immense talent who over-reached even himself and eventually crashed and burned.  At the height of his powers he travelled the world in a private jet, oblivious to the queues and searches endured by lesser mortals.  It made me think of all our favourite golfers, who’ve got so used to the high life that they may be in danger of treating 15 million dollar first prizes as the norm, just one of those things, just wanting more of everything.  Ah well, at least the game itself, infuriating and unpredictable as it is, may help to keep them grounded.

Pop stars are probably even more stratospheric than golfers but a lot of them are keen on the game – though Alice Cooper used to keep his obsession quiet for fear of ruining his wild man image – and Niall Horan, who’s big in the music business, has undoubtedly confused some of his fans by founding Modest! Golf Management.  They presented the ISPS Handa World Invitational Men|Women at Galgorm Castle Golf Club, in Northern Ireland, where the men and women played in their own events but for the same prize money.

Stephanie Meadow held on for an emotional victory on home turf, finishing one shot ahead of Charley Hull, the highest ranked woman in the field and Jack Senior won the men’s title, beating fellow Englishman Matthew Baldwin in a play-off.  Meadow, who’s had her struggles as a professional, said, “It’s unbelievable to win here really.  I’m so excited and honoured…..to come home and compete at home – and win at home.  It’s very, very special.  Hopefully I can take this win and use this as momentum, it’s big for my confidence.”

Meadow is playing in the CP (Canadian Pacific) Women’s Open in Aurora, Ontario, this week, where Brooke Henderson, the pride of Canada, is defending the title she won last year.  She has no worries beyond playing well but  it’s a particularly tense time for the Americans who are trying to make the Solheim Cup team to play Europe at Gleneagles next month.  This is their last qualifying event and the US captain Juli Inkster has two wild cards in her gift.  She admitted that she’s been having some sleepless nights as she mulls over her options and the next few days are unlikely to be the most relaxing of her distinguished career.

 

 

Perhaps it’s an age thing but I’ve lacked what might be called focus this past week.  Admittedly, focus has never been one of my strong points – I blame my mother for my butterfly mind, flitting here, there and everywhere but at the great age of whatever it is I have just become, it’s a bit of a cop-out to keep blaming your parents, no matter what Philip Larkin might have written.

Belatedly perhaps, I looked up “focus” in my trusty Chambers dictionary – one of those old-fashioned book things – and realised that it was never liable to be one of my strengths.  Here’s a sample:  “a fixed point such that the distances of a point on a conic section from it and from the directrix have a constant ratio (geom); a point in which rays converge after reflection or refraction, or from which…they seem to diverge (optics)…….”.  I never knowingly studied optics but I did once get 75 per cent in a geometry exam and I didn’t cheat; it was a fluke of epic proportions, never to be repeated, though I did pass maths O level in the days when it consisted of separate papers in geometry, algebra and arithmetic.

Eventually, hidden in the small print were the words “to concentrate”.  At last.  That’s what I thought I was meaning.

Does being 3 up with 4 to play and losing the 15th, 16th and 17th indicate a lack of concentration or a lack of skill or a doughty opponent playing well?  Or a combination of all three, plus a lack of fitness?  When you’ve been trying to play golf for as long as I have, you know that anything can happen and take nothing for granted.  Six up at the turn?   All over bar the handshake, surely?  No way.   If I can win six holes in such short order, I’m damned sure my opponent can.  And there was one excruciating occasion when he did.

I was playing one of the brothers-in-law at his home course and was 6 up very quickly, playing gratifyingly well, much to my surprise and delight and his horror.  In those days he wasn’t much of a golfer but he was always a competitor and a grafter – still is – and I wasn’t that good, so he clawed all the holes back and might even have gone 1 up.  I tried not to panic but the situation was dire.

If I lost this match, I’d have to give up golf; there was no way I could ever have appeared on a 1st tee anywhere ever again.  The ignominy was beyond imagining.  He was that bad.

I tried a bit of gamesmanship but, though I’d been well trained in the Stephen Potter dark arts, my heart wasn’t in it, not least because my man, versed in the art of coarse rugby, recognised it for what it was and laughed it off.  I was a woman scorned – and increasingly desperate.  He holed an outrageous putt, downhill, for a par 3 at the 17th and I had to hole a nasty, slippery 5-footer across the slope for a half.  Looking back, it might have been the best putt of my life.

And those Ryder and Solheim Cuppers think only they know what real pressure is!

It was getting dark by this time and, praise be, I won the last because he hoicked his third shot well left of the green into a massive hedge and never found the ball.  Face saved.

I tripped over the missing ball as I made my way to the car park but my conscience remained clear because it was so close to the hedge that it was unplayable; even so it was many months before I returned the ball to its owner……

There’s really nothing as nerve-wracking as matchplay.

James Sugrue, from Mallow, county Cork, who has just won the Amateur Championship at Portmarnock, was 5 up after 9 in the 36-hole final against Euan Walker of Kilmarnock Barassie and 3 up after 18.  By the 33rd hole it was all square and Sugrue admitted he was worried.  However, he regained the lead with a par 4 at the 35th and was conceded the last when Walker got into bother.

The Women’s Amateur at Royal County Down was another tense affair, with Emily Toy, from Carlyon Bay in Cornwall, beating Amelia Garvey of New Zealand by one hole.

Good luck to Toy and the rest of the Great Britain and Ireland team who today take on the Continent of Europe in the biennial Vagliano Trophy at Royal St George’s in Kent.   It’s a big ask for Elaine Ratcliffe and her side because the Europeans have won the last six matches and GB and I last won at Chantilly, near Paris, in 2005.

Bonne chance.