Well, the attempt at dressing up wasn’t necessary and the dearth of black lipstick and a witch’s point to the black hat didn’t matter at all because there wasn’t a single, solitary knock on the door on Halloween, All Hallows’ Eve.  Not a single, solitary trick or treater brightened my door and practising my haka/gurning was all for nothing – confirmed as I struggled to take the selfie and saw with horror that the double and triple chins were massing, no messing….Aaagh.

I rushed to find my copy of Wake Up to Yoga by Lyn Marshall and turned to pages 52 and 53 for instructions on The Lion (roaring) and the Jaw Lift (self-explanatory) but it’s probably too late, too late, as one of our Sweaty friends used to say in an exaggerated Glaswegian accent, to the amusement of us all.  In-jokes always fall flat when you try to explain them [Sweaty Socks=Jocks=Scots=Sweaties, the sort of thing that’s probably not very politically correct but usually quite acceptable between good friends who specialise in insults and would be horrified if anyone took them too seriously.]

Lyn Marshall, who trained as a ballet dancer, was one of many telly fitness gurus, mostly women (remember the Green Goddess), who got us thinking about health and fitness and what was considered, in those far-off days, exotic – things like yoga.  She made it sound simple and achievable – if you couldn’t do the Lotus position, you didn’t have to, you just did what you could.  That’s why I kept the book.  Sadly, Lyn Marshal died of cancer, far too young.  But her spirit lives on.

The fact that I could lay hands on Wake Up To Yoga without scrabbling through umpty-ump boxes and mounds of paper was, surprisingly, entirely down to me.  For some reason, it was in my easily accessible basket, along with my singing (?!) file and a few other things (not including my passport).  It pre-dated Mo’s boot camp at the beginning of this week.  Honest.

It’s time to get my house and affairs in order and I accept that it’s a task that’s beyond me on my own – too much prevaricating, reading, havering, being distracted by gardening, dusting, golfing, shopping, eating, drinking, card dealing, blogging, chatting, almost anything.  Mo, being a professional, is much more disciplined.  She came over for a couple of days and ran a tough regime – Eddie Jones would have approved.  There was down time but no slacking.  No wonder I’m exhausted; the whole thing was emotionally draining as large lumps of my life were chucked into the recycling bin or the shredder and black bin bags.

There were birthday cards, anniversary cards, Valentine cards – Charles Schulz and Beryl Cook were family favourites – wedding cards, engagement cards, condolences cards and letters – thanks again to everyone for their kindness – newspaper cuttings, magazine cuttings, illegible scribblings on scraps of paper, scorecards from golf courses near and far – and we haven’t taken on the photos yet.

In my defence, Dai was probably even more of a squirrel than I am – and he had a 20-year start.  Mo and I did send more than 100 boxes to the archivists at the British Golf Museum in St Andrews but there’s still work to be done.  We’re helped by the fact that most of my notes are illegible – to Maureen certainly – and if decipherable, they’re no longer of interest, even to me……(I exaggerate but not by much……)

Being otherwise engaged, I had to miss out on a couple of AGW events on two of my favourite courses – Delamere Forest and Hoylake (Royal Liverpool).  Congratulations to Rob Perkins, who retained his AGW ETIQUS ‘Race to Hoylake’ Golfer of the Year title and to Derek Lawrenson (of the Daily Mail), who won the AGW Championship for the fourth time (equalling my record!)

Derek, a lefty and a handy golfer – single figures in his heyday, not sure of his current handicap – is a Liverpool supporter who once won a Lamborghini for a hole-in-one.  He lived round the corner from us at the time and drove round so we could admire his prize before he sold it.  He was followed by a guy in a brand, spanking new 4-wheel drive, who’d seen the Lamborghini – it was a sort of aubergine colour – and turned round to follow it down our road.  He didn’t believe us when we told him how Derek had come by it….It’s a great story, which involves Paul Ince and Steve McManaman and you won’t have any difficulty looking it up.

Goodness knows what my golf will be like next time I venture out.  Most of the sorting was done standing up, which may not add anything to the step count but doesn’t count as slothful, so the ageing joints are creaking even more than usual.  Bit like Wales, who seem to be held together by Elastoplast and take on New Zealand in the bronze medal match at the Rugby World Cup in Japan today (Friday).  Then, on Saturday, it’s England v South Africa in the final.  Epic.

Finally, so much for my take on Tiger, who confirmed his amazingness by winning the Zozo in Japan and will probably have to pick himself for the Presidents Cup in Oz.  Will he then hand over the captaincy?

 

It was raining yesterday morning when I got to the golf club, that mizzling stuff that’s not heavy but persistent and very, very good at making you feel damp and miserable.  I used to call it ‘wetting rain’, much to Dai’s irritation.  “All rain is wetting,” he’d say.  So I was gratified when a friend – English, not Irish – described it that way.  I think she also called it “that Welsh rain”, which was even better.  Perfect, really, because Dai, who was born in Crewe, felt very Welsh.

I believe it was a rugby master at school who first called him Dai (the Welsh diminutive of David) and, with a paternal grandfather who was born in Swansea or thereabouts, that was it, the deal was done, the boy was Welsh.  His sister and brother were afflicted differently – they’re English but there’s no accounting for taste.

Dai used to win a lot of rugby bets with an English friend who persisted in backing England during the then Five Nations even though Wales were in their pomp.  Year after year Dai won the money by backing Wales and then, when the tide turned and England started punching their weight and making proper use of their resources, he stopped backing Wales and still won the money.  His friend was aghast, horrified, mega annoyed at this treachery and his failure to win back any of his money.  Where was blind national pride when you needed it!

Well, both England and Wales supporters are in for a nervous weekend, with England playing New Zealand, the defending champions, in the semi-finals of the Rugby World Cup in Japan and Wales playing South Africa.  I’d like Wales to win the whole thing, not because I am, as Dai used to say, Welsh by insertion but simply because they’d be a new name on the trophy but I won’t be putting any money on it.

I’ll have a relatively relaxing weekend because Ireland, world No 1, according to the rankings, a few weeks ago, were taken to the cleaners by the All Blacks, outplayed, mangled, stomped upon, however you want to describe it.  Funnily enough, a hammering is much easier to take than a BBU (brave but unavailing), a narrow loss, where you know there were moments that could have made all the difference….if only, if only.  There were no if onlys for us last weekend.  We could have lost by quite a lot fewer points if we hadn’t made some crass errors – unforced they’re called in tennis but they weren’t unforced, they were forced by the excellence, the relentlessness of the opposition; our minds had turned to mush.  Ah well, given our resources reaching the quarters is pretty good.

Rory McIlroy, a keen rugby fan, was at that match against New Zealand because, in a smart bit of scheduling, he was in Japan to play a skins game against Tiger Woods, Hideki Matsuyama and Jason Day.  Day, an Australian, won most of the money but Rory got to watch the rugby and play a bit of golf with BOD, Brian O’Driscoll, one of Ireland’s greatest ever rugby players.  Nice work, even when Brooks Koepka is reminding you that you haven’t won a major since he came on tour…..

I’m not convinced that Brooks’s jibe, gentle enough though it is, is a good idea.  Rory’s no Tiger, a single-minded obsessive intent on world domination – which he achieved at no little personal cost.  But Rory is a competitor and Brooks might just have ignited a slow-burning fuse.  Let’s hope there are plenty of fireworks for us to enjoy.

At a vastly lower, more or less subterranean level, I once won a long jump competition because one of the other competitors got so far up my nose that I jumped two feet further than I’d ever jumped before.  She had jumped further than anybody else and was going round asking everyone what their best jump was, knowing that she was way ahead of us all.  She was an arrogant little sod and inspired me beyond my capability.  Two feet is a hell of a long way, the sort of improvement that would have the drug testers knocking at the door the next day.  Except that we had no drugs testers at schools level in those days and no drugs cheat would be idiotic enough to improve by that much in one go – surely?

Anyway, I’d like to see Rory win more majors, perhaps even a Masters, though that may be the one that eludes him, simply because he wants it so much.  Barring accidents and injury he’ll be competing for an Olympic medal in Japan next year and he’s confirmed that he’ll be representing Ireland.  Being from Northern Ireland, he could choose GB or Ireland and he avoided making a decision by not competing at the last Olympics in Rio because, he said, of the danger of the Zika virus.  Justin Rose won the gold and the whole event took on a different aura.

Rory has now committed to playing for Ireland, the country he represented throughout his amateur career and the thought of him and Shane Lowry, the Open champion, teaming up is mouth-watering.  Except that Olympic golf is not a team thing – yet.  Individual strokeplay has its place but Olympic golf needs to be different and introducing a team element would be a good idea.  Even better, make it a mixed team event.  You could still have individual events for men and women but a mixed team event would pay more than lip service to the mantra ‘growing the game’.

Japan is a country so golf mad that it inspired Tiger Woods to a first round of 64, six under par, in the Zozo Championship the other day and encouraged all those who think the former world No 1 should choose himself, the US captain, to play in the Presidents Cup in Melbourne in December.  Fine.  If Tiger chooses himself he consigns the Presidents Cup, which is currently less competitive than me against Tiger head to head playing level from the same tees (I exaggerate but not by much) to eternal nothingness, a non-event sans pareil.

Your choice Tiger.

 

 

Quite a few years ago now I played golf with a good friend at Handsworth in Birmingham, home club of the sainted, much-garlanded Bridget Jackson.  We were about half way round when he said, slightly shamefacedly (though I may have misinterpreted his expression):  “You know, you’re the first woman I’ve ever played golf with…..”

“Oh, really?”  I said, fairly non-committally but really I was thinking:  “Blimey, how odd is he?  Weird.”

In my defence, growing up, all the men I knew had played golf with women – well, girls, females of the species – so I’d thought nothing about it; it was just the natural order of things.  Maureen and I played with Dad and his friends in matches where no quarter was given and concessions were rarer than hen’s teeth.  And they could have taught Stephen Potter a thing or two about gamesmanship.  That training has come in useful in matches where the opponent’s attempts at putting you off are so pathetically unsubtle and crude that they almost work because you’re laughing so much…

 

I mentioned Stephen Potter to a friend earlier this week and she looked blank, she’d never heard of him.  Back in the day his manuals on gamesmanship, oneupmanship and golfmanship were required reading – not only for the sneaky ploys and gambits they detailed but also for the laughs and acute observations on the human condition.  See if you can root them out and enjoy their evil genius.  They’re still funny and I had to exercise considerable self-restraint to stop reading after last night’s photo shoot.

Potter does talk a little bit about mixed golf, mainly of the foursomes variety but I suspect that he could have written a whole book about the subject if he’d put his mind to it.  Annika Sorenstam and Henrik Stenson are hosting the Scandinavian Mixed, a tournament for men and women, at Bro Hot Slott Golf Club in Stockholm for three years from June 2020.  It’s co-sanctioned by the European Tour and the LET and is yet another noble effort to persuade people that golf is for everyone.

It is, of course but after the Handsworth revelation, I started paying more attention and realised that my mate was not alone.  It dawned on me that a vast majority of men had never played golf with women and, in fact, many – if not most – of them regarded us as a completely alien species, especially if we pitched up on the fairways.  Not so long ago one of our male members, unforgivably, told one of our older women members, who was just out for a quiet 9 holes with her friends, that she shouldn’t be on the course at all.  I’m not sure that she’s played since.  Unfortunately, she didn’t discover his name so he got away with the sort of bullying that should be completely unacceptable and beyond the pale.  He deserved a suspension.

At Whittington we women have our competition day on a Tuesday and the tee is booked until 1130.  The men, most of whom play most days, are massing well before then, pawing the ground, anxious to be off and doing their very best to intimidate the women out last – usually the older members who are just out for 9 holes.  Do the men give them a decent start and leave them in peace, secure in the knowledge that they only have to restrain themselves for 9 holes?  Do they buggery.  Their behaviour is rude and discourteous in the extreme and they should be ashamed of themselves.

I’m thinking of booking the last tee time from now on….

All this is leading up to the sad admission that the Seniors beat – well, mangled more like – the Ladies’ Captain’s team in our annual match on Monday.  We’ve tried tinkering with the format but they almost always win – I think we’ve had one halved/tied/drawn match – and this time our last pair prevented the whitewash by halving their match.   Those of us who’d been hammered were cock-a-hoop!  Phew.  Humiliation only.  Not total annihilation.  We played better ball stableford matchplay, with the men playing off their card and us playing off ours.  In the past that had proved quite an equitable system, with most of the matches quite close but there wasn’t much close about the latest encounter.  The only conclusion to draw is that we didn’t play well enough!

The next day, it was the Ladies’ President’s team versus the Ladies’ Captain’s team and that was a draw!  It was also historic in its way because, if the new club constitution is passed, there won’t be another ladies’ prez; it’ll be the end of an era.

Congrats to Helen Alfredsson, the inimitable Alfie, the US Senior Women’s Open champion, who kept on her major roll with victory in the Senior LPGA Championship at French Lick, Indiana, on Wednesday.  The Swede was the only player to finish under par, on 214, 2 under and finished three strokes ahead of Juli Inkster, back in playing action after being the US captain (non-playing) at Gleneagles last month.

It was a less successful, if possibly record-breaking, championship for Lee Anne Walker.  “I may have made the Guinness Book of World Records,” she said after racking up 58 (FIFTY-EIGHT) penalty shots over two rounds.  Walker hasn’t played competitively for a few years and she – and her caddy – hadn’t twigged that the caddy is not allowed to line the player up any more (unless the player moves away after being helped with alignment).  It’s rule 10.2b apparently.  Walker’s playing partners on the first day didn’t notice anything untoward but on the second day people were more observant and mentioned the infringement on her 5th hole.  After consultation,  officials decided that Walker had incurred 42 penalty shots on day one and 16 on day two, giving her scores of 127 and 90. (Walker was not disqualified for signing for an incorrect scorecard  because she didn’t realise she’d broken any rules – rule 3.3b.)

“What can you do…?” Walker said, speaking to Doug Ferguson of Associated Press.  “It was my fault for not knowing the rules.  I don’t have anyone to blame but myself.  Big lesson learned.”

Finally, Suzann Pettersen and her son Herman are the featured pic because the Norwegian, who holed the putt that won Europe the Solheim Cup at Gleneagles last month, has written a moving and heartfelt letter to her son about the whole emotional occasion, her last act as a tournament professional.  It’s wonderful and you can find it on lpga.com, ladieseuropeantour.com and various other .coms.  It’s well worth a read but keep the hankies handy.

 

 

The nights are drawing in, it’s getting a bit chilly and here in Lichfield some of the trees are being wrapped up warm (see above) but a lot of us golfers are looking ahead, thinking about renewal, out with the old, in with the new.

A while ago Maureen told me that I wasn’t to buy any new clubs until she’d given me a few lessons in an attempt to sort out what passes for my swing.  I suppose I’d mooted retiring my Ping Eye 2s, irons that are now classics if not quite old enough to be genuine antiques.  These days my golf bag is enormous – twice as many pockets as anyone needs, ideal for misplacing all manner of items from hats to waterproofs to car keys to purses and engendering any number of unnecessary minor panics – but it only has to accommodate 10 clubs.

In practice, out on the golf course, I rarely use more than 7 of those clubs on a regular basis.  My 5-iron is useful for keeping the divot bag hanging at a handy height; the 8-iron is pressed into service now and again; and the pitching wedge, a Norman Drew special, is lucky to see a ball from one week to the next.  My most used club, apart from my long-suffering putter, is a hybrid (22 degrees of loft apparently).  It is looking a little the worse for wear because I have nothing between it and the 7-iron, so it is overworked, fiddling and finagling its way around the golf course to the bafflement of people who can hit irons properly.

Anyway, now that Mo is taking the plunge and updating her battle irons – well, wee skirmishes are more the order of her current forays on the fairways – she has conceded that technology has moved on and even I will benefit from some modern equipment.  I’ve paid my subs for the coming year, so, all being well, golf’ll be on the agenda for another 12 months and there’s no reason not to make an effort to play better.  I’ll miss the hybrid but if Henrik Stenson has retired the trusty, much-loved 3-wood that brought him so much success (including the Open at Troon after that final round battle royal with Phil Mickelson), who am I to argue with the march of progress?

Stenson is playing in the Houston Open this week and for those of you of a technical bent, his new club is a Callaway Epic Flash Sub Zero 3-wood.  It replaces a Callaway Diablo Octane Tour 3-wood that came out in 2011 and Stenson remained devoted to the same model until his latest version caved in at Wentworth last month.  You can read all about it on pgatour.com, including details of the Project X HZRDUS Yellow prototype shaft, painted blue for Stenson, who said, with a refreshing lack of jargon, “The old stuff is out and the new stuff is in.”

At a slightly lower level (but only slightly), a friend, a good golfer, a former international, who’s recently retired, is living up to her promise to start playing more golf and went for a couple of club fittings.  It was Titleist first and though she liked the clubs, she couldn’t stomach the fitter.  “He treated me as if I was a little woman who just wanted a clever man to sort me out!  Ugh!”

The Taylormade day was a totally different experience:  “The young chap talked me through the difference in shafts, showed me the Trackmaster readings and so on.  Very interesting.  At the end of the session I thanked him and he said that he really enjoyed it!”

Guess which clubs she’ll be playing for the foreseeable future!

Not much use being a technically clued up salesperson if you’re clueless when it comes to the people you’re dealing with.  A bit of a glitch in the customer service training programme perhaps.

Talking of glitches, my passport hasn’t turned up yet and the other day I was reminded that I probably had the AGW Trophy tucked away somewhere since I’d won it last year.  It can’t be that time, already, surely?  A year since being blown to blazes by the mighty winds of Hoylake?  But it was and I couldn’t remember if I had the trophy or not.  I checked and no one else had it, so it was down to me and the search commenced in earnest.  There was no reason to panic, not really, because this year’s comp isn’t until the end of the month and we’re only just into double figures.

I kept calm and carried on looking – and there it was, at the back of a cupboard stuffed with stuff.  It was a bit grubby but it’s polishing up nicely, although many years of wear and tear have ensured that it’s not as silvery as it used to be.  Distinguished I’d call it.  The golf writers have been playing for it since 1961 – first winner Ben Wright – but it was first presented in 1931.  The original inscription is a bit faded and battered but reads:  “Low Nut Trophy Presented To The National Open To Suspicion Champion By Golfdom Johnny Walker Cup Tournament 1931.  Won by FJC Pignon at Scioto, Ohio, on June 25th 1931.”

Fred worked for the Daily Mail and was one of the founder members of the AGW.  I don’t have my name on many trophies but I’m inordinately chuffed that it’s on this one four times – or will be when the engraver’s done his or her work.  Must have found my level.

And before I forget, hearty congratulations to Leona Maguire and Stephanie Meadow, who have secured their LPGA tour cards for next season, terrific stuff.  Wishing them both continued success and perhaps we’ll have an Irishwoman – or two – on the next Solheim Cup team……

 

One last thing, we’ve had a few requests for a larger and darker typeface and the blog, as ever, is open to suggestions.  All help gratefully received.