Faithful readers of this blog will be aware that I’m a great fan of a list….. on most occasions.  To-do lists are fine but others can be dangerous and leave you wide open – as was the case in my blog last week when, off the top of my head, I attempted to name Welsh winners on the Ladies’ European Tour.  I did flag up that this was perhaps a little foolhardy.

Kirsty Taylor, who used to play on tour, obviously agrees as she was good enough to get in touch and say, “What about Lydia who won on tour, Mo?”

Aaagh!  Lydia Hall, aka Boom Boom, one of my all-time favourites from Wales and yet I overlooked her!  Senior moment par excellence and cue grovelling and eating of humble pie.  No more lists must be the mantra going forward.  In a futile attempt to make up for this appalling oversight Lyds deserves her own picture in this week’s offering.

Last Thursday was a bit of a red-letter day in that my regular “Tuesday Four” met and had nine holes and lunch.  It was the first time the four of us had been on a golf course together since October 2021 before Mr Covid came calling.  It was a lovely, bright, fresh day and reversing time and turning the clock back was just lovely.  The intervening couple of years have not been kind to us all and respite from the daily grind is a real tonic.  The hot news is that one of our number has been appointed Lady Captain for the 2025 season so plenty of time to practise our curtseys and forelock tugging.  After that we’ll no doubt be handing out our usual unasked-for advice!

Rumours abound at the moment that Jon Rahm (at top) is being wooed by LIV golf for much gold.  The little matter of a $600 million dollar signing-on fee is being mooted.  After two years of declaring he was more invested in winning majors and creating his own legacy, Rahm and his camp have gone quiet.  And, I suppose, who can blame them as they consider their options?  I’m hoping he turns them down, but won’t be surprised if he doesn’t.

If Rahm does accept I shall just fall another little bit out of love with the game that I grew up with.  There is more money in the sport now than ever before but, to my mind, that doesn’t equate to golf being in a “healthy” position.  Obnoxious greed is trumping all at the moment and we are fast losing any grip we ever had on an honest, competitive environment that rewards performance alone.

I wonder how many of you have ever heard of the PIP – the Player Impact Program on the PGA Tour?  You’ll find no mention of it on their website and news of it usually comes via a leak to the media.  This year there was a pot of $100 million dollars – yes, $100 million – to be distributed among twenty players.  These twenty are identified in a nebulous sort of way and awarded points based on how many favourable internet searches and articles they generate, how many fans they attract to a venue or encourage to tune in to a broadcast.  The crux of it all is favourable fan awareness of the PGA Tour and its products through these players.  Rory finished top of the list and scooped fifteen of that $100 million pot, while Tiger, who hasn’t played since he withdrew from the third round of the Masters last April, was second – worth a mere twelve million.

I suppose in the face of the competition from LIV it is a way the PGA can guarantee their “needle-movers” a reward no matter how (or, indeed, if) they play.  For an organisation like the tour, however, it’s surely pretty galling for the rest of the membership to have such a huge amount of money syphoned off and distributed for something other than skill in their chosen sporting arena.  The Tour is in danger of being accused of creating sycophantic disciples purporting all is well and rosy in happy clappy PGA Tour land.  And if Rory and Tiger avow they are not swayed in their views by the existence of the PIP, then surely there’s no need to have it anyway?  Throw the dosh in the pot and play for it – that’s what golfers used to do, remember?

The integrity is oozing out of the game at a brisk pace.  Economy with the truth, lack of transparency and U-turns abound along with the awful realisation that our men’s professional golf tours are in danger of mirroring the murky world inhabited by many of our politicians.  And “murky” is exactly the term Tiger Woods used when asked earlier this week what he thought the future of men’s professional golf was likely to be.

So, hopefully, Jon Rahm will restore my faith in human nature a little and prove that some folk do understand what the word “enough” means – as in “I already have enough money”.  And I fervently hope the women’s tours don’t become any further involved with Saudi money than they already are.

I’m not holding my breath.

There’s probably not going to be much golf in this dispatch but I loved the happy, smiley picture of Tommy Fleetwood, so thought I’d better start with him.  This was taken, by Getty Images, as Fleetwood was preparing for the Nedbank Golf Challenge at Gary Player Country Club in Sun City, South Africa, hoping to win the title for the third time in a row.  He started with a round of 71, five behind Nicolai Hojgaard, Max Homa, Vincent Norrman and Dan Bradbury.

Last Monday night I went to the football, to watch Spurs v Chelsea, only my second visit of the season.  My Chelsea-supporting mate was at a low ebb, depressed by his team’s inability to score and his prediction was 4-1 to Spurs.  Well, he got the score right but it was his lot wot won it.  It was  beyond bonkers.

It was all go from the start, with us scoring in the 5th or 6th minute – at my end no less – and then going 2-nil up, or so we thought.  The dreaded VAR (video assistant referee) kicked in and ruled that it was offside – by a fraction from the look of it.  From then on it was total mayhem, with more goals disallowed, two for Chelsea, handball and offside; a red card issued (Romero of course); penalty given and scored, though our goalie got his hands to it; and a general air of chaos and no love lost; two of our best players went off injured but there was still hope.  Cool heads were in short supply and the Chelsea numpties surely couldn’t keep a full complement on the field….

As it turned out, it was another Spurs numpty (Auld Scots for idiot, eejit) who was sent off, so we were down to nine men and they still had eleven.  The Spurs nine performed heroically but eventually even Chelsea worked out how to make the advantage count and scored a second just as I was leaving.  They’ve brought the last train forward by half an hour, so with all the added minutes I couldn’t afford to hang about any longer.

I hate leaving early – it’ll have to be the coach for these late games from now on – and as I was going down the stairs to the exit there was an almighty roar.  No!  We couldn’t have equalised, could we?  Well, turns out we had, a cracker from an unlikely source (Eric Dier) but VAR ruled it offside.  We had a couple of other chances too but Chelsea cracked it in the end.

A friend who was watching at home (not from behind the sofa, not a Spurs supporter) confirmed that there were more than twenty additional minutes  in all and most of the offside decisions were tight, so that didn’t help.  She praised our fighting spirit and the team got a standing ovation at the end!  After losing 4-1 to one of our deadliest rivals!

Even leaving early I got my money’s worth and it was hugely enjoyable in a macabre sort of way but who knows what sort of toll it’ll take.

At singing on Thursday we got told off for neglecting our homework and we’ll have to work harder if we want a standing ovation at our concert next year.  Edelweiss and Can’t Help Falling In Love are particularly tricky and a quick run through just before leaving for the session (so I could say I’d done some homework) won’t be enough.  Oops.  Is breaking the habits of a lifetime all in the mind?  Or is it physical?  Like putting the bum on the seat whenever it’s time to write?

As a NIP (nothing in particular), which is a step or two up from a SATBAM (stand at the back and mimer), I’m with the men and the tenor ladies, on the end, almost in the car park, where there’s a digger that’s more tuneful than I am.  Even so, our rendition of Can’t Help Falling In Love, with its confusion of notes, gave me goosebumps.  There’s hope for us yet.

Noel Fitzpatrick, aka the Supervet, was in evangelical form in Wrexham last week and his mission is to encourage us all to bring more love into the world, the unconditional kind that comes so naturally to other animals.  Mainly dogs and cats I think he means.  Anyway, it’s a big job but it’s surely worth the effort, even if we fail.

Mo was talking about the joys of winter golf last week and I came across this perfect illustration.  What better way to end.  Note the wee bags.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The rowan tree in my garden, planted to commemorate Mum, lost nearly all its leaves overnight this week (top pic) and another storm warning is on the horizon.  The clocks have gone back, Halloween has come and gone, and we are now inhabiting the half-twilight zone known as November.

While the dry-leaf carpet beneath our feet may bring out the inner, kicking kid in us, it all too quickly becomes a hazardous, slippery mush for those of us of a certain age.  When we were young, we “fell”.  Now, we “have a fall”.  What a world of difference between those descriptions of a tumble.

It’s important for us to stay on our feet, not least because the winter golf season has well and truly arrived.

Now, some of you will no doubt put the clubs in mothballs until the clocks spring forward and the temperatures start rising.  Others, however, will embrace winter golf and all its quirkiness.  At courses where the going becomes soft underfoot the dreaded edict “no trolleys, no carts” will soon be seen, if it hasn’t already, plastered over various notice boards. The annual great dilemma is set to surface.

Just what clubs will we carry in our pencil bags?  And how can we possibly be expected to play with fewer than fourteen clubs?  It seems of little consequence that most players hardly ever use their full complement of weaponry, preferring to stick to their favourites.  Cries of indignation will still ring through the locker rooms over this issue, I’m sure.

I’ve always loved winter golf, mainly because throughout my life I have mostly had a links or sand-based course at my disposal.  It was always possible for me to shuffle round in my carpet slippers if I so desired (and the dreaded dress rules allowed!) and the joy of only having half a dozen clubs to choose from has always been totally liberating.  My five-club choice tended to be – a five wood, a 5-iron, an 8-iron, a gap wedge and putter.  Sometimes, if playing with six clubs, I’d take a 3-wood, a rescue, a 6-iron, a 9-iron, a sand-iron and a putter.  That way you could keep an acquaintance with the majority of your set.

We are all told golf is played in the mind and it certainly takes a particular mind-set to enjoy winter golf in this country.  It’s a given you will never have the “right” club in your hand, so embrace the versatility you are being forced into acquiring.  It really will make you a better player.  You’ll be forced to experiment, try different lengths of backswing, different swing speeds – perhaps lots of stuff you’ve previously avoided.  It’ll certainly get you back to PLAYING the game of golf again as opposed to playing “how to swing the club”.

It’s likely to be cold, too – no, it’ll DEFINITELY be cold, so even slow coaches will speed up;  many greens will have less-than-their-best surfaces so we can legitimately be kinder to ourselves when the putts veer off;  and club selection is oh-so-easy when only carrying half a dozen sticks.  Frequently, nine holes suffice and then it’s into the warmth of the clubhouse (someone else’s electricity pounding away!) and the opportunity for a good catch-up chat or the chance to put the world to rights.  What’s not to like?

I am making plans for my own winter participation in this sport I love.  Since last week’s musings I have been up to my club, Delamere Forest, to hit a few balls on the range, endeavouring to hang on to the momentum generated by my trip to Scotland to play my first nine holes with Gillian Stewart a couple of weeks back.  I have found that, for me, having stuff in the diary (albeit spaced out) is key.  To this end I have a couple of golf days inked in, including a trip next month to a very great friend down in Porthcawl.  My car is not going to know what’s going on, having been pretty much on its holidays for the last two years.

Slightly changing tack, I have to admit to not having watched one single televised golf shot since returning home from the Ryder Cup a month ago.  Even I need a break from it all and I do feel we sometimes drown in wall-to-wall repeats and highlights reels of one sort or another.  In this izzy-whizz world I’m beginning to find a blank screen enormously attractive.

In fact, this evening the sister and I will be exchanging an evening in front of the box for an evening in theatreland in the company of the supervet, Noel Fitzpatrick.  I know that Mary McKenna saw him a few years ago and thoroughly enjoyed her evening so I’m hoping this’ll be the same.

In the meantime, the windows are tear-drenched and rattling so it’s not even a day to venture out for a few holes of winter golf, no matter how invigorating or good for us it may be.  No, be sure to choose your days for that activity wisely and on other occasions be prepared to batten down the hatches.

Winter is here.

As I sat down to write this ultra-considered piece I promised myself and by extension my reader that de-cluttering would not get a mention but the truth is that I’m obsessed, so so much for good intentions and welcome to the Boris Johnson school of promises.  At the moment the long road to a tidy, organised home and freedom from extraneous stuff fills my every waking minute.

As I hope you can see from the picture at the top of the blog, a brave new world of clarity and space awaits.  The sofa bed is open for business, so to speak.  To reach it without having to clamber over numerous boxes and to be able to sit on it without having to throw piles of paper onto the floor – or as near the floor as possible – was bliss.  Instead of closing the door and pretending all was well, I left the door open and stood grinning inanely at the sight of a rediscovered, newly hoovered carpet.

Pathetic?  Probably.  But a joy nonetheless.

There’s still work to do, as you can see and it’ll involve a lot of reading and sorting but I can’t follow the advice of one reader, who recommended a skip and a ruthless attitude.  It’ll be the Moyra McElderry method for me.  She wrote: “Please put all those lovely letters, articles and photos in a file…very therapeutic if time consuming but I’m sure you’ll have a lot of smiles along the way.”

And a few tears as well no doubt.

It was Dai’s birthday a few days ago and I found some of his diaries dating back to 1965.  Little tiny things that I, with my sloppy, sprawling scrawl, couldn’t cope with in a million years.  They won’t be going anywhere near a skip, not on my watch anyway.

Of course, the trouble with having cuttings and books all over the place, safely on their shelves or on the floor, is that one has an overwhelming temptation to read.  And since I’d been listening to the news on radio 4 and 5 Live, I jumped at the chance to cheer myself up in the company of Pooh, Piglet, Roo, Eeyore – well maybe not Eeyore, the determinedly depressive donkey – and company.  What a delight.

On the golfing front, Adrian Meronk, who was so unlucky not to be Poland’s first Ryder Cup player this year, won again, for the third time this season and the fourth time in 15 months.  He had two eagles in a final round of 66, six under par, to win the Estrella Damm N.A. Andalucia Masters at Real Club de Golf Sotogrande by one shot from Matti Schmid of Germany.

There aren’t many things Annika Sorenstam hasn’t done in golf and now she’s become a member of Augusta National.  They don’t usually discuss such things -“that’s club business, ma’am” is the stock answer – but Fred Ridley, the chairman, couldn’t help himself this time.  After all, Annika is quite a catch and will be more than a match for most of her fellow members on the course.

“…I am very excited about Annika,” Ridley said.  “…I’ll just say that.  She is a delightful person.  As you know, we have a number of women members and have for quite a few years.  I think it made us a better club and they are an integral part of our culture.”

Congrats to Annika – and her family, who’ll be able to enjoy the odd round or two on one of the world’s most cosseted courses.

Just by the by, it ill behoves an institution that has morphed from being simply a members’ club into one of the most influential bodies in world golf to be so secretive.  Control freakery rules OK?

I managed to find my way onto the golf course on Tuesday and although it was damp under foot, the rain held off and my partner Pauline and I had a respectable enough score in the greensomes – not last anyway – but a long way from the winning score of 45 points, an amazing effort.

On Sunday, several of us groupies of the City of Lichfield Concert Band went to hear them perform in Lichfield Cathedral and the old joint was jumping.  The concert was called Around the World and was performed under the world, a massive installation called Gaia by Luke Jerram.  It’s seven metres in diameter and features 120 dpi detailed NASA imagery of the Earth’s surface.  To quote further:  “The artwork is 1.8 million times smaller than the real Earth with each centimetre of the internally lit sculpture describing 18 kilometres of the Earth’s surface.  By standing 211 metres away from the artwork, the public will be able to see the Earth as it appears from the moon…”

Whatever the technicalities, it’s pretty awesome.