Here we go again.

The blog has been in hibernation for seven weeks because, frankly, we needed a break even though in some parts of the world professional golf has continued relentlessly all through December and January.  Players were plying their trade in proper tournaments down in Australia and South Africa while others kicked back in the more relaxed atmosphere of Tiger’s bash, the Hero World Challenge, which only has a handful of invited players – twenty, to be precise.  There’s no cut, a million dollars to the winner and north of $150,000 to the last place finisher.  No thanks.  Well, no thanks to watching, but yes please to being one of the twenty.

There’s also Rory and Tiger’s TGL team thing which I must confess I can’t quite get into.  It seems to be fun for the players involved but, for me, it doesn’t quite cut the mustard as a great spectator sport.  I’d rather watch The Traitors.

By the way, the calendar at the top is Mary McKenna’s Christmas present to me, packed with a dozen of her spectacular photos.  You may well see more of them throughout the year.

At last, however, the merry-go-round that is this humble blog has had its first gentle push (from some of you sending texts demanding to know when would Friday mornings again herald a new post) and the machinery is slowly but surely gathering pace after a welcome snooze.

There hasn’t been much snoozing by Scottie Scheffler, the world No 1, who looks set to hang on to that title for quite some time.  He last played a regular PGA Tour event back in September which, of course, he won.  That was two weeks before the Ryder Cup.  Seems eons ago, doesn’t it?

Well, Scottie sallied out last week in his first full-field event in over four months – and won.  Quite easily, in fact.  The newly-minted American Express champion seems to like La Quinta and playing in the Californian desert.  Much of the coverage was declaring that for Scheffler it was business as usual but, early and all as it is in the year, I think there’s something different about him this season.  I think he’s better than ever.

That’s a scary thought for everyone else and who’d bet against the Texan joining the Grand Slam winners’ enclosure in June after the US Open?  We waited 25 years for Rory McIlroy to become member number six.  There will only be a gap of fourteen months if Scottie wins his national Open to become member number seven of that elite club.  And let’s not forget that Jordan Spieth could beat him to it by winning the PGA Championship in May………but, somehow, I don’t have the same sense of inevitability about that particular scenario unfolding.  Time will tell.

I’m delighted to bring heartwarming Welsh news to my first blog of the year.  A couple of weeks ago Lydia Hall nervelessly rattled in an 18-footer on the last green to win the Vic Open on the Australasian Tour by four shots.

A native of Bridgend, Lydia is now 38 years of age and I’ve been a huge fan of her game since I first met her when she was 13.  She was a contemporary of some wonderful young Welsh talent at the time – think Solheim Cup player Becky Brewerton and Curtis Cup player Breanne Loucks.  They pulled the best from each other and benefitted from being nurtured by Wales’s wonderful captain and manager, the late Sue Turner.  How proud Sue was of them early in their careers – and how thrilled she’d have been to witness all their achievements, as am I.

More Welsh news thudded in to my inbox with the announcement of the appointment of Julie Thomas as incoming Wales Golf President.  Julie follows in the not inconsiderable footsteps of Andy Ingram, former Walker Cup captain, but I know she’ll bring her own special energy and pizazz to the role.  She will be the only president to have represented her country at every single level, from junior international right through to senior international, spanning more than four decades.  In fact, with her playing and captaincy records for county and country and with volunteering and refereeing duties under her belt, Julie continues the long line of wonderful officials produced by the Principality.  The decade plus I had working with the then Welsh Ladies’ Golf Union was one of the most enjoyable and rewarding spells of my career and it’s a joy for me to see the accomplishments of so many that I knew from back in the day.

But, let’s just set the record straight here before you think I’ve swapped the shamrock for the dragon.  I’m a huge Welsh golf supporter, but with the Six Nations rugby about to start next week I’ll be wearing the green through and through.  Apparently we take on France in Paris next Thursday.  Thursday???  Must be the great god television calling the shots there, I think, as I don’t recall there being a Thursday match before.  Wales don’t get under way until the Saturday when they travel down to Twickers [now, officially, the Allianz Stadium  -ed], so we both have daunting opening matches in the campaign.

Throughout the turn of the year I’ve still tried to get out a couple of times a week with the old Nordic Walking poles and below is a snap taken during one of the walks around my local lanes.  Daffodils in bud used to signal the Sunningdale Foursomes (played in late March) for me.  I took this on January 25th (Burns night).

Who says there’s no such thing as global warming?

Hello.

Is there anybody out there?

Maureen and I hope so because madillgolf is back – for a while at least – and we’d like to wish our friends a happy new year and hope you’re ready and willing to start reading again.

Bearing in mind that Mo insists that this blog is about golf, I’m going to start with that, though as many of you know I don’t necessarily agree with the sister’s assessment.  I do, however, read a lot of stuff about golf, in fact my inbox is so stuffed that the other day I unsubscribed from National Club Golfer, shock, horror.

I may well relent but in a fit of irritation at how long it was taking me to find a piece – highlighted in the email – about some novel ruling or other, I decided I’d had enough of all the noise and needed a break.  There are only so many opinions a woman of diminishing brain can take in, so many podcasts she can earmark to listen to (and never does) and so many bloody annoying ads she can try to ignore, then delete and find herself accessing because she’s missed the teensy-weensy little x that’s up in the right-hand corner, requiring a Luke Littler-like control of the cursor to hit the bullseye….You get my drift.

Anyway Scottie Scheffler – remember the name – roared back on tour with a commanding victory.  He probably won’t win every event he plays in but I won’t be betting against him and after reading one of my favourite blogs (not about to be banished any time soon) I won’t be spending my time matching his achievements up against those of Tiger Woods or anybody else from the past…Promise.

Jim McCabe, who spent many years on the golf beat for the Boston Globe, writes Power Fades, aka A New Englander’s Take on Golf, celebrating his enduring love for the game.  It comes out every Wednesday and is a real treat.  He’s an unashamed Scheffler fan (hard not to be) and counsels:  “….you can marvel and embrace the brilliant story that Scottie Scheffler is still very much working on.  Let it breathe, let it play out, let it grow even more marvelously [sic – he is American after all].  And let it stand alone and not be held up to comparisons.  It’s way too good for that.”

Well, I doubt we’ll stop comparing but one of the reasons I wanted to mention Jim’s piece this week is because he used a favourite photo of his that I couldn’t resist sharing – hope that’s OK, Jim.

Oh, if you do head over to have a look at powerfades.com, don’t forget to read the front 9 musings, great fun and often thought-provoking.  There’s always a golf course sign, snapped in the wild but I haven’t seen one of my favourites – yet.  Admittedly, it’s a very old cartoon, unearthed from Dai’s treasures, so who knows if it’s just a figment of the imagination…

And, of course, there’s this, a genuine sign that used to be on the wall in the car park of the old clubhouse at Whittington Heath GC.  I had hoped that it was a nice metal one but it’s just cheap plastic, so no one minded when I liberated it when everything was demolished and we moved down the road (and round the corner).  It’s now above my front door, much to some people’s horror….and my amusement.

Moving back to more serious stuff, I was watching a bit of the European golf from Bahrain where the afternoon brigade had to deal with a swirling wind that made scoring tricky.  Dad, raised on the breezes in the west of Ireland, would have insisted on calling it a zephyr and tut-tutted at those who thought there was a problem.  It was great to see Andrew Johnston, affectionately known as Beef, back in action and playing well.  He took time out for a while, having found, like so many talented sports people (and others), that life in the spotlight was hard to cope with.  Here’s to many more good rounds and happy times.

As you can see, the quality of many of the illustrations still leaves something to be desired but if they raise a smile or two, they’ll have done their job.  The budget doesn’t rise to a dedicated photographer, illustrator, art editor and if you want a partner when you’re playing Pictionary (ghastly game), don’t come looking for me.  We played it once, a few Christmases ago and my team and I were lapped – probably more than once – by friends and family crowing with delight and showing no mercy.  Never again.  No artistic talent here.

Just in case you’re wondering, the featured pic (the wee thing at the top of the piece, all being well technically) was a pressie from a friend, a drinks mat that she thought came close to summing me up, she said.  Admittedly, I am inclined to bop about, without much rhythm, at every opportunity but two spinning ceilings and one lost Saturday many years ago ensured that I rarely drank to excess again.  Honest.

Of course, it all depends on your definition of excess but I like to remember Harry Vardon’s response when he was approached by a persistent member of the Temperance Society.  “Madam,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height.  “I have never knowingly been beaten by a teetotaller.  Now, I bid you good day.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pete the Postman looked a bit weary as he stood on the doorstep delivering yet another package ordered in the pre-Christmas frenzy.  It was a wet morning – again – and he’d had to slalom his way to the door through the builders’ vans and paraphernalia that cluttered my drive but he was doing his best to take the long view and remain unfrazzled by the razzle-dazzle.

It’s a hectic time of year for most of us but especially for posties and Pete took the time to explain that he was deliberately trying to slow himself down a bit, take his time, concentrate on his breathing, keep calm and carry on delivering.  He’d be keeping his heart rate down, giving added meaning to the phrase poste restante…

Good thinking, Pete, my sentiments exactly.  It’s so easy to get caught up in the rush, rush, rush, swirling around in a panic, driving yourself dizzy and forgetting to breathe.  Just before our chat I’d been thinking about that very subject and had picked out another couple of words that fitted the bill, from Susie Dent’s book Roots of Happiness.

The first was “seijaku” (pronounced say-yak-u), a Japanese word which evokes serenity and stillness, describing “a moment of healing that can be found, particularly in nature, when we stop and breathe for a little while”.  Luckily for Pete, a lot of his route is close to Beacon Park, voted one of the best small parks in England.

The next word is “gongoozler” and probably wouldn’t help Pete on his rounds but would be ok for days off, not least because they’re often when we rush around the most.  Susie says that “gongoozlers like nothing better than sitting and watching other people being busy on a canal or a river.  Their name is probably based upon an old British word ‘gawn’, meaning to ‘stare lazily at something’…”

Oops.  Guilty as charged; there I was, staring dreamily at nothing in particular.  At this rate, I’ll still be up in time to dot between the Ashes from Brisbane and the Australian Open golf from Royal Melbourne.

Now, all of you golfers and golf fans out there, answer me this:  how on earth do you keep up with everything, with all the podcasts and stuff?  I’m overwhelmed simply by reading one newsletter, The Quadrilateral by Geoff Shackleford.  He covers a lot of ground, including some PGA Tour stuff, with Tiger at the heart of it; mentions the Hero World Challenge, featuring Scottie Scheffler back in action; the Nedbank Golf Challenge in South Africa, with Viktor Hovland headlining; and the Aussie Open at Royal Melbourne, the undoubted star of the show despite the stellar presence of Rory McIlroy.  What a golf course.

Geoff describes it as “majestic” and says, “It offers the best reminder of what pro golf at its best looks like…”  He and Lawrence Donegan, a man of myriad talents who was once golf correspondent of The Guardian (and whose son Niall Shiels Donegan, born in Glasgow, raised in California, played for GB and I in the Walker Cup at Cypress Point earlier this year), have a podcast on the subject:  McKellar Golf Podcast 141 The Royal Melbourne Edition.

It’s on my list to listen to – only one hour 16 mins of my life – and I’m sure I’ve said this before:  if you have a chance to play Melbourne’s Sandbelt courses, don’t hesitate:  it’s golfing heaven.  Royal Melbourne has the East and West (the Open is on a composite of the two) but Kingston Heath shouldn’t be missed and there’s Victoria (Peter Thomson, who won The Open five times, was a member), Yarra Yarra, The Metropolitan, Commonwealth, Huntingdale….Bliss.

No wonder the Australians have always been good at golf.

A point to note is that Rory had a 72 in tricky, windy conditions and Eddie Pepperell, The Chipping Forecast’s touring pro, whose approach to the game could fairly be described as idiosyncratic, had a 68.  Try and make space to listen to him talk about his preparations…The man’s a marvel.

For some reason that made me think of Constitution Hill, a very good horse, a former champion hurdler no less, who is obviously having some sort of crisis of confidence.  He won his first ten races but has now fallen three times in four races, including his latest, at Newcastle.  Seemingly in the best of nick, looking terrific at home, he fell at the second.  Shock, horror all round.  Horse and jockey were fine but Constitution Hill’s connections were beyond baffled.

So, just how do you read a horse’s mind?  Understanding a Pepperell, for instance, is tricky enough but at least he is articulate and can put his thought processes – or some of them – in to words.  Presumably Constitution Hill was happy to go to the race course, to go to the start and set off, tackling jumps that were well within his compass until he decided that they weren’t.  He didn’t do a sainted Alice and flat out refuse to budge if he didn’t fancy something, he just made a complete bog of something that used to be second nature.

Time to retire.

[We’ll leave Captain Smith of Titanic fame, staring thoughtfully at the spires of Lichfield Cathedral, to ponder the conundrum.]

 

 

 

 

Sticks and stones may break my bones but the old rhyme as it carries on is wrong because words can indeed hurt – and hurt badly.  Sometimes it’s on purpose and sometimes it’s accidental, just thoughtless (as in not thinking) or ignorant (as in not knowing).  So, hooray for Susie Dent’s ceaseless quest to find words that will lift our mood and cheer us up.  The wordsmith par excellence is determined to accentuate the positive whenever she can.  It’s her statement at the top of this piece and I’m happy to help spread the words that will make us smile.  (You’ll be pleased to know that “microplastics”, of which a teensy-weensy bit more later, won’t be making the list.)

There are a hundred words in the book, including “gruntled” (which is indeed the opposite of disgruntled);”serendipity”; “ebullient”;   “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious”, one of the longest words ever, so please don’t ask me to spell it again…Confession:  the computer took over and, for once, got it right!  And quite a few that were new to me, so Bob Cantin (our fishing reader from Texas who’s always keen to add to his already extensive vocabulary) here are a couple for you:-

“Quiddle”.  This is one for me really, especially on a blog night.  It means “to make yourself busy with little things as a way of avoiding the important ones.  There are many words in the dictionary and thesaurus that express the same idea of pottering about or wasting time.  Some from the past include ‘picking a salad’, ‘puddling’, ‘dawdling’, ‘slummocking’ and ‘moodling’.”

And here’s a lovely word, from the Portuguese:  Nefelibata.  It means “being so caught up in your thoughts that your head is lost in the sky….. someone who loves to live in their imagination.  Its literal meaning is ‘one who walks in the clouds’.”

Thanks so much Susie for a lovely, uplifting book with delightful pics by Harriet Hobday.

This week I’m looking forward to some pictures from down under, where the DP World Tour is starting its new season in Brisbane with the BMW Australian PGA Championship.  The venue is Royal Queensland and the defending champion is Elvis Smylie, a lefty who’s ready to rock and roll again on home turf.  It’ll be great to see players in shirt sleeves (fingers crossed there aren’t too many downpours) on a proper golf course.  Mike Clayton, who knows what he’s doing, made some changes a few years ago and there’ll be a few more apparently before the Olympics in 2032.

Smylie won by two shots from Cameron Smith, Open champion at St Andrews in 2022, now a LIV man whose forays in to proper golf at the highest level have been uninspiring in the years since he joined the self-proclaimed game changers.

You’ll have gathered by my use of the word “proper” twice in quick succession that I’m a lot of a dinosaur when it comes to golf, not enamoured of the way things are going.  Ah well, down at my lowly level, the game remains much the same, though admittedly enhanced by advances in technology; I’m not one of those good enough to be tackling the course with a set of hickories…So some change is good.

Before I forget and we move on from Elvis and co, I met a Presley the other day.  She’s three weeks old and I confess I didn’t check the spelling.  Hope she takes to golf and gets a game with Elvis one day.

Now, here’s a bit of a conundrum.  We members of the AGW (Association of Golf Writers for any newcomers or devout non-golfers) have to decide on our winner of the Golf Writers Trophy (no apostrophe in the handbook).  It’s hard to see past Rory for the second successive year – he’s already won it numerous times as an individual – but Lottie Woad, Tommy Fleetwood, Luke Donald and Aaron Rai also had great years.  Then, belated lightbulb moment, I read the rules.

No 2 reads:  “The Trophy shall be awarded each year to the team, person or persons, resident or born in Europe [that’s been expanded this year to include international golfers, to reflect our worldwide membership], who, in the opinion of a majority of the members, have made the most outstanding contribution to golf during the preceding 12 months.”

Well, of course, that means I’ll be voting for Europe’s Ryder Cup team who beat the USA in the bearpit that was Bethpage Black.  It takes in Rory, Tommy, Luke, the captain and the rest of the boys in the band.  Agonising over.

Sometimes it does pay to read the instructions!

Followers of the so-called beautiful game won’t be surprised to see that football gets short shrift this week.  Spurs are on a losing run, with the latest defeats being a 4-1 hammering away to Arsenal, our north London rivals and a crazy 5-3 loss to PSG (Paris St Germain) in Paris.  There’s no denying they’re both better than us at the moment but we were woeful at the Emirates and though better at the Parc des Princes, gave away two of the sloppiest goals imaginable, classic Totspurs.

Enough said, it’s all a bit depressing.  But not nearly as depressing as talking about microplastics, which seem to be inexorably taking over the world – and our innards.  Think I’ll keep that chat for another day!

Happy thanksgiving to our American readers.  Hope it went well.

And here’s a bit of fun to finish, to remind everybody that the Solheim Cup will be in Holland next year, at Bernardus Golf in Den Bosch, or ‘s-Hertogenbosch, founded in 1185.  Fans will be able to cycle from the railway station to the course, so a few weeks ago the captains got on their bikes.

All being well, Europe will be in better shape come next September.