Well, it’s golf’s big day next week – not the US presidential election on Tuesday, between two keen golfers, that’s bigger than big but the introduction of the new WHS on Monday.

The initials stand for World Handicap System and it’s taken years to thrash out and implement, the holy grail of a system that will be truly universal, ensuring that golfers will be competing on an equal footing wherever they’re playing, against whomsoever.  I think that’s a reasonably accurate summation but there are no guarantees when you’re relying on a woman (me) who never managed to come to grips with the buffer zone, which, even for members of Whittington Heath, has nothing to do with railway lines.

Handicaps are a very important part of golf because they ensure that good players have to play well, often enough, to beat not-so-good players and give the nsg’s a fighting chance of turning a match into a proper contest.  Not the most elegant summation perhaps, so I rooted out my copy of The Historical Dictionary of Golfing Terms by Peter Davies (no relation; according to the blurb he is (or was) “a classical scholar, linguist and lexicographer….A superb natural athlete and games enthusiast, his prowess as a golfer is in some dispute….”)

Anyway, the origin of the word was “doubtless borrowed from horse-racing” and as a noun it’s defined as “a compensation in strokes assigned to players on the basis of their past and current performance, designed to enable players of different abilities to compete together on approximately equal terms.”

As a definition that stands up pretty well, surely and one of the people we have to thank for the notion of a standard handicapping system is the redoubtable Issette Pearson, first honorary secretary of the LGU (Ladies’ Golf Union), founded in 1893 now defunct), a woman once described by a disgruntled/discombobulated journalist as “as despotic as the Czar/Tsar of Russia”.

I have, after some stumbles and a few swear words, managed to sign up to England Golf and all the joys of the new handicapping.  I have my new index – 10.4 I think, which seems ridiculously low  – but I got distracted, so didn’t carry on to multiply that number by WHGC’s slope (non-golfers don’t have to go there) rating off the red tees, divided by 113 to find my new handicap.  Since it’s of no real interest to anyone else, at this late hour I’m not going to bother attempting to remember my CDH (short not for congenital diaphragmatic hernia but for central database of handicaps) number and root out my new password – that’s an excitement for another day.

One friend, who works with numbers, cracked, “If I sit here long enough trying to work it out, I’ll be off 36!!”   In fact, she’s gone from 18 to 21 – apparently.  Another friend, who has, presumably, done her sums correctly or read the appropriate list with her glasses on, plays off 30 at the moment but her index number is 35, so from Monday on, for a while at least, she’ll be off 41 on her home course….Yikes.  Her nickname’s already Two Shots, she’ll be Three or Triple now, unbeatable and unbestable.

Mind you, in so-called friendly matches, handicaps are negotiable.  J.P. McManus, financier, racehorse owner, restorer of Adare Manor, is a handy golfer but not in the same league as Tiger Woods, yet the Irishman devised a system that enabled him to beat the great man when he was in his prime, if not in full-on major-winning mode.  If I remember rightly, it involved Tiger hitting two drives, then J.P. designating which one he should hit and so on and on.  If Tiger didn’t play well, he didn’t win.

At the moment we here in England are still able to play golf, no, let me re-phrase that, we’re still able to go to the golf course and play.  In Wales and the Republic of Ireland, golf is off limits again – for reasons that escape most of us – hence Mo’s stay-at-home tips.  We probably don’t quite appreciate how much we can do to improve without setting foot on the course or the driving range.  This is the perfect time to give it a go.

Someone asked Maureen for a list of books to read when we’re either banned from the golf course or deterred by the weather and I piled up a few of my favourites but in truth the list is nearly endless – anything by Henry Longhurst, Bernard Darwin, Peter Dobereiner, Dan Jenkins, Lawrence Donegan, Pia Nilsson and Lynn Marriott, Bob Rotella, Harvey Penick, Stephen Potter.  There’s instruction, whimsy, biographies/autobiographies, club histories, fiction, whatever, thousands of books to choose from.

In my collection I discovered a tatty paperback from 1969:  Play Better Golf with John Jacobs, based on the Yorkshire Television series and it’s full of sound advice.  He finishes by saying:  “Remember that golf is a game of how many, not how; that people may often be interested in what you scored, but rarely in how.

”Finally, I would ask you to do what sounds quite a simple thing but is, in fact, very difficult:  to try your utmost on every shot.  Golf can be the most frustrating and infuriating, as well as the most satisfying and elating, of games; but if it has one cliche that cannot be denied it is that the game is never over until the last putt has been holed.

”So, don’t give up – ever.  Think about what you are trying to do, which is to make a good impact.  Think about what will help you to make a good impact, which, to put it as simply as I can, is correct aim and stance followed by two turns, one to get your body out of the way while you aim the club, and one to get it out of the way while you swing the club through the ball.  Think out the shots before you play them, then think of one key factor to help you to swing as you have planned.

”There’s never been a greater game for triers.”

To end on an even more upbeat, happier note, many congratulations to Bethan and Tristan Jones, two of the LET’s stalwarts through thick and thin, who’ve just had their first baby.  I’m still beaming from ear to ear, so heaven only knows how they’re feeling.   Love and hugs (virtual, of course).

 

 

 

There’s only one place for me to start this week – with apologies to Laurie Canter, it’s not with his first round at the Italian Open – and that’s with Sue Spencer’s 69 on the new interim course at WHGC on Tuesday.  We’ve now moved into the new clubhouse – I had my first sausage and egg bap on Monday after an 0730 start, delicious – so our 1st hole is the old 5th, then we play what was the 4th as the 2nd, the old 2nd becomes the 3rd and on we go, one hole behind what we’re used to (the new markers are a bit simpler than the old stones, which were auctioned off).  Anyway, it means that the incomparable Spenny, who is getting better and better with age, set the new course record.  She even had a couple of bogeys, so, scarily, there’s plenty of room for improvement!

That translated into 40 points, so Sue won the comp too and we had a glass of prosecco to celebrate.  Jayne Fletcher, my partner, played really well for 39 points and came second, unhindered by my rather wimpish effort of 31 points.  In fact, I’ve come to the conclusion that my game, while deserving of a four-letter description, is not really golf.  Jayne took a photo that illustrated that to perfection.

That was confirmed the next day when I went to a Taylormade fitting and had my swing speed measured, along with the distance the ball went and various other depressing figures.  Bryson DeChambeau should try playing this game with my numbers!  Mind you, I didn’t have to glug down  endless protein shakes or add 40 pounds, or whatever, to increase my yardages – I just had to use a more modern, up-to-date club.  My clubs, which were, in fact, Dai’s, as Maureen reminded me, so hardly designed for me, are 15 years old.  Technology has moved on a bit (mostly in a good way) and, of course, so have I (mostly in a bad way), so Mark, the fitter, had little difficulty in finding a club that improved my performance without any need for improvement from me.  Hooray.

Canter’s numbers were spot on at Chervo Golf Club, San Vigilio di Pozzolengo, Brescia (what a marvellous language Italian is, whether you speak it or not) yesterday.  The Englishman had a round of 60, 12 under par and was in severe danger of becoming only the second man to card a 59 on the European Tour – Oliver Fisher is still out on his own in that regard and since there was placing in Italy, Canter couldn’t even claim a course record.  Still, the man who lists Bath rugby and red wine as his interests, couldn’t stop smiling:  “It was just one of those days where you’ve just got to enjoy the ride.  It feels great.”

They’re not so happy in Ireland, where the government has put the country into lockdown and golf is now on the list of banned pastimes, despite being the poster sport for social distancing.  People are not happy and there have been plenty of sarcastic comparisons popping up on social media and a petition to change the decision.

To finish, here’s a joke for you, sent by a friend who thought it might be a little risqué but I think it’s OK, though it’s maybe not for the more squeamish.  Anyway, here goes (it is/was American but I’m sure you’ll understand the terminology).

A little old lady was walking down the street dragging two large plastic garbage bags behind her.  One of the bags was ripped and every once in a while a $20 bill fell out onto the sidewalk.   Noticing this, a policeman [who didn’t draw his gun; presumably the little old lady was white] stopped her and said:  “Ma’am, there are $20 bills falling out of that bag.”

”Oh, really?  Darn it!” said the little old lady.  “I’d better go back and see if I can find them.  Thanks for telling me officer.”

”Well, now, not so fast,” said the cop.  “Where did you get all that money?  You didn’t steal it, did you?”

”Oh, no, no,” said the old lady.  “You see my back yard is right next to a golf course.  A lot of golfers come and pee through a knot hole in my fence, right in my flower garden.  It used to really tick me off.  Kills the flowers, you know.

”Then I thought, ‘Why not make the best of it?’  So, now, I stand behind the fence by the knot hole, real quiet, with my hedge clippers.  Every time some guy sticks his thing through my fence, I surprise him, grab hold of it and say, ‘OK, buddy!  Give me $20 or off it comes!’”

”Well, that seems only fair,” said the cop, laughing.  “OK.  Good luck!

”Oh, by the way, what’s in the other bag?”

”Not everybody pays.”

 

This is a bit of a historic week for Whittington Heath (previously Barracks), one of the oldest golf clubs in England, founded in 1886.  Yesterday there was an online auction to sell off the fixtures and fittings and on Sunday, at 1800, the clubhouse will close for ever.  It’s a bit of a rickety-rackety old building but now that we’re leaving some of us are getting a bit nostalgic as we remember the fun and the laughs – though a long line of treasurers will probably be thinking of the maintenance bills and tempering their romantic recall with visions of vast outlays past.

Those of you who are aware of my inclination towards the profligate will be glad, if a little bit surprised, to know that I didn’t splash out on any of the items, not even a tee marker from the 13th, my least favourite hole, where I once had a hole-in-one.   It wasn’t very exciting because that day the hole wasn’t visible from the tee and it was left to my playing partner, who had given up the search for my ball, to look in the hole as she went to her ball on the other side of the green.  It remained/remains my 18th favourite hole on the course.  If I walk off there with a bogey 4, I’m happy.

Anyway, my piece of memorabilia was deemed too tatty to go into the auction, so I got it for nothing – although there have been several mentions of prosecco and red wine from those involved in the process of checking that no other eejit wanted it and removing it from the clubhouse wall..

The sign’s a reminder of golf’s occasional (?!) delusions of grandeur, as though there were something common and crass about changing one’s shoes in the car park; now everyone’s doing it, apart from those of us who arrive already booted and spurred.  My fervent hope is that the sign will not be replicated in the new car park and that there’ll be a distinct lack of ‘Don’ts’ about the place and not a single notice that starts with the word ‘No’…..

We’ll be moving into the new clubhouse next month – though it’ll be in dribs and drabs with all parties and celebrations, even masked balls, on hold for the foreseeable future.  There’s lots of work going on still as the contractors scurry around putting the finishing touches to everything, including replacing broken windows and tiles – that’s the trouble with most of us golfers, we rarely hit the ball in the right direction at the right speed….

Bryson DeChambeau, the new US Open champion, took most of the headlines last week, though I won a putter for nearest the pin in two at the 5th on Pro’s Day on Saturday and a little higher up the competitive scale Georgia Hall won the Cambia Portland Classic, her first tournament victory in America.  The 2018 Women’s British Open champion, from Bournemouth, beat Ashleigh Buhai, of South Africa, at the second extra hole.  Mel Reid, another Englishwoman too often weighed down by great expectations, led after two rounds and finished in a share of 5th place, two shots behind the leaders.  It all bodes well for next year’s Solheim Cup at Interlachen and fingers crossed that Leona Maguire, who was in a tie for 28th, is in the mix to become Ireland’s first Solheim Cupper, along with Stephanie Meadow.  Wouldn’t it be great if two came along at once!

 

It’s hard to keep track of everything that’s going on at the moment with schedules being rejigged here, there and everywhere but it’s the Dubai Duty Free Irish Open this week, at Galgorm Castle in Ballymena.  The parkland course only opened in 1997 but its Jacobean castle dates from the 16th century and it is building a reputation as a more than respectable tournament venue.  Shane Lowry, the reigning Open champion, who won this event as an amateur and Padraig Harrington, twice an Open champion (and a winner of the US PGA) are competing, to add lustre to the occasion.  In the first round, however, they were outshone by James Sugrue, the (British) Amateur champion from Cork, who had a 67, just two shots behind the leaders.

Sugrue, who received a late invitation thanks in large measure to some Twitter lobbying by Lee Westwood, one of his playing partners in the US Open at Winged Foot, will be turning professional after the Masters in November (sounds odd, doesn’t it?).   He missed the cut last week and was relieved to find Galgorm a little more forgiving.

There was a time when Matteo Manassero was up there with the big boys, playing in the big events but now the Italian is having to work his way back and at least he’s made a start with victory in the Toscana Alps Open.  Nice to see him smiling.  This is a very humbling game.

Finally, many congratulations to former England and Curtis Cup star Jill Thornhill on winning the Ladies Autumn Meeting Gold Medal at Walton Heath last Saturday.  It was a difficult, windy day by all accounts, the CSS went up to 76 and Jill had a gross score of 78, a feat that earned her a mention on Sky’s US Open coverage – and there’s no hiding this, the story would be pointless otherwise, because her score matched her age.  The club’s report said that it was the first time she’d shot her age but I can’t quite believe that – just as I can’t quite believe she’s 78!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Well, so much for my September resolution of getting the blog done and dusted early, well before the wee, small hours.  I put it down not just to being a lazy, prevaricating git but to being a bit depressed after virtual choir.  Singing with other people is meant to be one of the best, most uplifting, endorphin-enhancing activities, good for us on every level….and so it is, usually; even for me, a novice striving to overcome nearly 60 years of standing at the back and miming.

The more uncharitable of my family and friends – the ones with half an ear – suggest that I should still be standing at the back and miming after several years of failing to hit a note with a group of amazingly tolerant, forgiving people, most of whom hit the right notes with impressive regularity.  Dai, who could sing, roared in agony whenever I ventured a warble in the shower and we ended up in kinks laughing the one time he tried to get me started and I couldn’t even manage doh.   The sopranos are safe from me but I now apologise unreservedly to the men and women lower down the scale, the poor souls within earshot.  And to the sainted Helen, our leader, who managed not to wince at my efforts in the days when we could all get together in the same space.

We’re all on mute when we sing together via Zoom – even the best sound cacophonous otherwise, so there are still some technological frontiers to cross.  At the end of yesterday’s session, when we were singing Morecambe and Wise’s ‘Bring Me Sunshine’ (composed by Arthur Kent, lyrics by Sylvia Dee), I made one of my dafter decisions:  I picked up the phone and switched on the voice recorder, just to check how far I was from my first recording contract.  Then, pushing the outer edges of daftness, I replayed the recording….

If I had any sense – which, patently, I don’t – I’d have ended the blog there and gone to bed to nurse my shattered aspirations and get a decent night’s sleep.  But then I’d have had to face the fact that there’d been no mention of golf at all…

And there was plenty of memorable golf early in the week, albeit at a more lowly level than the ANA Inspiration, the second women’s major of this disrupted season, which got under way yesterday in the searing heat of the Californian desert at Mission Hills Golf Club. A travelling band (of golfers) from Llangollen Golf Club (plus one interloper from WHGC) endured much wetter conditions at Pleasington on Monday, although we set off well fed after being treated to our lunch by the club president, a gesture of hospitality that was above and beyond the call of duty.  Many thanks, Michael.  Mo’s back was playing up, so she didn’t play, which, given the near relentless rain, was a wise decision.

Pleasington, near Blackburn, goes beyond undulating and would take a lot of playing in the dry with a bit of run on the ball but we made it round – my highlight was avoiding what would have been a very expensive hole-in-one by 12 inches – then headed off for a night in Blackpool, at the Imperial Hotel, my first non-family stayaway in months.  The famous Illuminations had been switched on a few days before but it was still raining, so I nipped outside for a quick glance then scuttled back inside, masked up.  Lucky we weren’t booked in for next Monday when, from the sound of it, parties of more than six will be illegal.

On Tuesday, we played St Annes Old Links, not quite in the shadow of the Tower but not so far from it.  Plenty of linksy humps and hollows, no hills to speak of and no rain but no pushover, with bunkers, bunkers everywhere.  If you want to score at St Annes, you HAVE to avoid the sand.  I played the wrong club short of the bunkers guarding the 2nd green and the ball ran unerringly into the middle pot.  Three attempted extrications later I conceded defeat, picked up and our designated raker set to work, fearing a very long day.  In fact, after an initial flurry, she had a long, sand-free period before making up for it at the short 16th, one of the many greens  surrounded by bunkers, where all but one of us hit the beach.

It was late when we finished, so we headed off for fish and chips at the justly renowned Whelans and then had a pavement presentation that verged on the bizarre but was the perfect end to a memorable trip.  Thanks to everyone for the laughs and the photos.

The same day, at Kedleston Park in Derby, Scotland’s Heather MacRae successfully defended her WPGA Championship title, posting a 36-hole total of 145, three under par, one shot ahead of Keely Chiericato, champion in 2018 and two ahead of former British and US Women’s Open champion Alison Nicholas MBE.  A few days after last year’s championship MacRae underwent surgery for cervical cancer and, what with recuperation and lockdown, could be described as seriously undergolfed.  Heaven help the rest when she’s in full competitive flow…..