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…..

 

 

 

As some of you know, Troon, now Royal Troon, was always top of my hit list, well ahead of Muirfield, Royal St George’s, Portmarnock and all the other “no women here” bastions of golf.   We could always play golf at Troon but there were conditions imposed and as for being members or persona grata at all times, allowed to use the front door or the loo whenever the need arose?  Forget it.

Times, I’m glad to say, have changed.

This week, the AIG Women’s Open (there was once a British in the title and I’m not entirely convinced that it was a good idea to drop the geographical designation) is being held at Royal Troon for the first time, behind closed doors or, more accurately, since this is an outdoor game, without spectators.  The R&A, who are running the championship, are serious when they say that they want more women and girls involved in the game at all levels and it’s a joy to see one of the game’s governing bodies using its clout to promote golf as a game for everyone.

Next year the AIG Women’s Open will be at Carnoustie, then Muirfield (not a misprint) in 2022, Walton Heath in 2023, the Old Course in 2024 and Royal Porthcawl in 2025.  Wonderful venues, proper golf courses for what is now a bona fide major championship.

Dame Laura Davies, who is playing in her 40th (British) Women’s Open, hit the opening tee shot at Troon – in a bit of a breeze (aka a howling gale) – at 0630, an honour she appreciated despite having to get up before dawn.  At least it meant she wasn’t going to be held up by the people in front.

As a lot of people have pointed out, this is golf’s time to shine.  So many other sports are struggling to reappear after lockdown and golf is perfect at all levels:  played in the open air; easy to keep your distance; good for heart and health.  The trick is to go with the flow and accommodate people who are blissfully unaware of the more nonsensical “traditions” of the game, people who don’t know that jeans, trainers and shirts without collars are the work of the devil.  Knowing how to behave on the course and off is more important than what you’re wearing.

One of the “traditions” that seems to have gone by the board is pace of play, playing without undue delay.  Non-golfers can be forgiven for thinking that golf, far from being a moving game, a game that flows, is a static endeavour, performed by near-statues, beings who can’t decide what to do without consulting endless charts in the misguided belief that they can remove every variable from the equation.  I have a friend who consults the yardage gizmo whenever they’re within 20 yards – perhaps even less – of the green; on their home course, a place they play week in week out;  they can’t trust their eye; they never have the club out of the bag as they approach the ball; they reach the ball, take out the gizmo, ponder, take out a club and, eventually, hit the shot.  It’s taken enough seconds to turn into minutes and it’s repeated time after time, so we’re all taking at least an hour longer for 18 holes than we should do – and longer than we used to do a few years ago.

I blame the pros.  They don’t care how long they take, they have nothing else to do all day, being on the golf course is their job after all.  All those pace of play guidelines aren’t worth the charts they’re written on unless they’re enforced and stroke penalties are handed out on the spot, sod the warnings.  Padraig Harrington, Europe’s Ryder Cup captain, was a notorious slowcoach but realised that he needed to change his slothful, selfish ways and practised speeding up his routine all round.  Every pro needs to do that and it would be great if they also learned how to read their yardage books and walk at the same time, so that they’d be pretty certain of what club to play when they reached the ball.

Stacy Lewis, a woman who’s learned how to make up her mind on the hoof, endured some tedious play by playing partners Azahara Munoz and Jennifer Song, not two of the world’s fastest decision makers, to win the Aberdeen Standard Investments Ladies Scottish Open, at the Renaissance Club, North Berwick, with a birdie at the first extra hole.  Lewis, a former world No 1, whose daughter Chesnee was watching at home, hitting the telly with her plastic clubs as Mom sank the winning putt, last won in 2017 before the birth of her daughter.

Chesnee has given Lewis a new outlook on life, let alone golf and apart from now having more important things to do than watch others consult yardage books as though they were tablets of stone, she is well aware that golf mustn’t miss its chance to impress.  The last round took more than five hours (not including the play-off) and Lewis knows that that’s not acceptable, viewers will switch off and sponsors will look elsewhere to spend whatever money they have:  “I do think an effort needs to be made across the board to play faster…..I’m sure it couldn’t have been fun to watch on TV.”

Chesnee being the exception.

Not long ago Luke played Worplesdon, West Hill and Woking in two hours 47 minutes – and that included running between the courses. Don’t ask me how he managed it but his scores were 75, 81 and 77.  “My life in golf has given me great confidence and belief in myself,” Luke said, “and I wanted to share some of this positivity, firing the imagination at the same time….For those who would like to support my adventure with a donation, you will be helping the Golf Foundation to inspire many kids from all backgrounds to love golf and acquire life skills that will help them to cope with this changing world around us.

“Golf should be a joy for everyone and it has great mental and physical health benefits.  It’s a beautiful game.”