There’s no Mo this week, so that means no sense, just the usual nonsense from me.  I didn’t mention the Masters last week, leaving it to Maureen, who’d been there but I have to confess that I really enjoyed it.

Apparently, judging from some of the stuff I’ve read, it was boring, lacking in excitement because Scottie Scheffler was just too good for everybody else – and, of course, the needle that is Tiger Woods finished last.  By dint of sheer bloodymindedness, unsurpassed local knowledge and no little skill he made the cut but his body can no longer cope with adverse conditions and the demands of 72-hole stroke play against players who are at or near the peak of their powers.  The needle is stranded.

On the playing front, at the highest level, Tiger is done, defeated by anno Domini (or anon domino as the computer would have it).  He’s still an influence and I wouldn’t take him on at anything, the competitive instinct will never fade.

Before winning his second green jacket Scottie Scheffler encouraged some younger champions at Augusta [From The Augusta Chronicle, pic by Katie Goodale, USA Today Sports]

Funnily enough, I read somewhere that Rory McIlroy said that away from the golf course he wasn’t in the least bit competitive, that he didn’t feel the need to win at everything.  Blimey.  How many top sportspeople admit to that?  They’re usually ferocious, reluctant to let their kids win at snap or whatever the modern-day equivalent is.

On The Chipping Forecast podcast, Iain Carter, the BBC’s golf correspondent, waxed almost lyrical about queuing for the shop at the Masters.  “It’s the best queue I’ve ever been in,” he said, or words to that effect.  I was so shocked that I couldn’t swear (well, perhaps I did utter an imprecation) to his exact words but he and Eddie Pepperell and Andrew Cotter then riffed on what made a good queue.  This particular one was long but well mannered and marshalled and before long Iain was in and spending $227 or thereabouts, which he later discovered was what the shop took per minute, or perhaps per second.

Maureen, who had a little list from those of us at home watching on the telly, nobly did her duty and made it through the doors once.  She bought me some playing cards as requested because they once again passed muster with the bridgers (see above).  The packs are distinguishable one from another, hooray, unlike the last lot, cleverly covered with well-observed detail but so busy being arty-farty and tasteful that the designer forgot to make it clear which pack was which.

Lovely but a bugger to play with if bridge is your game.

The regular reader will know that the bijou bathroom project, longer in the planning than HS2, has outperformed that admittedly more complex white elephant in every important department, completed on time, on budget and to the immense satisfaction and great delight of the commissioner/client/me.  I am, in short, ecstatic and will soon be clean again, once all the finishing touches have dried, set or whatever it is they need to do.

Barry, tired but triumphant, transformation complete.  Thank you.

Having failed to find a mirror at B&Q (all on cabinets), I trekked to IKEA for the first time in yonks.  It used to be a regular haunt and it was a bit of a treat to go back, armed with the necessary dimensions.  I WhatsApped Barry, including pics (not easy when you’re snapping mirrors):  “Thin black frame round 80 cms; 65×85 though prefer thinner frame; 65×65; 75×75 deep frame….”

“Sorry, it’s your shout on this one.”

Sensible man.  He knows.  He has a wife and daughters.

After a bit of toing and froing and consulting with the sister and a friend, we plumped for the 75×75, deep frame, birch:  Turbokastanj 505 550 97, aisle 39, location 50.

First though, suffering from decision fatigue and design overload, it was time for refreshments – very tasty and very good value.  I also loved the food trolleys, essential for people laden with goodies or trying to control toddlers rather than juggle plates.  A stroke of genius.

Tiers saving tears.

Pausing only to pick up a few necessities – an alarm clock, a bamboo plate rack and a plastic container suitable for the Bore Street Bakery’s sourdough muffins – I tracked down the chosen mirror and stood in the middle of the warehouse laughing.  Having picked out the trolley with the wonky wheels, I discovered that the mirror was at the outer reaches of the building; once there there was only turning back.  And the mirror, seven kilos worth, was on the top of quite a sizeable pile.  Fortunately, no breakages were incurred in the making of this blog…

Far, far away…

I was sorely tempted but didn’t buy this octopus, made from ocean-bound plastic; for once resisting the tentacles of consumerism…

Nearly irresistible

All hail again to Nelly Korda, who is enjoying a period of dominance that is Scheffler-esque; he, of course, is in his Korda period.  She won The Chevron Championship (The Dinah Shore that was), the first women’s major of the season, in Texas last Sunday, her fifth win in five starts this year.  If that’s not asserting your authority, what is?  Nelly is proving herself to be a special player, catch her when you can.

Nelly after the obligatory dive/jump into the water.  Who needs a green jacket…Don’t think there are any rules as to where you can wear the dressing gown…

And finally and by many miles not least, many, many congrats to Tony Rundle and his daughter Kate, who completed the London Marathon and raised thousands of pounds for Pancreatic Cancer UK in memory of their irrepressible friend Richard Doubleday.

They did it for Dubs.