Stubborn?  Luddite?  Paranoid?  Moi?

Surely not but I confess I’ve even disabled Siri and don’t have wotsername, Alexa, worried about unwanted surveillance.  Not that it’ll make any difference if they, whoever they are, really want to find me, for whatever unfathomable reason.  The search for a prime minister with a sense of direction perhaps…

Anyway, one of my friends read the last blog and was in touch at once with instructions:  “You really MUST start using Google Maps instead of just Maps – it tells you about heavy traffic and road works and chooses the fastest route minute by minute.  Would have saved you heaps of time!”

I responded that I didn’t need a satnav and got this exasperated retort:  “It’s just an app on your phone!!  Almost rocket science I suppose. [Satellites I think she meant.]  You’re just a tad stubborn maybe or perhaps a bit of a Luddite?”

Then I read that Elon Musk – cleverer than Einstein according to a recent telly promo – seemed to have decided not to disable the satellites that were keeping Ukrainians in touch with the wider world.  Now, I may have got that wrong – forensic research is not this blog’s remit – but I was a bit peeved that some super smart, multi billionaire seemed to be in control of something so crucial.  Pass me my pencil and paper please.

Admittedly, I have trouble using the phone to enter my golf scores, so it’s little wonder that I’m all at sea in a world of high technology.  A few years ago I was asked by a young press officer if I did email and was quite peeved that he thought me so old that something so cutting edge would be beyond my capabilities.  Now I’m having my doubts about my suitability for the modern world.  Ah well, suppose I’ll just have to keep breathing in and out and see what happens.

Anyway, I took the train to the last match, against Everton (a 2-nil win that was workmanlike at best) and all was going swimmingly until we got to Rugby on the way home and waited for about an hour before getting going again.  We were even asked to leave the train – a door wasn’t working properly – and prepare ourselves for a coach trip to our respective destinations but the train was packed, it would have taken a lot of coaches, so, eventually, we boarded again and carried on, apologies abounding.

Well, it’s something and didn’t take too long. I’m trying the coach this weekend…

I was on a train again on Monday – in to Birmingham to see if I could donate plasma but my veins didn’t pass muster, so I settled for giving an armful of blood – and read the Metro paper to pass the time.  There was a wee tale about a not-so-wee trip by a Lincoln City fan that put my efforts well and truly in the halfpenny place.  It was such an epic journey that it featured in the team talk and inspired an unlikely 1-nil win at high-flying Ipswich.

It also highlighted the inadequacy of the country’s transport links.  This fan, wanting to get from Scotland to Ipswich to watch his (presumably) beloved Imps (or win a bet), flew from Edinburgh to Birmingham, got a train to London, then took tube and train to Ipswich.  At least the station doesn’t seem to be too far from Portman Road and it looks as though there’s a bridge over the river Orwell, so that shouldn’t have been a problem.  Wonder when he got home.

HS2: gouging great holes out of the countryside but not much help if you want to get from Edinburgh to Ipswich. I cycled past on the way to WHGC.  The sign warns trespassers to keep out.  But I thought we were paying for it?  Doesn’t that make it public property?

I puffed my way on to the golf club, going the long way round, of course because I took a wrong turn and had cheese and toast and a cuppa in shirt sleeves on the patio.  No need to fly to Spain for a bit of October sunshine.

A glorious day for golf.  I was trying to miss out the hoops – anyone for croquet?

There have been comments that there’s not too much golf in the blog at the moment but that suits the non-golfers down to the ground, so it’ll continue to be a bit of a meander from here to there with no guarantee of golf – or no golf.

Watching David Attenborough the other night, talking about melting icecaps and similar catastrophes, I turned down my heating, put on another fleece (probably one of those things that clogs the oceans with plastic particles every time it’s washed) and fretted about how to reduce my contribution to global warming.  Fortunately, a friend has solar panels, so has no qualms about keeping her house warm and I’ve been invited round for tea, to discuss my dilemma in comfort.

What do golfers do when they’re not golfing?   Well, some of us visit the magnificent Elford gardens, a few miles from Whittington (even I have managed to cycle), to check up on fellow golfers who volunteer there and can be relied on to take a break for tea, coffee, cake and chat.  It’s a reminder that green spaces are vital to our wellbeing and we forget that at our peril.

At Elford for the good of our health. Alice, one of two non-golfers, is not always so camera shy!

It started chucking it down with rain, so I didn’t manage any happy snaps of the gardens but there are acres and acres to explore.  Highly recommended.

A wee grey Fergie awaiting repair at Elford.