Many, many years ago, in the dim, distant past, when I worked at Downtown Radio in Newtownards, one of my tasks was to write the quiz questions for Candy Devine’s afternoon show – I’m pretty sure it was in the afternoon because I don’t have any memories of having to get up at an ungodly (in my eyes) hour to work on the morning show.  Anyway, to continue with the religious tone, it was the devil’s own job to produce questions that only had one possible answer.

I tied myself in knots to get the correct wording – regular readers will realise that that dedication seems to have gone the way of the typewriter – but there was nearly always some clever clogs out there who could scupper your best-crafted conundrums.   Or, to be fair, someone whose brain just worked differently from yours, well, mine.  A day with no complaints and no alternative answers was a triumph; a week was a miracle.

All this came back to me on Tuesday when Fiona, our diligent, long-suffering handicap guru, produced the cards for the Lady Captain’s Charity Day.  It was a 9-hole Stableford comp, with added complications and Fiona’s cards were beautiful, unique works of art specially designed for the occasion.

We were playing in threes, on the Heathland, WHGC’s shorter course – not a separate 18 holes, just different tees – and it was a shotgun start.  We had to put down our individual scores and there was a team total as well.  In addition, there was a marked ball that each of us had to use three times and it was worth double points.  If we lost it, we had to pay £3 to the captain’s charity for a replacement.  There was a prize for the best individual total with the marked ball, so there was a column for that as well.  Hope you’re still with me.

By now, you’ll understand – well, the golfers will anyway – why Fiona couldn’t use the normal scorecard and had had to get creative.  Unsurprisingly, she was very pleased with her creation, confident that everything was perfectly clear, absolutely foolproof…

Absolutely not.

It took Fiona and Sue J, her fellow handicap whizz, quite a long time to sort out the numbers and our creative director was nonplussed, a bit baffled that her system had not worked as envisaged.  “You lot,” she said, addressing the assembled company before announcing the results, “just don’t think like I do!”

The winners were deduced, eventually, a good time was had by all and a bit of money raised for St Giles Hospice.

Orange is not a colour I wear often and my most orangey item of clothing is not a winter woolly but a thin, short-sleeved polo shirt that must be nearly twenty years old.  It’s treasured because it’s from Barnbougle Dunes in Tasmania and it’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever be there again.  Dai and I had a wonderful trip to Tassie and the highlight was to be a round at Barnbougle – there was only one course at that time and we’d heard great things about it.

I played – badly – but sadly Dai did not.  A couple of days before we were due to play he had a fall – he was lucky not to kill himself – and hurt his shoulder, so golf was out of the question.  He had to content himself with walking round with his notebook and camera and taking happy snaps of me failing to come to terms with the bunkers!

Getting back to cards, our regular four played bridge on Tuesday night and it got a bit rowdy.  I’d announced at the start that I was working on improving my etiquette but like many a resolution it fizzled out early on.  To make matters worse for the opponents, my partner and I got all the cards and played them rather well.

We won two uncontested rubbers and the others got nothing below the line.  We gave them their points in penalties when we were vulnerable and going for the jugular.  Genteel game bridge?  I don’t think so.

Going back to Candy, I turned to Wikipedia to see how she spelled her married name – born Faye Ann Guivarra in Queensland, she became Mrs Donald McLeod and an Ulster icon, ending up with an MBE.  I saw that she had died late last year, at the age of 85, having gone back to Australia after Donald died.

She was a force of nature, full of life and laughter, a talented musician, singer, broadcaster and actor – she was in Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, which I never knew.  A special person.

Alastair, one of her children, is now a famous chef in Oz and I doubt he remembers this work of art, which he drew on the back of one of his mum’s promotional posters when he was about seven or eight!  Charlie Brown, aka Richard McCracken,  also worked on Candy’s show at Downtown for a while.

 

 

 

 

It’s been a tricky week.  Apart from having to take to the garden (not my favourite occupation) to try and repair the damage done to the rockery by the sister’s erratic driving (in a car, that is, not on the golf course) my oven blew up mid roasting a chicken.  The chicken was rescued as the top oven continued to oblige for a few more hours before it, too, started misbehaving and emitting alarming noises, but, thankfully, no smoke..  All of which has led me to be confined to barracks this morning as I await the arrival and installation of a new oven.  I have been given a three-hour time slot……and so, I wait, not entirely convinced anyone will turn up when they are supposed to.

The next item on the agenda to fail in its duty was my laptop.  Yesterday I had just triumphed at solitaire, to which I am almost addicted, (is that even possible?) when the battery ran out.  In fairness to my machine it had been warning me that it was getting low on juice but I had been too idle to get up and plug it in.  So, out of spite it seemed to me, subsequent charging has had no effect whatsoever despite all the usual lights glowing as if to indicate all is well.  I am met instead with a blank, dark screen and no answers.

There don’t seem to be any answers either issuing forth from the powers-that-be re a deal between the PGA Tour and LIV Golf.  It seems more likely than ever that the two will co-exist rather than a merger happening.  A couple of the majors (none of which is run by the PGA tour) have softened their cough with regards to allowing an exemption to a LIV player into their championships that has nothing to do with world golf ranking points.  For example, the highest finisher (not otherwise exempt) in the top five of LIV’s individual season’s standings will earn a tee time at Royal Portrush.  I like that because it adds a bit of spice, a bit of jeopardy, to each player’s performance – something that has been absent in the 54-hole shotgun start, every-player-gets-paid-a-fortune-anyway circus.

What I absolutely do NOT like is what happened last week at Bay Hill at Arnold Palmer’s tournament.  This is one of the PGA tour’s so-called Signature Events but only 72 players were in the field, 51 of them surviving the cut to play at the weekend.  These players shared a pot of $20 million dollars. Does this sound familiar?  A small, exclusive field for shedloads of money which pretty much assures one of the chosen ones entry into the next limited-field event and so it goes on.  The week to week, full-field events which require you to play your socks off to be around at the weekend are becoming rarer and I dislike that intensely.

I doubt Arnie would approve.

The Ladies’ European Tour had a disappointing time last week with the cancellation of the Australian WPGA Championship due to be played at Sanctuary Cove just south of Brisbane.  The call was made early in the week with the players being advised to leave the area as soon as possible because of the approach of Cyclone Alfred.  With the next two weeks of tournaments to be played further south the golfing family of Australia cuddled the players in a warm embrace, offering accommodation, practice facilities and a place to go for their unexpected week of non-tournament play.

When Alfred did hit the coast last Saturday it had been downgraded to a tropical storm but it still wreaked havoc, destroying beaches, golf courses and homes, so it was a good, early call on the part of the organisers.  Let’s hope the Aussie sun shines on the players, not to mention the organisers, over the next fortnight.

Another course to suffer at the hands of the weather in the last few months – as well, obviously, as the wider community – is Augusta National.  Hurricane Helene left some Augusta homes damaged and the residents without electricity and water for a while but recovery efforts were greatly helped by a $5 million donation to the relief fund by the Augusta National Golf Club (ANGC).

Past masters at swift and invisible repairs to any damage mother nature can throw at them, the ANGC chairman, Fred Ridley, gave an update on the course with characteristic understatement:  “I think we had minor damage to the course, the playing surfaces themselves, but we were able to get that back in shape and I don’t think you’re going to see any difference in the condition for the Masters this year.”

I’ve witnessed several episodes of storm damage on the hallowed grounds over the years and I’d defy anyone to point out the following day where anything had taken place at all.  Rest assured, everything at Augusta in April will be absolutely perfect – on the surface at least.

With just four weeks to go to the men’s first major of the year it’ll soon be time for the annual zoom call with friends and family to organise our picks for the week.  There are usually six of us in the mix and all six have attended at least one Masters – and still have endless plastic logoed drinking cups to prove it, I suspect.  I’m already doing some early research and may surprise some of the others with some of my choices.  That’s all I’m prepared to say about that at the moment.

What I will say now, however, is “Hallelujah!”  The oven is delivered, installed and working and the old one removed – all within the three-hour time slot.

I never doubted it for a moment.

 

At last.  A moment of triumph for me on the golfing front.  Not, admittedly, on the golf course and I have to confess that initially it passed me by but eventually there was joy unbounded.  What on earth is she wittering on about now, you may be wondering.

Well, once again this year I entered the AGW’s PYP (Pick Your Pro) competition and managed to get my entry in on time to the long-suffering, ultra-organised Mark who administers the whole thing.  My ambition every year is to have all my picks actually play in the event  – a bit like setting out to keep a six off your card – and that went out the window early on.  Sound familiar?  Exactly like keeping a six off your, my, card.

There was no sign of Jason Day at the Genesis Invitational, the fourth tournament on the list and the truth was that I’d been lucky to last that long.  Earlier, at the Farmers Insurance Open, Max Homa did at least start but he had a first round of 77 and withdrew.  I think that was where he’d changed all his equipment – and possibly his swing!  My interest in PYP, which Dai always refused to countenance, calling it “RIDICULOUS”, began to wane.

Having found it tricky to keep tabs on the HSBC Women’s World Championship in Singapore because of the time difference, it took me a while to clock that Jeena Thitikul, my choice, was second equal behind Lydia Ko (my pick for the Evian Championship in July).  Promising and a bit of dosh to add to my total, if nothing like the money the men earn.

The next event, the Arnold Palmer Invitational at Bay Hill in Florida, was not on my radar because there was so much else on.  There was a trip to Crufts with Sue and Alice, who were on duty for Canine Concern at the reading corner.  They go in to a local primary school and help the children with their reading – and their socialising.  It’s amazingly successful, not least because the children love Alice and she and Sue are a brilliant team.  They shared the stand with Benji the Bedlington terrier and his boss Fran and they all did their bit to spread the word.

Crufts is big – it takes up five halls at the vast NEC – and busy, busy, busy.  I was only there in a supporting and shopping role and while Sue and Alice went in search of bargains at James Wellbeloved (dog food) and Yumove (good for joints), I did my bit for Ireland’s knitwear industry.  One of my purchases, which will be much worn not only because I love it but also to reduce the cost per wearing, has been much admired already, so it won’t go down as one of my (many) sartorial errors.

I couldn’t give my new woolly its first Spurs outing on Sunday because it was like a summer’s day, properly hot.  I remembered to take my sunglasses, left my big, cozy coat in the boot of the car and had to buy sun cream.  I was sorry I hadn’t rooted out one of my sunhats and that is not an exaggeration – I could feel the sun burning the top of my head and the DWD (Dog-Walking Dermatologist) in my ear telling me off; my next-seat neighbour was in a tee shirt – short sleeves, no jumper, woolly or otherwise, in sight.

No relegation – or much else (well, perhaps the Europa League, though I’m writing this before our match on Thursday) for Spurs this season – and no grand slam for Ireland after a bit of a battering from France in Dublin last Saturday.  Sport, like life, can be cruel.  Or unexpectedly exhilarating, euphoric and surprising.  Just ask Russell Henley.

He’s the bloke who barely reacted at all when he chipped in for an unlikely eagle three at the 16th in the last round of the API (Arnold Palmer Invitational), dashing the hopes of Collin Morikawa and hanging on for the biggest win of his career.  Henley admitted afterwards that he was so nervous and concentrating so hard that he didn’t dare show too much emotion for fear of cracking up altogether.

I also showed no emotion whatsoever as he holed a nasty-looking four-footer to win, having completely forgotten that he was my pick of the week.  It wasn’t until the next day that I found out that I and two others had hit the jackpot and my celebration was much noisier and far more exuberant than Russell’s.  It might be my first-ever PYP win and I’ve zoomed up to sixth in the table.  What’s more, Scottie Scheffler, the world No 1 and defending champion, is my choice to win the Players Championship this week….

Oops.  Oh no he isn’t.  On closer inspection, my pick is Schauffele not Scheffler, so I’m lowering my expectations a tad and cheering for Xander, the former world No 2 (currently No3)  and Olympic champion in 2020, this week.

This week’s featured image – the wee pic that appears at the top of the piece, technical glitches permitting – was taken in a Jamaican restaurant near the Alexandra Theatre in Birmingham and made me think of sun, sea and sand, so it’s a random pick of a pic; a bit of a rum do, if you like…

 

 

 

The Sunningdale Foursomes is* upon us once again – I swear they play it twice a year now, but perhaps that’s just old age and anno domini talking.

First played in 1934 the tournament missed eight years because of the Second World War (1940 – 1947 inclusive) and over the ensuing decades three tournaments were cancelled, or not completed, because of snow or other adverse weather conditions.  And we mustn’t forget that the 2021 edition was a casualty of Covid, the previous year’s competition having squeaked over the line a matter of days before lockdown was enforced.  That’s a pretty decent run over the last 91 years and next Tuesday 128 intrepid pairs set off on their quest to add this illustrious title to their CVs.

To my knowledge this is the only foursomes tournament in the world where men and women and pros and amateurs can tee it up in whatever combination they like and play off the same tees with certain handicap allocations for each category of player.  Men pros play off +1, women pros off 2, with the men amateurs off scratch and the women off three handicap.

As usual there are some eye-catching players on show and this year the Solheim Cup partnership of Georgia Hall and Charley Hull must be near the top of the favourites list.  There won’t be a single hole on the Old Course they can’t reach with a maximum of two blows and I feel that may also well be the case on the more difficult New Course.  They should both be sharper than most at this time of year having already started their 2025 campaigns out in America and the fact that they are very close friends should help in this most testing of formats.

Martin Slumbers, recently retired CEO of the Royal & Ancient, is obviously putting his new-found spare time to good use by working on his game and he and Catriona Matthew, winning Curtis Cup captain at Sunningdale as recently as last August, should prove to be a formidable partnership.  They will, however, be contending with many young guns – some of them sons of very famous fathers indeed.

Jonathan Rafferty, son of Ronan, and Daniel Torrance, son of Sam, are teaming up together.  I wonder if they’ll labour in the shadow of the knowledge of what their dads have achieved in the game and the fact they both are past winners of this venerable championship?  But then, I suppose, they’ve known nothing else all their lives.  It can’t make it any easier though.  Tony Jacklin’s son, Warren, is also playing as is Paul McGinley’s son, Michael.  Same surnames in the draw as when I played with the one and only Mary McKenna, just different first names and the realisation that we’re on to the next generation and time waits for no man or woman.

If I lived closer to Sunningdale, I’d certainly be nipping along to watch.

All through my golfing career I’ve had weird and wonderful dreams.  It was the bane of Mary McKenna, my oft-travelling companion, as I would subject her to every peculiar detail the minute she opened her eyes in the morning and before the dreams slipped from me into the mists of time.  One such recurring golf dream involved my eyesight.  A long-time contact lens wearer, I would dream that I was on the first tee playing in something important – it was always something important – and huge galleries would be lining the fairways.  The trouble was that when I addressed the ball I was struggling to see it clearly and would constantly blink trying to bring the ball into sharp focus.  No one watching seemed to notice my difficulty and the more I blinked, the longer I took and I would be aware of the galleries becoming increasingly restless.  “Why doesn’t she get a move on and HIT it?”  I usually woke up before I ever did make contact.

Well, the answer, via Jenny Lee Smith, founder member of the LET and inaugural winner of the Women’s British Open, seems to have arrived, but alas, sod’s law, a little too late for my own golf.  At our latest LET reunion a few weeks ago Jenny was waxing lyrical about Jondo Sport sunglasses.  In her view they’re a cut above every other sports eyewear on the market thanks to the clarity, colour perception, lightness of weight and all sorts of other good things.

She loved the difference they made at the business end of the game – i.e. around the green:  “On the course, depth perception is vital as you can imagine – especially in putting where the golfer looks at the hole, then looks down at the ball, sometimes several times.”

She swears by these glasses, which makes it good enough for me to be comfortable passing this info onto you all.  I am unbiased and in no way connected with Jondo but I’m always on the look out to help my golfing mates.  So, if you have a moment, and you fancy it, check out https://jondosport.co.uk/

Could make all the difference if you’re just emerging onto the course again, blinking into the spring sunlight after your winter hibernation.

 

Come to think of it, I think these glasses would be a great present for the sister.  Surely the enhanced depth perception would avoid the following, which happened when she was visiting earlier this week?

Sunshine, shadow, lack of concentration and she parked (not so neatly) on my carefully tended heather rockery.  Wheel spinning meant she was completely stuck – until Brian and his motorbiking mates returned from a ride and provided the much-needed muscle power.

At least I now have a good idea what I’ll get her for her birthday!!

 

*Is it ‘is’ or is it ‘are’?  No idea. [Ed]  And I’d like a chauffeur for my birthday please.