I’m a bit shamefaced to admit in the blog that I used a buggy earlier this week.  It was a right Royal Birkdale buggy but it was a buggy nonetheless and Dai, unable to turn in a grave, will be doing whatever ashes do:  scratching, scraping, grinding, grating, rasping?  Perhaps if I type quietly and keep the Roget hidden, he won’t notice.

You see, although he did use them when he had to, Dai hated the things.  In that near classic (a family joke Dai didn’t find very funny) Beyond The Fairways, published in 1999 (aaagh!), he wrote:  “Golf, proper golf, has a simple formula.  Anything up to four people gather together on the first tee, agree on a format for the game, make their bets, hit their shots and walk off after them.  And the key word in all that is ‘walk’.

“What is happening through much of America and, unfortunately, many copy-cat countries throughout the world, is that people ride off that first tee, ride to the general area where their ball lies, hit it and ride off again.  Concrete paths wind their way, like tapeworm, round the very guts of the game, serving the carts, which are themselves the condoms of golf, preventing full enjoyment of the act.

“Mark Twain may have considered golf to be a good walk spoiled but at least it was always a good walk.”

There’s more, quite a bit more but you get Dai’s drift and at least Birkdale has not succumbed to concrete paths.  Also, Dai’s no longer around to see that the cart ship has well and truly sailed – and on a hot day, on a big golf course, this ageing swinger was grateful to hitch a ride.

Too many bunkers (not difficult in this neck of the links), too many putts and not enough points meant our quartet finished out of the prizes – well out.  But we all hit quite a lot of good shots, not necessarily in the right order and had a lot of laughs.  It could not have been a better day.  And the menu was a cut above normal golf club fare.  Not that Birkdale, with its history as a major championship venue, could ever be filed under ‘n’ for normal.  ‘E’ for exceptional, more like.

For example, one of our number, a long-standing member, drove Ian Baker-Finch to the airport after he won the Open, the Claret Jug on her lap.  That’s a story given to few.  The rest of us didn’t even attempt to top it – though shaking hands with Pat Jennings probably comes close…

Better show you the menu, though the image doesn’t quite match the quality of the food.

Higher up the golfing ladder, Chiara Horder, of Germany, won the Women’s Amateur Championship at Prince’s, another lovely links, in Kent.  She proved too good for Annabelle Pancake, of the United States, winning the 36-hole final handily, by the old dog licence, 7 and 6.  In the unlikely event that there are some young readers, your grandparents will explain the reference.

Pancake is from Indiana and her father Tony flew in to support her on Father’s Day, helped out by members of Crooked Stick GC, where John Daly shot to fame by winning the US PGA Championship after starting as ninth reserve.  Horder is the third German to win the title in the last six years, following Aline Krauter (2020) and Leonie Harm (2018).

Every time I visit Birkdale, I say hello to Bunty (christened Frances, maiden name Stephens, married name Smith), one of GB and I’s greatest players.  Her name’s on Chiara’s trophy twice, in 1949 and 1954 and she was runner-up in 1951 and 1952.  She wasn’t a big person but she had “the temperament of a tigress” according to Enid Wilson, who knew a thing or two about being a formidable match player (winner of the Women’s Amateur in 1931, 1932 and 1933).

No doubt the golfing readers will be aware that these days we have only three minutes to search for a lost ball – it used to be five – so at long last I’ve come up with a way of getting the timing right.  My phone, which is sometimes in my back pocket, occasionally in the golf bag, needs a six-figure code to access stuff, so it probably adds at least an extra minute to the search; my watch is usually in my locker in the clubhouse; but in Wilko the other day, I found my solution:  a digital timer.

It was four quid, from Wilko’s “really useful kitchen stuff” range and it should work a treat…I’ll keep you posted.

I’m always finding ways to delay writing the blog and this week’s prevarication involved composing a welcome to Ange Postecoglou, the latest manager of Tottenham Hotspur FC.  We’ve got until Sunday to produce a wee video, giving our name, a warm welcome to our new Aussie  boss and coming up with a question that might be released across every club channel (!!).

I’ve thought of a question, now I just have to root out my Spurs tee shirt and make sure it’s not too creased.  Anybody got an iron to spare?…..That’s another in-joke, it’s not a serious request.  This house is a no-ironing zone.

I was sitting mulling over the possible content of this week’s blog when the phone rang.  That is an unusual occurrence because it was the house phone and I keep forgetting we have one.  There is only one person in the world who ever rings it and that is a neighbour who refuses to do texting or mobiles.

Intrigued, I answered it and after a beat of silence an automated message began, informing me of a dodgy £800 charge on my Visa card for online gambling in America.  Due to the suspicious nature of this charge the Visa team had put a hold on the transaction (lucky me!) and, the voice continued, if I wished to stop this payment going through I was to press 1 and I would get straight through to the fraud squad.  I have no doubt whatsoever that had I pressed 1 I would, indeed, have found myself talking to a fraud squad, just not one with my best interests at heart.

Returning to my blog musings and wondering whether to start with Leona’s great win in the States (see pic at top) or Rory’s brave but unavailing attempt (known in this family as a BBU) to add another major title to his haul, I got sidetracked into pondering the amount of endeavour and work these scammers put in to relieve innocent folk of the contents of their bank accounts.  They’ve obviously got decent brains but have decided a life of crime is more rewarding than honest graft.

If you’re a touring, professional golfer relying on your winnings for your livelihood then your entire life is dependent on good, hard, honest graft and as with most things in life there are absolutely no guarantees.  That’s why I was greatly heartened to read of  Northern Ireland’s Olivia Mehaffey’s fabulous 64 in the opening round of last week’s Amundi German Masters on the Ladies’ European Tour.

Olivia, now 25 years of age, played during her formative years at Royal County Down Ladies’ and had a very successful college career in the States, which included two invitations to play in the Augusta National Women’s Amateur.  She turned pro in 2021 but was stopped in her tracks last year with the death of her father, ultimately deciding to take a break from the tour to grieve and work on her mental health.  Her 64, the lowest round of her career, paved the way to a top 12 finish and hopefully will be the start of her finding success and joy in her life again.

Meanwhile, the same week, Olivia’s erstwhile fellow international, Leona Maguire, was shooting her own 64 – this time in the final round of the Meijer LPGA Classic for Simply Give.  This catapulted her to her second LPGA Tour victory and to 12th in the women’s Rolex world rankings.  A grafter supreme, Leona credited some key up-and-downs in that final sparkling round as the moments that cemented her win.  She had spent some time last summer with fellow Irish professional Padraig Harrington, one of the hardest workers in the game, a three-time major champ and all-round good egg.

Padraig is more than ready to share his knowledge and skill with younger players and he had a willing pupil in Leona, who says she’s going to see if she can repeat the exercise, diaries allowing, some time this summer.  She’s keen now to take the next step and become a major champion.  It could even happen this week as she’s currently in New Jersey playing in the KPMG Women’s PGA Championship, the second of the five majors the women play each year.

Harrington had his own major last week and proved at the US Open that he still has the game to compete at the very highest level.  Now 51 years of age, Padraig finished 27th at Los Angeles Country Club on two over par and as an eternal student of the game, no doubt he feels he is still learning.  And he is still giving back.

Anyway, he will always be a favourite of mine for winning me a bet with Peter Alliss many moons ago.  After his (Harrington’s) sparkling 14-month spell back in 2007/2008 when he won three majors, the victories dried up.  Peter and I were discussing this one day and the great Mr Alliss decreed that, sadly, he didn’t think the Irishman would grace the winner’s circle again.  I stoutly disagreed and one of our spirited discussions ensued, resulting in the wager of a “decent bottle of red” over the outcome.  It took until 2015 before Padraig won the Honda Classic – and, yes, Peter was as pleased as I was.

Ok, so now I’ve mentioned the US Open I have to mention Rory.  I hadn’t the staying power to sit up through the night and watch but I did record the broadcast.  When I heard the result in the morning, I was gutted for him.  He has achieved so much and set the bar so high that a 2nd-place finish in the US Open is another heavy disappointment.  Contrast that with the talented Aussie Min Woo Lee who tweeted out in triumph, celebrating finishing 5th in a major.

This is how it’s going to be for Rory, though – and his supporters, I suspect.  However unrealistic, nothing but 1st will suffice.  He’s vowed to keep trying and promises that his fifth major victory will be the sweetest of them all.  Another grafter supreme.

I deleted the broadcast without watching it.

So, this blog seems to have turned into a bit of an Irish ramble.  You’ve just been saved from more of the same – literally, by the bell.  There’s the phone……the house phone.

Oh oh!

Much to your (and my) relief, this week I am not even going to mention the current contentious topic concerning world golf.  When moaning on to the sister the other day about the game in general, she asked me what I was looking forward to in golf at the moment and to write about that.  So that set me thinking…..

First of all, I’m really looking forward to following the career progression of 20-year old Irishman Tom McKibbin.  Tom plays at Holywood Golf Club, the same club as one Rory McIlroy, motoring along nicely through the amateur ranks.  He has not disappointed since he turned pro and his tenth place finish on last year’s Challenge Tour enabled him to graduate to the DP World Tour this year.  A couple of weeks ago he notched a win in Hamburg at the Porsche European Open to become the youngest Irish winner on the tour since Rory won as a 19-year old back in 2009.

Whatever’s in the water at Holywood Golf Club parents of wannabee golf champions should join instantly and surround their offspring with the warm, supportive positivity that obviously emanates from there.  On the Saturday in Holywood the club television was firmly set to the golf in Hamburg as the members followed Tom’s progress.  There was no chance of the FA Cup final taking precedence.

The US Open this week is at a different Hollywood, at Los Angeles Country Club, an exclusive set-up opening up its fairways to a major championship for the first time.  It will be interesting to see how Englishman Matt Fitzpatrick performs in defence of the title he so wonderfully clinched last year at Brookline.  It’s hard to believe that was a year ago – it seems more like a handful of months.

Fitzpatrick revealed his eagerness to repeat last year’s effort and lift the trophy again, confessing he “didn’t spend enough time with it” over the months it was in his possession.  He and some pals did take it on holiday, however, showing it some of the Italian sights as they spent a week on a boat visiting various holiday spots along and near the Amalfi coast.  I wonder if his Italian mentor and fellow stats expert Edoardo Molinari helped with the itinerary.

Looking back for a moment, last week brought smiles and joy from a couple of other golfing directions.  Unless you’re a close friend or family member of Tommy Fleetwood how could you not be joyful at Canadian Nick Taylor’s unbelievable 72-footer for eagle at the fourth extra hole that won him his national title?  He was the first Canadian to win his home Open since 1954 and sparked scenes of unconfined joy from the partisan galleries.  Fellow Canadian and PGA Tour winner Adam Hadwin was rugby tackled to the ground by a security guard on the 18th green as he ran on to congratulate his pal.  Glorious mayhem!  Fortunately Hadwin survived intact and is playing in LA.

On a personal note, the last few days have seen me walk a few holes with a pal at Delamere and have a chip and a putt from the side of three or four greens.  Small steps but steps nonetheless.  Report card:  putting – acceptable.  Chipping – still yipping!  And there was I thinking that that vicious parasitic medication might kill off the yips as well!  But, you know what – who cares?

At the absolute top of my list of things to look forward to is making the trip to Royal Dornoch at the end of the month to spend some time with pals and watch the Vagliano Trophy, a biennial match between GB&I and the Continent of Europe.  There are eight players on each team and amazingly the sides are tied at 15 victories apiece with one match halved.  I’m pretty sure I played in that halved match…..I did play on three occasions and think we had one win, one loss and one half.  I’ve tried to find the archive on the R&A website but have been soundly defeated.  Either I’m worse at technology than I thought………. or perhaps there is no archive?  No, surely not!  I must just be worse than I thought.

Ingrid Lindblad of Sweden, the new world No 1, will be playing and it’ll be fascinating to see how these players cope with one of the best courses in the world.  Maria Dunne of Ireland will be the home captain trying to steer her troops to a first victory since 2005.  A past player herself, she is ideally placed to understand the pressures and highs and lows of playing elite amateur golf.  Seeing the best players play the best test will be a real treat.

Great courses evoke great memories and Dornoch is special for me.  Have I ever told you about the time Wales won the women’s Home Internationals there in 1999?  It was arguably my finest achievement in coaching……oh, you have heard it?  Oh, well then, for those of you who haven’t – a yarn for another time.

Sometimes sisters are wise old birds.  Thinking of enjoyable golfing things has perked me up no end.

 

 

 

 

 

It won’t surprise regular readers – Maureen, who’s the numbers person, assures me that we have more than one – to learn that you should treat everything I say with extreme caution.  I’m fond of a fact but they can be slippery things, hard to tie down, even harder to verify, so this blog is more of an opinion thing, designed to amuse, if possible; inform, every now and again; and even more occasionally, make you think.

Today, though, I give you due warning that I could, as the wee pic above indicates, be going potty.  Thursdays are the bin day hereabouts and this week it was the garden and recycling bins, plus the annoying blue bag recently introduced for paper and cardboard for some reason that escapes everyone but the bod whose idea it was.  Anyway, I go out to put the bins away and there’s no sign of my blue bag;  next door’s bag is there, empty, so is next door’s but one and so on.  But no sign of mine.  Bugger.

I come back from the morning dog walk and look up the council website to find somewhere to report the loss of my blue bag, discovering in the process that if your black bin is lost or damaged you have to pay for a new one!  How mean is that?  That doesn’t apply to the garden or blue recycling bins, who knows why.  I decide to hold off reporting my loss – the bin cycle doesn’t end until half past four in the afternoon – and put the kettle on.

Then, lo and behold, I see it:  the missing bag.  It was sitting there in its usual place beside the washing machine, large as life, overflowing with cardboard, on my usual route in and out of the house, impossible to miss let alone walk past several times without spotting it…Duh.

As you can see, I’ve accumulated a lot of pots over the years but not that many plants – they’ve all died – so at long last I’ve decided to tackle the problem.  The next step is to empty the weed-ridden pots, clean the ones that are still intact – Monty Don recommends just soap and water apparently – and dispense with the ones that are beyond repair.  Then I have to find plants that will thrive on neglect.  All suggestions welcome.

It was the Centenary Trophy on Tuesday, a medal comp, anathema to most  and my score reflected a woeful short game and putting that belied the quality of the putter – the implement, not the numpty wielding it.  When your ball-striking is as dodgy as mine is, you have to rely on your short game.  Perhaps I should find out where the practice area is.

At least I had one or two of those par things and can bask in the reflected glory of bringing in the winner.  Anne plays – played – off 10 and came home in 37 gross, two over par.  Fantastic.

A couple of days before, on the Old Course at St Andrews, Alex Maguire, from Laytown & Bettystown, played even better, posting a 64, eight under par, the lowest round of the week, to win the St Andrews Links Trophy by five strokes from Albert Hansson, of Sweden.  What could be more special than winning a trophy at the home of golf?  And in such style.

Maguire, who’d just won the East of Ireland Championship at Baltray, said, “It feels great…what a place to win.  Walking up the last, I got my dad to push the trolley up the last hole to have a special moment.  There’s so much history here that I’m delighted to add my name to it…

“My dad and mum love coming out to watch and they’re so proud of me.  They think it’s very special to be over here at the Old Course.  It was their first time here, so to walk away with the trophy here…is pretty special.”

He can say that again.  What a place to win.  A memory to last for ever.

It’s been quite relaxing not having to make my way from Lichfield to N17 (that’s north London, home of the mighty – !!! – Spurs, for newcomers to this space) every fortnight or so but, heaven help me, I’m really looking forward to the new season.  We have a new manager, an Australian called Ange Postecoglou, who was a huge success in his two years at Celtic and sounds like just the person we need.  The more I read about him, the more impressed I am and I just hope we give him time to work his magic.

Will the sainted Harry (Kane) still be with us?  Who knows.  But at least he’s wearing the new kit in the pre-season pics…

Sadly, I’m unable to splash out on the new kit because we’re sponsored by Nike and they’re on my banned list – they’ve ticked me off, so to speak; not that it’s made much difference to their profits.  Also, white is not a colour I dare wear often – too easy to get mucky and I’m not a tidy person.  Show me a bit of jam, soot, mud, tea, coffee and I’ll show you a stain.

Mo’s got herself a mini trampoline as part of her fitness regime and I was at a pizza party the other night where the sainted Alice was gingerly testing out a full-size version.  Not sure she was too enamoured.