Well, it had to happen some time and I suppose it became inevitable when I took delivery of an outdoor brolly – patio parasol if you want to be a bit posher – a few days ago. The sun started disappearing, the breeze got up, then there were rumbles of thunder, scary flashes of lightning and, inevitably, before too long, torrential rain.
The brolly’s now nestling inside but hasn’t yet been packed away in the shed because, ever optimistic, I’m hoping I might need it this coming Bank Holiday Monday. Yeah, right. The sun’s going to shine again on a bank holiday! Perhaps I’ll put it up anyway and find out just how waterproof it is…
There’s been lots of flooding here in Lichfield, with Beacon Park acquiring some new lakes and Severn Trent called out to cope with blocked drains and the often unsavoury consequences. A couple of my neighbours had to head out early in the morning in search of sandbags and I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I stay high and dry.
The sainted Alice is staying at mine for a few nights and the other morning we had to venture out in thunder, lightning and heavy rain for the non-negotiable pee and poo run. She, being a working lab designed for such conditions, couldn’t have been happier to head out – me not so much. I had to root out my waterproof walking boots, my long waterproof coat and a waterproof hat, not forgetting the poo bags and the front door key. We weren’t out for long.
Alice in her element. She’s designed for the wet. What’s your problem?
We did manage a longer walk in the afternoon when the weather eased off a little – and I noticed that the golf at The Belfry, not that far away, had got under way as well. It’s the Husqvarna British Masters hosted by Sir Nick Faldo and Ulsterman Tom McKibbin, a refugee from the imploding LIV, was leading at five under par after 13 holes. Play is scheduled to resume this morning at 0730 and the second round won’t start before 1345, weather permitting.
As I write this, the rain is hammering down again and the thunder is rumbling, there’s a bit of lightning and I’m looking out a couple of lifebelts for Alice and me. Might have to break my Amazon embargo.
This weather reminds me of why I was always delighted that I was never in charge of any golf tournament. However inconvenient or irritating delays were for the rest of us, it was the poor souls running the event who had the hard work to do. Ben Groutage, the DP World Tour’s tournament director at The Belfry, described the difficulties: “We managed to play two minutes first thing this morning before we came off for lightning. [All golfers take note, this is an absolute must, don’t even think about waiting for a signal to leave the course, head off at once.]
Tom McKibbin thriving in the Midlands [Getty Images]
I confess I have no interest in who splashes through to victory here or in Atlanta – where I think it’s only hot and sweaty, with a wee bit of rain, for the moment, at the Tour Championship. That’s entirely selfish because my PYP (Pick Your Pro) choices aren’t playing – well, that’s not entirely true; one of them is playing, just not in the right place.
Alex Fitzpatrick, younger brother of Matt, was my pick for the aforementioned British Masters but he’s had such a good season that he’s playing in Atlanta instead. Corey Conners, the Canadian I plumped for at the Tour Championship (field of thirty, no cut), failed to make it, so that’s nul points this week. Since I’m already bottom of the table, my only hope is that I’ll be getting my tenner entry fee back at the end of affairs in November.
I’ve been bottom before but the only time I was delighted not to claim the booby prize – a bottle of champagne, the proper stuff no less – was many years ago at The Oxfordshire, never one of my favourite courses. I’d had my first – and last – video lesson that morning and was so horrified by what I saw that I could do nothing right out on the golf course that afternoon. How I managed to accumulate as many as 13 points, only the golfing gods know.
I steeled myself as the booby of the day was announced and prepared a rictus grin and a merry quip…The winner is – name long forgotten – with a grand total of….15 points…
I applauded loudly, more than delighted to forego the bubbles and the humiliation.
My golf’s been a bit better than that these last couple of weeks, though nothing to crow about and there’s absolutely no reason why I should have any expectations at all. Do I practise? No. Do I warm up? Barely, bar a bit of stretching. Have I worked on improving my dire short putting? Ah. Pass. That’s another no then.
To finish on a much higher level, Anna Nordqvist, Europe’s Solheim Cup captain, has announced her retirement from the professional grind after this week’s FM Championship in Boston.. At the age of 39, with three major titles to her name and a lot of angst and heartache to go with the successes, she’s had enough and is ready for a different life.
Anna in action in the familiar blue and yellow of Europe. [Tris Jones, LET]
No mention of early season thoughts and hopes then? Thought you might have sallied forth to Brentford then written your appraisal under the heading,
“Things can only get better”
Trish: with all that rain you’ve been writing about, you should have got out your fishing pole and caught a few. I fondly recall the “old” days at The Greenbrier when you caught a nice trout in my presence. You know….some of the best places to fish are golf course ponds.
Haven’t enough credits to get to away matches, Paul. Just hoping for a bit of fun and some decent football but if the basics of running and working hard are absent, heaven help us. Can’t stand the slumping when we go a goal or two down – drives me mad…Thanks for reading!
Thanks Bob, we’ve got a new “pond” on our course but not suitable for fishing. I loved our outing at The Greenbrier, it helped me understand why people fish, many thanks. Off to the Solheim in Holland aka The Netherlands, next week.