I caught a glimpse of my golf clubs the other day, slumped forlornly in the corner like a Victorian class dunce, and thought to myself, “oh blimey, I’m going to have to get these things out soon” with a shudder of foreboding.

Presumably, said clubs, all of which have been forced against their will to commit some appalling golfing atrocities down the years, thought something similar.

I imagine them sighing, “oh Lord, this clown is thinking about going for a hit about soon” as they faced up to a rude awakening from their hibernation.

Dragging the old tools out again will no doubt be a palaver broadly equivalent to trying to cajole a stubborn dog into going for a walk as it digs all four paws into the ground, leans defiantly against your yanks of the leash and delivers a glower of snarling obstinacy.

I wouldn’t be surprised if my Callaway stand bag cocked its bloomin’ leg amid the bitter impasse.

All of this preamble is an elaborate way of informing you that I’ve not played for yonks, so it’s impossible to say if the new golfing season will be a complete debacle or just a mere fiasco. In this flummoxing game, you just never know.

For Matteo Manassero, the ups, downs, twists and turns that are par for the course in this ancient stick and ba’ pursuit reached a delightful........

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