It’s nice to feel appreciated now and again. The sports editor, for instance, thinks I’m the salt of the earth. Well, he did mumble something about wishing I was kept in a cellar.

Anyway, your correspondent occasionally receives the odd letter from avid readers expressing their gratitude for the pearls of wisdom that are delivered in the Tuesday column.

At least, I think it’s gratitude? It can be difficult to decipher some of these epistles as the paper upon which they are scribbled tends to be creased and crumpled from being wrapped around the bricks they came crashing through the window on.

It’s much easier to read an email these days and one of my regular responders is a delightful gentleman by the name of Ian McCosh. Those of you from the grand golfing vicinity of Renfrewshire will no doubt know of Ian.

He remains a passionate, enduring authority on amateur golf in that particular parish and can probably still reel off the outward and inward halves of Barclay Howard’s scorecards on his way to winning the Ralston Rosebowl in 1986.

The reason I bring Ian up is that he was cock-a-hoop about Kilmacolm golfer, Alexander Farmer, winning the Scottish Amateur Championship recently.

The 19-year-old Farmer even brought the cherished old trophy to Ian’s house and the young ‘un was no doubt treated to........

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