You know those moments on a golf course when the weather turns the evil side of bad, the waterproofs can’t handle it and, as the club slips in hands shaking from the cold, another shot crackles into the jungle. You look at your companions and one of them says, ‘Shall we call it quits?’ Of course you do. There’s rain and then there’s rain, the torrential variety, that seeps into your soul shortly after it leaks into your socks. Shall we agree, it’s awful.
Well, that happened to me a few weeks ago at Old Thorns in Hampshire. I like the place. It’s fun in an open-minded, laid-back sort of way, but as my four-ball reached the halfway point, it was time for a reappraisal of what the heck we…