There is one particular winter golf experience that’s burnt into my memory and reliably returns to me at this time of year in ultra-high definition. I was approximately 15 years old and, as a mid-single-figure handicapper, was just about good enough to qualify for entry into my county’s winter trials.
Taking place just after New Year, I remember my father hauling me out of bed at the crack of dawn, into the car and down to Prince’s Golf Club. For any teenager enjoying lazy school holiday mornings, this would be a jarring gear shift, but throw in the freezing rain and 40mph winds and you can imagine how parent-child relations became somewhat strained. Competing alongside some of the best golfers in Kent, I hit every type of bad shot imaginable.…
