My father’s rule as regards golf and rain is “Whilst within reason I don’t mind playing on if caught in a downpour, the one thing I won’t do is start in one”.

Yesterday we broke it at Windlesham. We hadn’t played together for six or seven weeks and were desperate. It’s unusual to have an early morning fog at this time of year but one descended as soon as I had reached the M3 and continued all the way to the club house.

“We cannot go out in this …” said Fatshaft upon arriving, “… It’s bad enough if you can hit the ball straight, but you two are so wayward you’ll lose four or five balls per hole …”

I ventured to the pro shop just to check there was no ban upon playing.

“Let me put it this way …” responded Matthew, the young assistant professional, “We’re saying to people that you are okay if you can see the fairway marker from the tee – and the first pair due to go off have just come back to say they still can’t”.

There was nothing for it but to order a large full-cooked breakfast and bemoan the advance of feminism at the BBC. As we were finishing we noticed that the fog was lifting somewhat … to be replaced by heavy rain. There was no need to remind them of my father’s adage [see above] because – sad, dementia-riddled cove that I am – I repeat it every time it begins to rain when we’re on the golf course. Nevertheless it took only a minute to decide we were sufficiently stir-crazy & keen to play that we’d go out anyway.

We practically had the course to ourselves. Despite our wet weather gear we were soon soaked to the skin and dealing with the problems of sodden club handles and gloves. It was a prolonged ordeal but – rather like with those walks in the rain with the dog when we were small children – somehow there was fun in the madness of it all and a sense of collective achievement afterwards when we reached the sanctuary of the club bar.

Ironically I played comparatively well, winning by a five shot margin with a (thirty-seven over par) gross 109. Had it not been for my two 10s, a 9 and an 8 – all the result of having to go ‘three off the tee’ - I might have been close to breaking 100. Too late for Ryder Cup selection, even as a captain’s pick, but there’s always 2010 …