
It’s not hard to pinpoint your mind to something that’s really niggled you when playing a new course.
Mine would be around 15 years ago when, having paid £75 for the privilege of playing somewhere new on a Tuesday evening when there probably wouldn’t have been enough light to get round, I was then told my black ankle socks needed to be white.
So I then handed over another £5 for a pair of socks that I would wear for the next four hours and never again.
We didn’t see any other golfers in our time there, the assistant pro couldn’t have been more embarrassed to stick his head beneath the counter to produce the socks – something he obviously had to do several times a day – and my nose was put out of joint by something that was utterly ridiculous.