It is late March when dad suggests we should play the world championships together. He keeps talking about the Masters, this summer held in Virginia, and after months and months of him going on about it, telling stories about previous editions in Johannesburg and Hong Kong, and me listening to those stories, stories I might have heard before, I go online and pay the entry fee. I haven’t paid an entry fee for a tournament in a long time.
I entered, I email him, but get no reply.
The following week I see him. When are you going to put your name in? I ask.
At my age, he says, I’m never too sure if I get injured or not. So I deem it best to wait till the last possible moment to sign up.
Great. Now I’ll go alone. Retired from the tour less than two years ago, and off I go again, to a tournament far away, nothing to win, all alone, one of the things I really didn’t fancy anymore.