"Of heathery lies and heavenly days"

Or, "Golf Masochism at its very best"

Some things in the calendar are fixed, immovable, sacred even. Wednesday last I’d been invited back to New Zealand, and if the weather forecast had predicted the apocalypse instead of passing showers, I’d still have been “on” for it. In fact, when the apocalypse does arrive, I’d be hard pressed to think of anywhere I’d rather watch it.

It is familiar ter…