After an early chill it's shirtsleeves order for 6 Muffins bar Mr. Grumpy who's wearing his new Ryder Cup top and despite sweating up in the paddock is determined to extract the maximum value from it. (There's nearly an awkward moment with a runny fried egg - but he gets away with it).

There are two certainties in life. The first is that when out on one's bike and for safety reasons wearing a helmet and reflective jacket, it's impossible not to look like a knob. 

The second is the contrived nature of the Fat-Boy's toss up. This week it's a 6-1 split leaving Brett to tee up on his own until Tate and Nance take pity on him.

In a risk to his amateur status Tate is now sponsored by Strepsils and therefore armed against throat and larynx infections stemming from the regular shrieks of "fore". (Should anyone know the Portuguese equivalent, will they please text Tate soonest).

Front nine scoring is modest. DJ's putter is red-hot (through over-use, not competency) and it takes Mr. Grumpy four holes before a tee shot leaves the ground. In consequence the front nine is halved and it isn't until the back nine that the 4-ball under fat-Boy's captaincy stamp their authority on proceedings. The real winner is the handicapper and only 4 points separates all 7 participants. DJ and Fat-Boy share the individual spoils.