Royal North Devon or "Westwood Ho! is not for the faint-hearted. Open, wind-swept, shit-strewn (even before Bainey), it lies under a lowering sky largely unchanged since Old Tom Morris made a rare excursion away from his beloved St Andrews to potter about with a trowel and a few flags.

In the eyes of Mr. Grumpy it's a gem, golf as originally envisaged and just as God intended. In Nance's opinion it would benefit from the attentions of a tractor and a couple of hundred-weight of seed potatoes.

"Chacun a son gou" as they say.

Over a leisurely lunch the rain abates and DJ, Tate, and Bainey lead the way, followed by Fat-Boy, Nance and Mr. Grumpy. 