Andrew Johnston, at the Andalucía Masters © Golffile | Eoin Clarke
The years, the kilos, the early rises and even the eyelashes weigh. And that the replenishment dinner on Friday, courtesy of Real Club Valderrama, it was exquisite. But one is already needing to incorporate a formulary in the travel bag to consult remedies for pain: feet, back, head, chest from tobacco, fingers from typing (Andalusian exaggeration) … I am crushed, I never I have gone to bed so early in my visits to San Roque. I don’t get tangled up and I go to bed early. Child? well. But it is almost better to go out because at four in the morning I woke up with a start thinking that there was a bacchanal in my hostel. Slamming doors and noises everywhere. Nothing is further from reality. They were the ‘greenkeepers’ staying there who were preparing to prepare the field. As gardeners and with the grass they are surely priceless, but with the doorknobs they do not go too far.
I arrive at the field dragging the paintbrushes, although I soon become active, perhaps because of the photo with the beautiful Augustine. I shoot out to see Quiros and Elvira, the only Spanish couple in the Saturday triples. It’s a splendid morning, not a drop of wind and sun that bites as the hours go by. Many fans gathered to see the man from Cádiz and the man from Santander, enjoying a great time with the birdie on one of them. Then the thing stopped and after the nine, with my throat begging to be watered with water, I went to eat, but not before enjoying the eagle of Wiesberger, which he holed from the street. He caught me on the way to the green of 9.
At lunch, I wanted to ask for a caesar salad to be drizzled with two or three ibuprofen. I held back. I met the caddy and the police officer there. Rahm. They were talking very softly and I almost fell out of my chair because of my ear. I saw crestfallen pass Otaegui and then to Fernandez Castaño, so better to stay in my place and not join the afternoon walk.
And, of course, all roads lead to Larrazabal (already Gavins, who has played with him all three days). The man came from two punctures on 8 and 9, but on par on the day. His father must be up to his hat to meet a heated lanky man. I apologize for the turra from this humble blog. The birdies at 11 and 13 but got muddy from 15 to 17 and twisted the turn.
Before the Barcelona went Johnston and I looked out to the green of 12 to support him. He went from bunker to bunker and saved a big bogey. Right after his partner had a scuffle Lagergren with the Englishman’s caddy, to whom he reproached the bad manners with which he had directed his caddy to rake one of the sand obstacles. The good of Beef chose not to mediate; Thank goodness, because with one blow he can send the Swede to Algeciras.
It is close to six o’clock and there is no formulary that can take away my drowsiness. The best thing will be an English dinner, at nine in the dump and at four in the morning I get up and go to the field with the greenkeepers.