The match would have to be at Prestwick St Nicholas. Happily, I don't have personal contact with anyone I dislike, so I'll have to play on my own with my three worst failings, the slice, the topped-shot and the shank. I realise that you should never mention the shank, but in confronting our demons we have to acknowledge them: there is no hiding from them. I shall, of course, come away from the match sorely chastened, but at least the slice, the topped-shot and the shank will leave the course heads held high and possibly buy me a drink. And as one dram leads to another I shall, no doubt, get to like these three all the more and vow to play with them every time I visit a course. After all, they are very loyal to me.