IT all came down to the final putt on the final green after 18 epic holes.
The match ebbed and flowed between me and the Caerphilly Kid, with the prestigious Reg Skoda Trophy at stake. I moved into a slender lead and held it at the turn, at which point we downed clubs and strolled up through the woods to the Churston Court for a pint and a bag of crisps.
On our return, Jail Ale took its toll immediately and I fell behind, the Welshman chipping in from the fringe on the 10th. But I wore him down and tittered unsportingly when he thrashed about like Eric Sykes sending up little showers of sand in the bunker beside the 16th.
Finally, I needed to hole a four-foot putt on the last to square the match and thus retain the trophy.
I started the putt left, it ambled up to the hole, dithered on the edge, wobbled a bit and eventually dropped in.
Cue scenes of wild hysteria.
It was, it has to be said, a hell of a way to spend a day off in the sunshine.
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