‘Brilliant by Morgan!’ the Voice of Golf cried. Then came disaster...

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 24

I’ve been invited to play in the Alfred Dunhill Links Championship, a star-studded event in Scotland created by South African billionaire Johann Rupert, where amateur golfers get to play with professionals in a real $5million tournament.

Because of long Covid, I’ve barely touched a club in months, and when I played a warmup match with a mate at Wimbledon Park today, he thrashed me.

To compound my misery, Ant McPartlin appeared afterwards to gloat about winning his National Television Award.

‘Lost again, Morgan?’ he chortled.

His sidekick Declan Donnelly was even more insufferable, gleefully brandishing a large trophy in his hands. Turned out he’d just won his own annual event, the Donnelly Open. ‘Winning’s a habit, Piers, you should try it sometime!’ he smirked.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 28

Flew to St Andrews, where golf began. It boasts an equally iconic pub, The Jigger, where tonight I found Team Europe’s Ryder Cup captain Pádraig Harrington smarting from the wounds of his men’s resounding beating to the Americans last week.

‘Should have picked me,’ I said. ‘My sledging skills would have silenced those cocky Yanks like Bryson DeChambeau.’

‘You remind me of Bryson, actually,’ Pádraig replied.

It wasn’t intended as a compliment. We discussed the challenge ahead. ‘It’s easy for you,’ he said, ‘you only need one good shot caught on camera that you can blast to your eight million Twitter followers, and everyone will wrongly assume you’re a good golfer.’

He’s right, though conversely, one terrible shot can quickly go viral – the Dunhill’s aired on Sky Sports – and have the opposite effect.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 1

After a good first day at Kingsbarns yesterday, in which my pro – rising Scottish star Connor Syme – and I scored six under par, the St Andrews Old Course today proved to be the great leveller it’s been for so many over its 257 years, as 45mph crosswinds rendered every shot a potential gale-force calamity.

Connor struggled to score as much as I did, so I offered some motivational advice.

‘Remember the words of Nelson Mandela: it always seems impossible until it’s done.’

When that didn’t work, I turned to another historical giant for solace. ‘As Churchill said, success is going from failure to failure with no discernible loss of enthusiasm.’

After brief moments of glory – Sky commentator Ewan ‘Voice of Golf’ Murray even uttered the words ‘Brilliant by Morgan!’ when I nailed an approach shot on the ninth – my nadir came at the 17th ‘Road Hole’ that bends around the Old Course hotel.

You can either play safe, avoiding the hotel, or drive right over it in a do-or-die blaze of audacity.

Obviously, I went for it, only to see my drive smash into the hotel’s reinforced windows.

‘That’s Piers,’ said Murray, ‘… and oh dear, that’s room 484.’ Sky played the clip on a loop for the next 24 hours.

We weren’t the only ones who had a tough day. Over dinner tonight, disconsolate seven-time World Snooker Champion Stephen Hendry bemoaned his putting woes. ‘Just couldn’t get the ball in the hole,’ he sighed.

‘Maybe put a red ball in front of the white?’ I suggested, unhelpfully.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 2

Last time I stood on the first tee at Carnoustie, I entered Dunhill Links folklore by smashing my opening shot on to a stone bridge, from where it flew at right angles into the clubhouse wall and then rebounded over the screaming spectators’ heads. So, the nerves were jangling today, but I smoked my drive, hit a perfect five iron on to the green and drained the 25ft putt for a net eagle.

It was almost better than sex.

Sadly, my performance worsened as horribly as the weather. Lashed by torrential rain and ferocious winds, I shanked three successive shots. ‘Mandela would have quit in these conditions,’ I told Connor, ‘Some things ARE impossible.’

‘At least you’re not losing your enthusiasm,’ he grinned. We finished 11 under par and came 103rd out of 168. Elsewhere, TV tycoon Peter Jones blasted a large hole in a hospitality hut, which was swiftly renamed The Dragon’s Deli.

Tonight there was a gala dinner including a brilliant show by golfing musicians including Ronan Keating, Tom Chaplin, Bradley Simpson from The Vamps, Mike Rutherford, Dave Farrell from Linkin Park and even movie star Andy Garcia on bongos!

Huey Lewis normally joins them but has a hearing disorder called Ménière’s disease, which sadly means he may never perform again. Instead, he made a very funny and touching speech.

At midnight, I came across a hard-partying Shane Warne, who’d clearly decided the best way to prepare for his final day assault on the Pro-Am team title – he’d made the cut with Kiwi pro Ryan Fox – was to get regally hammered. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed, Warnie?’ I politely enquired.

‘Sleeping’s cheating, mate!’ he roared back, ordering another vodka Red Bull. ‘Come and join me.’

Fortunately, an unlikely saviour came in the form of Lord Botham, who stepped in to stop me falling off the long Covid no-booze wagon.

‘Let’s get you home, grandpa,’ he sighed. So, we stumbled off into the night – Beefy’s also suffered post-Covid fatigue since getting the virus 18 months ago – and asked an amused taxi driver outside to transport our creaking carcasses 250 yards up the hill.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 3

Woke to a message from England cricket captain Joe Root containing a photo of a golf ball initialled ‘PM’ and ‘eight million followers’. ‘Do you want your ball back, Piers?’ he asked. ‘Landed in my room.’

After a fabulous few days, I watched the final day’s play on TV. Shane Warne, last seen bellowing Satisfaction on stage at 3am, played the greatest round of his life, scoring birdie after birdie and finishing second in the team competition.

‘How the hell did you do that given the state you were in when I left you?’ I texted him.

‘Hahaha, I have no idea!’ he replied. ‘I didn’t get to sleep until 5am!’

Sporting greats aren’t made like the rest of us.