Neanderthal Golf and Gore

I head for Knightsbridge and we discuss the chapter on transition. Dave and Steve think it’s all pretty self-explanatory. They don’t seem to understand the issue I have, moving from the backswing to the downswing.

As soon as I get to the top, I change. I change into a crazed Neanderthal. Armed with my club, I throw myself at the ball, I spin my shoulders and lash wildly. It’s a battle not to scream “Kill! Kill! Kill!” And that's just with my putter.

I discuss this with Dave at Knightsbridge and he suggests an exercise. I get to the top, then simply drop my arms back down the path they came up while keeping my hips solidly in position and my chest fully turned.

“Repeat that three times, then swing to the finish. The acceleration comes later, as you release the club into the impact zone,” he says. "And stop shouting 'kill, kill' all the time, it's putting our other students off."

It all feels very controlled, and balanced, and sensible, as it should be.

Dave goes for a coffee and I revert immediately. I don’t see a golf ball. I see a mammoth for breakfast.

I leave for home, a tusk under my arm and blood and gore dripping from my teeth.