Not sure whether Royal Birkdale has been heaven or hell this past few days. The ferocious winds and heavy rain have been almost Biblical in scale, like some sort judgement from on high.

Gordon McKinstry, a very nice man from the Met Office, showed me the electronic charts tracking the storms that devastated the area on Thursday and even a weather man of his vast experience and knowledge was bemused by the way it was so concentrated on this little piece of Lancashire coast, as though the fickle finger of fate was pointing directly at us.

It was often a lovely sunny day on Saturday but we are all now officially bored with walking at a 45 degree angle into these immense winds. Thankfully, the forecast for Sunday is much more pleasant. Perhaps the Big Man upstairs has taken pity on us.

Or perhaps one of golf's devout souls has had a word. Golf has long had a strong streak of Christianity running through it; for a time, the American tour had its own Bible group, often led by Tom Lehman, the former Ryder Cup captain. But Stewart Cink took the lead at this tournament, appearing in Southport to give a sermon this week.

Apparently, Cink put the question to the congregation of 150 people: "Do you know you are going to heaven?" Not sure what they all answered, or if they dared to pipe up in the face of such a tricky question, but somebody did ask the American if God helped him with his golf. Er, well not this weekend. No such Lazarus-like - or should that be Norman-like resurrection - at Royal Birkdale for Cink, but a check on the records shows he has won around £8 million over the past four years. Blimey. Let us pray.

***

Appropriately, Team Times is billeted in a suburb of Southport called Churchtown, in two large houses sitting side-by-side so we can nip between them in search of nibbles and the odd cheering glass of something cold.

Hotel rooms at golf tournaments are as rare as birdies at Royal Birkdale but there is never any shortage of locals volunteering to rent out their homes. For substantial reward, of course. One estate agent was approached by more than 1,500 residents and has rented out around 250 properties, ranging from a one-bedroomed apartment at £1,000 for the week up to three-beds semis and detacheds at around £3,000 to £6,000. Not bad for a week's rent, eh? No wonder everone in Churchtown appears to be on holiday somewhere a hell of a lot hotter and drier than here.

Local gossip also has it that the penthouse suite at The Vincent, Southport's poshest hotel, is costing a middle-eastern businessman £15,000 for the week. I wouldn't have bothered to go outside into the rain at that price. Bed and telly for me.

***

No idea where the Normans are staying. Somewhere bijou and romantic, no doubt. Greg has spent the week telling everyone how happy he is since he married the fragrant Chris, as in Evert, the former darling of Wimbledon. Her golfing husband has definitely mellowed, as he showed on Saturday afternoon when arrived at the tenth to discover a logjam of players, including the up-and-coming Camilo Villegas. The Colombian was sitting on a table, swinging his legs while he waited to get onto the tee. Norman told him to budge up and the pair enjoyed a cheerful chat.

Actually, Norman had a practice round with Villegas on Tuesday and the youngster reckons he got some tips from the master, obviously useful because he hit eight birdies on a wild Friday, including five in a row on the last five holes. Of course, neither of them had a clue then that Norman, at the age of 53, would be in contention for the championship.

***

Well done to Simon Wakefield, also up there at the top of the leaderboard at rhe start of Sunday's play. Seems like a nice chap and one of the golf circus told me a funny story that cheered me up no end. Apparently, Wakefield was chatting at an airport carousel in Portugal when he spotted a passenger picking up his luggage. The passenger tore off the paper luggage tag on his bag and threw it on the floor. Wakefield spotted he misdemeanour and immediately broke off his chat to shout over: "Oi, sunshine. Pick up your litter. We don't want it." Very public spirited and it worked, they tell me, with the passenger picking up his litter. They should put Wakefield on my local High Street to frighten some of the scruffy locals. I would pay him.

***

Plenty of the spectators here are from the football fraternity. One famous footballing face not here is the excellent Sir Bobby Robson, who was showing earlier this week tremendous determination and humour in the face of the awful cancer that has dogged him for quite a while now. The League Managers' Association held a tribute dinner for Sir Bobby earlier this week at which his indomitable spirit was well in evidence. Nothing seems to quell his sense of humour.

A colleague from another newspaper told me a charming story of going to interview Sir Bobby while she, too, was recovering from cancer. Sir Bobby asked where her tumours were and she replied that she was recovering from breast cancer. "That's the only place I haven't had it," he quipped. Terrific chap and we wish him well.