Well now, you will want to know how I got on in my game with Justin Rose at Royal Birkdale last week. I suspect you have been able to think of little else.

Birkdale on a clear summer morning was a delight, its fairways resembling green ribbons of colour between the tawny sand dunes. At 7.45 in the morning the clubhouse had not officially opened, there wasn't another golfer on the course and the larks were at work overhead.

Our handicap difference was quickly dealt with. Justin decided that three-quarters of the difference between his plus five and my 17 was near enough a stroke a hole. Justin played off the championship tees, as he will in the Open in July, I off the men's and off we went, the two of us, Mark Fulcher, his new caddie, Nick Bradley, his coach, and, later, Marcus Day, his manager, and Paul McDonnell, from TaylorMade.

Quite early on I realised that the odds were stacked even more heavily against me than I had imagined. I knew that Justin was an opponent. I did not expect Fulch and Nick Bradley to be lined up against me as well.

Putting on the second green as Fulch attended the flag, I asked Fulch if I was aiming at the hole. "How would I know," he replied. "I can't work out where you're aiming. Your head is going one way, your shoulders another, your hands another. You look terrible."

Fulch shot a glance at Bradley. "What do you think of his aim Nick?" Fulch said as Justin smirked. Bradley threw his head back, rolling his eyes as he did so.

"I thought I was playing Justin," I muttered somewhat plaintively. "I didn't realise I was playing the three of you."

Some of the impressions I expected to form when playing with a world-class golfer, I did form. Just how powerfully the top class pros hit the ball was brought home to me when Justin stood on the elevated 8th tee and let rip with three or four different drivers.

"John Daly nearly drove this hole in 1998" I said as we walked down the fairway.

Justin's accuracy with a wedge was impressive to one standing alongside him. The way in which he managed to hit a lob wedge approach so low that it looked as though it was hit with a 9 iron was striking. What would a middle handicap amateur give for the firm putting stroke that he demonstrated, whether the putt he was facing was a 25-footer or a four-footer.

The day before our game, Justin had played a practice round with Adam Scott, his friend and contemporary. Scott had never played Royal Birkdale before and arrived unannounced in Southport, found himself a £30 a night bed and breakfast and met a landlady who was not exactly overwhelming in her hospitality.

"Breakfast is from 8.30 to nine," she announced as the Australian checked in.