It's going to be a bundle of fun at Sywell this Sunday, if the present windy weather persists. It's blowing pheasants out of the roosting trees; and the rabbits ears are like socks on a washing line. The birds in the air, flying with the wind, are traveling like Harrier jets: the ones flying into the wind are hovering like helicopters. Either that, or there are an unusually large number of kestrels about today. I thought that the grass had been mown, but upon closer inspection, it appears that it has been stripped, at soil level, by the wind. If you belong to MFTA and you believe in anything at all, you had best get on your knees and plead for some moderation, from Whoever is stirring the elements. Or for Neil & Phil to set the course out where there is some shelter. (though I'm don't know where that would be, at Sywell) o If it's like this on Sunday, I will be taking the camera and leaving the gun at home. I don't need another abysmally low score.