When I was growing up I lived on the edge of a golf course and my routine in the holidays was much the same each day. After breakfast I would sling my golf clubs over my shoulder, walk the 200 yards to the 1st tee and play golf or head to the practice ground and hit balls. I would return home for lunch and be back on the golf course or the practice ground in the afternoon. Sometimes my Father and I would play in the evening after he had returned from his office.

It was, in short, golf, golf and golf and I loved it. I couldn't wait to get up and get out on to the golf course. It didn't do much for my French or Latin but it did wonders for my handicap.

This morning I feel as excited about my day as I used to feel when I was that gangly teenager spending hours on the practice ground. The reason? I am playing a round with Justin Rose.

This is where golf scores over so any other games. You can't play tennis with Andy Murray nor snooker with Ronnie O'Sullivan (?). But such is golf's handicap system that Justin Rose, the best player in Europe, can have a pleasant round with your correspondent, a 17 handicapper, and it should not feel as though it has been a complete waste of time.

I have played in pro-ams before. Tony Johnston was very nice to me when we competed as a team in the Alfred Dunhill Links Championship a few years ago and in preparation I played a few holes with Gordon Brand Jnr. I soon had him begging for mercy. "For God's sake John keep still when you putt" he said to me on the 4th green at Kingsbarns. "Your head's moving, your arms are moving, your legs are moving. You've got more moves than Shakin' Stevens."

So though I know a little about what to expect from my round with Justin that will not diminish the enjoyment of watching someone up close hit the ball cleanly, accurately and so far. Even watching from inside the ropes, as I am able to do as a golf writer, does not prepare you for the feeling on inadequacy when you hit the best drive of the day and find yourself 20 yards behind the pro, who was driving from a tee 30 yards further back than you were or when you take an 8 iron on a short hole and your pro pulls out a pitching wedge.

I anticipate other benefits, too. Having Mark Fulcher, Justin's caddie who is known as Fooch, help me line up my putts. Having Nick Bradley, Justin's coach, walk around with us and give me, to all intents and purposes, a private lesson. Overhearing Justin, Fooch and Nick discuss strategy on a particular hole - the line to take from the tee, the distance to clear that sandhill, which is the better side to "miss" a green. There is also the not inconsiderable advantage of improvement by subliminal observation, finding my own rhythm as a result of watching Justin's.

In short I expect it to be a pleasure, a hacker's dream. I shall report back next week.

It's time to squash those snails

Slow play has been with us since golf started. The difference between what was considered to be slow play then and now is time, minutes certainly, perhaps hours. In the Open of 100 years ago two rounds were played each day, and the starting time of the first groups were both in the morning, eg 7.05 and 11.50.

The last round of Trevor Immelman and Brandt Snedeker in last month's Masters received criticism because it took them, a two-ball, five hours. Pace of play was better last Sunday in the last round of The Players Championship. Despite it being a difficult course and a windy day and despite some considerable walks from greens to tees (the 9th to the 10th for example is 1 quarter of a mile) Paul Goydos and Kenny Perry took 4 hours and 15 minutes.

That's a snail's pace to those who are used to playing 18 holes in 2 1/2 hours, as I was when I was growing up. But it might be considered an improvement.