Paddy Skerritt and myself were on the practice ground in Tenerife preparing for a pro-am, when this smart young English pro asked us to make room by moving along the line. I got the distinct feeling that he wasn't all that impressed with these old fogies about to hit some shots.

With that, Paddy mumbled apologetically and winked at me. I didn't need to be persuaded to adopt a spectator's role as he took out a four-iron and proceeded to hit one of his Lahinch specials - a low, screamer of a shot that seemed to go on forever. Our young friend's jaw dropped and he promptly left us to carry on with our business.

Then there was the occasion at Rush GC where Christy Senior - Himself - was giving a clinic. And he was up to his usual tricks of dropping balls into divot marks and then playing beautiful recoveries with a fairway wood or even the driver.

On seeing me in the gallery, he would mischievously take the grip of a club, put it to his mouth and pretend to play it like a clarinet. Of course, the crowd loved him.

From those little insights, you'll have gathered that I think the world of senior golf, as demonstrated by players who became part of my golfing education over the years. So, I was particularly pleased to be given a rather special treat by my son Pat, when I went to visit himself and his girlfriend Geraline in San Francisco two years ago.

My wife Helen who, incidentally, is a former lady captain of Castleblaney GC, was with me. And the highlight of the trip, certainly from my standpoint, was an invitation to attend the Transamerica Seniors' event at the magnificent Silverado Resort in Napa, Northern California.

After a beautiful drive from San Francisco through the Napa Valley, we arrived in time for the pro-am. Inside the old colonial clubhouse I immediately saw familiar faces, such as Arnold Palmer and Bob Charles. Arnold was particularly friendly and after talking about the new Tralee course, which I later learned he had designed, he kindly autographed a cap I had from Slieve Russell, where I do all their Christmas gigs.

Then the four of us - Helen, my- self, Pat and Geraline - went out to watch some golf. Among the first players we saw was John Bland, who was then in his rookie season as a senior. Anyway, after he had hit a really good short-iron, I shouted: "What was that, John - an eight or a nine?"

My son was mortified at the idea of me being so familiar with one of the players. And even Bland shouting back that he had played a nine, didn't seem to change things. Anyway, Bland came over to the ropes and on hearing we were from Ireland, he asked if I knew Don Wallace, the Galway professional. As things turned out, Bland went on to win the tournament, which made the meeting we had with him all the more special.

When I returned home to Ireland, I got a phone call from one of the guys in my band, Ronnie Duffy, who knows all about my love of senior golf. He then proceeds to tell me that there's a very interesting tournament on TV from a place called Silverado. It was all I could do to resist the temptation of suggesting a bet on the winner!

Though I consider myself to be a modest, 15-handicap member of Edmondstown, golf has become very much a part of my life. Indeed, one of the biggest regrets is that I failed to take advantage of some marvellous golfing opportunities when I spent five years in Las Vegas (from 1971 to 1976) with the "Big 8".

"Spoofer" Jordan, the road manager with the Capitol Showband and still going strong as a member of Donabate, had introduced us to golf a few years before. And during my stay in Vegas, I could have played the Desert Inn course any time I liked, free. Imagine how much better I might be now, if I had used that glorious chance.

It might mean that the next time some smart young pro came along, I wouldn't be afraid to hit shots alongside Paddy Skerritt.