One of the most rewarding things about what I do for a living is that authors and publishers send some marvellous books for review. This week was no exception with the arrival on my desk of the second edition of John Redmond's wonderful book, Great Golf Courses of Ireland.

Golf is not one of my passions. But it has some attractions as well as disappointments for me. I might have become hooked (no pun intended) when I made a birdie on the (then) second hole at Strandhill, using a hickory-shafted putter in the company of my brother-in-law, the late Paddy Cunningham, who had learned his golf on the Newcastle course in County Down.

The rest of that round has faded from memory, but I suspect that it was not as distinguished on the more testing holes. What does survive in my mind however is that it would have been easy to disappear without trace in the long "bent" grass which was a characteristic of the course in those days, along with the rolling, sandy terrain which seemed determined to frustrate every honest effort. How anyone ever got around that nine hole course (as it was then) in par baffles me.

Strandhill is not included in John Redmond's book but Rosses Point, directly across Sligo Bay, is and it's given its due recognition as one of Ireland's great courses. In spite of recent problems with the greens it is still a wonderful track, one on which I once played 36 holes one glorious afternoon.

My companions that day were Bill Dodgin of Arsenal and Fulham fame, Mattie Burns who played for Sligo Rovers, Glentoran and Bohemians and a splendid fellow called Mickey Foster.

I also had the pleasure of covering for this newspaper a West of Ireland final at Rosses Point around 1978 which was won by a then young man called Barry Reddan from the County Louth club who beat Kenny Stevenson from Warrenpoint in the final by 3 and 2.

All of this is unimportant now but what is worth re-telling is that in the final out at about the 12th or 13th hole, well away from the sanctuary of the clubhouse, hail and wind lashed across the course from the Atlantic and sent us spectators scurrying for shelter to a small hut with a corrugated tin roof.

As the players also sought shelter, space was made for Barry Reddan's mother, Clarrie. In her day she had played at the highest level, including the Curtis Cup. Also crammed into the hut were two veterans from Rosses Point. Above the pounding of the hailstones on the roof they talked about the young Reddan. "Jay he's very slow on the greens," said one.

"Indeed he is," said the other and added, "he's not a patch on the mother, Clarrie. I saw her here in the women's open in 1939. She was one of the best to have played this course, man or woman. She had a great touch on the greens, and I'll tell you this! She could sink them in the bar as well."

Those who could rushed out into the swirling storm in order not to embarrass either Clarrie or the two veterans but Clarrie stood her ground and when I spoke to her in the clubhouse afterwards she admitted that it was one of the nicest compliments she had ever been paid.

Golf can be a rather snobbish sport and would appear to be drifting further in that direction. Last week my colleague Dermot Gilleece wrote about the green fees which are being charged at top golf clubs around the country. A hundred pounds is not out of the question for a round of 18 holes on some of the courses and that would not include a meal afterwards and the privilege of costly drinks in the bar from which Clarrie Reddan would be barred because of the fact that she is a woman.

A major down-side of golf is that people of little or no talent for the game insist on talking of their exploits as though they were on the verge of Ryder Cup selection.

After one such "society" outing I had the misfortune to sit at dinner beside a man who insisted on taking me through every shot of his round, some 140 I think. I had asked him what handicap he played off. He replied that he was playing off 24 and was furious when I suggested that the limit for men was 18 and that he should have been playing off the women's tees. I was delighted when he stomped off.

In spite of that sort of thing the negative aspects of golf can be put on hold when a superb publication such as John Redmond's lands unsolicited on one's desk. The wonderful photographs and the affectionate nature of the prose is something which has to be appreciated and, should you have left out somebody from your Christmas present list, here is a ready-made solution.