Colin Byrne/Caddie's Role: There are not many occasions when caddies dream of the confines of a conventional existence. Nine to five, five-day weeks in an overheated office is what many of us are trying to avoid. But with the inclement conditions we have been dealing with recently, a stuffy bureau seems mighty tempting.

But of course bad weather is not a justification for staying off the links during tournaments. There are three scenarios that warrant suspension of play: lightning, winds strong enough to move the ball on the greens, and enough rain to waterlog the course, in particular the greens.

Constant rain on a course with good drainage will rarely cause a stoppage in play. More often than not, rain just means a lot of inconvenience for the golfer and, in particular, the porter.

Dave McNeilly, the load lugger for Padraig Harrington, has his own theory about the evolution of the caddie as a species if global warming continues to affect the climate at the rate that it is at present. Just as Charles Darwin developed his theory of evolution by natural selection, McNeilly believes that the next generation of caddies are likely to develop a third limb to enable them to cope with the demands of caddying in the rain.

The caddie has the usual basic duties to perform during a fair-weather round. From yardage and club selection to divot duty, bunker raking and psycho analysis for the varying personalities that our masters develop throughout the course of a competitive round of golf, we have plenty to keep us occupied.

But when it rains, that throws an added complication into the equation: keeping the clubs dry. Along comes Dave's third arm theory. If you have ever witnessed an over-burdened caddie grappling with a golf bag, a wet towel, a dry towel, a club and divot, a yardage book and an umbrella, you will see the limitations of his/her efficiency with only a pair of hands. Call in "octacaddie" with multiple tentacles to deal with the extras.

McNeilly recalls his worst moment on the golf course, in Germany with Padraig a couple of years ago, when Harrington asked Dave for a yardage in the middle of a rainy round. Dave fumbled for his soggy book while delicately balancing the umbrella in high winds.

He eventually got to peeling off the moist pages of the book as his employer tapped his index finger impatiently against his chin. When he came to the required page and separated the mush to expose the third hole, it was so wet that the page just disintegrated onto his cold and stiff hand. Guess work ended up with Padraig's shot careering over the green into heavy rough.

Rain is the true test of the compatibility of player and the caddie; if it is a new partnership be thankful if it stays dry on the opening week. It's a bit like going away on holiday with friends that you normally don't travel with: everyone's idiosycracies become quickly apparent.

The player wants the clubs, his person and the ball kept dry under the shelter of an umbrella without you being anywhere near him. Proximity is the key, keep him dry but don't get too close.

In Morocco a couple of years back, the proximity conundrum back-fired on what had been a fairly steady partnership with a notoriously idiosyncratic senior member of the Tour. They were playing in glorious sunshine for three days at the King's course in Agadir.

The caddie had been a victim of grievous bodily harm to the earhole during the third round, which drove him to a night on the garlic in order to exercise revenge on the player .

The caddie was aware that this player did not like the pungent odour of garlic on his porter's breath in the morning, and had extra helpings in his dinner that night.

What he hadn't accounted for the next day was a deluge in the southwest corner of the traditionally arid land. No sooner had the duo reached the first green of the fourth round than the skies opened. The caddie sidled across the green with the umbrella and sheltered his boss and himself. His boss got a whiff of the odour emanating from his bagman, got a grip of the brolly and asked his porter if he had been eating garlic the previous night.

To which his caddie replied in the positive. The player wrenched the umbrella from his caddie's grasp and walked away, informing him that it wasn't a good day to be sharing an umbrella with him given what he had eaten for dinner, and left him to get soaked for the rest of the round. A conventional life sometimes beckons.