I recently came across a remark- able detail of my playing career. I discovered that my first appearance on the European Tour was in the Irish Open at Woodbrook in 1975 and that my swansong was in the same event at Mount Juliet in 1993. And in between, my first win on tour was in the Irish Open at Portmarnock in 1978.

Against that background, it's not surprising that I've got very special memories of the tournament. And naturally, '78 stands out above the others.

I used to stay at the Grand Hotel in Malahide - a nice, old-fashioned establishment with wonderful food and where the fixed menu contained the full works. I always enjoyed it there.

Then there was the golf course. In my view Portmarnock was and remains among the top two or three links courses in the world. And my special memories of '78 were first of all the size and enthusiasm of the crowds. And where the players were concerned, it was second only to the British Open on the European Tour, because of the quality of the course and the strength of the field.

As it happened, I was up with the leaders almost from the start and when it came to the last day, I was in the last two-ball with the local favourite, John O'Leary. I don't think there were any courtesy cars that year. Anyway, I organised a taxi to pick me up at the hotel about an hour and 20 minutes before my tee-time.

To my horror, it didn't turn up. There I was, in contention for my first win and feeling a bit nervous. And with the minutes ticking away, I was gripped by the awful fear that I might not get there on time.

Fear was turning to despair when, 30 minutes before I was due to tee- off, the taxi finally arrived. We got to the course about 10 or 15 minutes later - hardly ideal preparation. I can vividly recall thinking that I mustn't rush about; I mustn't allow myself to become upset; I must somehow try to be calm. I hit a couple of drivers but, in the short time I had, my main focus was on the wedge and putter, just enough to warm up. My short game was very good that week and I was determined that it would remain that way.

Anyway, John and I set off at the appointed time. And as we got to the 10th tee, a huge cheer went up from the 18th nearby. Seve (Ballesteros) had shot 65 to finish on six under. We were seven under at the time and, though it wasn't a particularly tough day, I knew that much could happen on the back nine at Portmarnock.

As we battled on, my short game was absolutely masterly. I was a 27- putt-a-round-man at the time, but on that particular day, I was better than that. Yet it was still a fight between John, Seve and me, as we came down to the last few holes.

I scrambled and scrambled, get- ting up and down from a bunker for a birdie at the long 16th, but, into the breeze, the 17th was virtually out of range for me. John put it on the green in two and I was on one of the mounds on the left, about 60 yards short of the pin, back left. Anyway, I pitched up about six feet short - a good pitch - and I holed this curly one for my par.

So, John and I stood on the 18th tee still seven under. It was John's honour and he drove into one of those two right-hand bunkers. I felt he was unlikely to reach the green. Meanwhile, my drive was pulled into the left rough leaving the green out of range.

From there, I hit an eight iron which was a proper, full shank, straight across into the grandstand, 70 yards short of the green. I got a drop and I pitched the ball on an area that wasn't any bigger than a foolscap page. The nearest I could get it was about 12 feet.

John didn't get up and down which meant that I had this putt for the title. And I holed it. I later heard that Seve didn't believe this young fellow would make the putt. But I did. And I had my tournament breakthrough on a great golf course.

There couldn't have been a harder competition for me to win, and I had come through it. More importantly, I had proved to myself that I could play.