Caddie's Role: I understand I have been gushing a little bit about the way us toters are being taken heed of all of a sudden over in the States, but if you will allow me just one more soft moment I should be all gushed out for the year. Last week at the Wachovia tournament in Quail Hollow, North Carolina, the sponsors set a new standard of hospitality.

I cruised down Park Road early last week, indicating to turn right as per the excellent caddies' manual on to Gleneagles Road. Spotting two beefy policemen manning the barrier at this exit, I prepared for the first encounter with the authorities that go hand in hand with any golf event in the States - traditionally they are vigorous and unyielding.

To my shock, I was waved through without inquisition. Soon I found myself at the grand entrance to the Quail Hollow country club. Surely I would be sent on my way here? Another police officer bid me a hearty morning greeting then wished me an enjoyable day.

I rolled down the tree-lined avenue in disbelief towards the clubhouse gleaming bright and stately in the sun-drenched spring morning. I was directed by extremely friendly security people to the parking slot in between the Maybach and McLaren Mercedes.

Thankfully, my Pontiac didn't look too out of place. I stepped out and walked a few paces to the caddie hospitality marquee for some freshly sliced fruit and lightly scrambled eggs for breakfast. Normally, we are waiting under a tree like dogs hoping their master will unleash them and give them a purpose.

Where's the catch? The course is one of the finest a golfer could ever wish to play on. Designed by George Cobb in the 1960s and updated by Tom Fazio more recently. With a mix of short and long par fours and a fair sense of challenge there is very little to criticise about the layout. Par has a relevance on such a course.

The golfers get to drive all sorts of Mercedes cars all week, in comparison to the usual vehicles they drive in every week.

The tickets had been sold out for the week, but Wachovia have a system whereby those who leave the course early can deposit their tickets at the gate and people can buy them for a fee which is donated to charity and get to see the end of play.

The very modest and civilised stand behind the first tee had a canopy over it so patrons would not be scorched by the very hot sun that shone for most of the week. By Sunday they were grateful for the shelter it provided from the almost incessant rain.

Those settled at the first tee stand last Friday got to witness probably the one shot most of them could identify with, but one they least expected to see hit by a tour pro who just won a tournament a few weeks. Our playing partner Aaron Baddeley clean-topped his three-wood off the tee and didn't get past the thick rough between him and the fairway. I'm sure I lip read some middle-aged gentlemen saying that that's what they normally do. They probably would not have gone on to make a par as the young Australian so skilfully did.

The lashing rain at the Wachovia came to a gradual halt late on Friday afternoon as we took to the course for the second time after an earlier thunder storm. My own player, who has been struck by lightning back in South Africa, was uncomfortably alert to the gap between the thunder rumbles and the flashes of lightning as we all waited for the official klaxon to sound and call us off the course to safety.

The lightning was 17 miles away, I was reliably informed by a tour official. The next day it was only 10 miles away. With Doppler Radars and lightning detectors and the litigious nature of the USA , it was a wonder we were left out on Quail Hollow for such a long time.

Saturday was better despite another 5.30am alarm call to finish off the second round. The afternoon was a delightful mid-70s sunny North Carolina day. My player shot a 65 and the Wachovia was a joy to be part of again.

But the weather broke again on the Sunday with a day of persistent rain I thought only happened at home in Ireland.

It was wet and miserable and to finish it off we had a bit of a disaster on the final hole having slogged and sludged around all day long. We hacked our way up the lateral water hazard to the left of the 18th hole and clocked up a nine to put a real dark hue on my rose-tinted impression of the Wachovia Championship.

I suppose everything balances out in the end.