In the winter there’s only one thing worse than playing golf through high wind and driving rain – not being able to play golf through high wind and driving rain.

Much to my frustration, today’s Alliance meeting at Ballater has been cancelled. To be honest, I expected it to happen. After all, when I checked the Met-office website last night, even I couldn’t ignore the severe weather warning issued for the east coast of Scotland. But, the blind optimist in me still held out hope the forecasters had got it wrong; that I’d wake this morning and the skies would be clear and the ground dry. No such luck.

Through the winter season I look on Wednesday’s Alliance as my weekend – I feel excited towards the end of Tuesday for no reason other than the prospect of tomorrow. So I’m rather disconsolate today that my weekend has been called off. I should be on the first tee by now but, instead, I’m in my office writing this.

I’m particularly perturbed at the cancellation of the Alliance because I’m feeling unusually positive about the state of my game at the moment. Over the weekend I was in Kingsbarns to cover the UK Final of the Volvo Masters Amateur Tour. Whilst there, I was lucky enough to enjoy a bat around Kyle Phillip’s wonderful links. I played some great golf and knocked in four birdies plus an eagle two at the short par-4 6th. I was hitting the ball long and straight and banging in some decent length putts.

So, I was certain this was going to be my week in the Alliance – Ballater is a course I know well and have recorded good scores on in the past. But the golfing gods have conspired against me once again by conjuring up this appalling weather – Damn you Old Tom Morris!

I’m sitting here now imagining the glorious game I would have completed – I’ve just plotted my way round in three-under. It’s funny how, even in my imagination, I have failings as a golfer. I can picture myself making birdies at the more straightforward holes but, as I get to holes I’ve had trouble with in previous rounds, I can’t stop my brain creating images of snap-hooks or horseshoed putts. I’m afraid it’s yet another indication of my fragile mental game.

Anyway, I feel I must clutch keenly to this fleeting moment when my game shows potential so a trip to the driving range is in the offing. No doubt the glimmer of light will be extinguished as quickly and inexplicably as it appeared but, for now, I’ll bask naively in its flickering glow.