Sitting outside the old clubhouse in the balmy spring weather, the scenery was rather good and not just because the Augusta National is in full bloom.

At the next table sat Elin Woods, the glamorous Swedish wife of the world No.1, mother so far of one daughter, Sam, and wearing a puffy little red dress which was noted by those who know about such matters as the kind of thing a lady would wear if she was two or three months pregnant.

Attention was diverted as the waiter asked, "What would you like sir?" There was a sudden and inexplicable desire to order a Peach Cobbler. Herald readers may remember that a former chief sportswriter regarded this dish as almost orgasmic and wrote about it interminably.

Sadly it was disappointing, a tired peach crumble topped by vanilla ice cream. It merited perhaps three out of 10. The marking for Mrs Woods was considerably higher.

out on the course there was more speculation. Who was the third member of the Tiger Woods-Mark O'Meara practice group who was having a tough time, slicing one horrendously into the pines at the 10th with a swing that earned some attention from Woods' coach Hank Haney?

Was it perhaps one of the amateurs? Not at all. It was a high-handicap employee of O'Meara's design company called Todd, who proudly proclaimed that he had gone round in 97, compiled while bets were being laid among the entourage about whether he would break a hundred off the championship tees.

Ever since the zany Ian Poulter was quoted as saying that if he was at his best there would be just him and Tiger Woods to fight it out, he has found himself being referred to sarcastically as No.2. He has just moved up a notch.

After the real No.1 finished his round he went straight on to the practice putting green, alone with his thoughts in the gathering darkness until another figure appeared from the practice ground. Yes, it was the ultimate scenario, No.2 and No.1 were the only two remaining. And then there was only one. After the merest nod of recognition, Woods departed leaving Poulter the last man standing.

The 72-year-old three-time Masters champion Gary Player, looking supremely fit for his age, was firing balls off the first tee and just about jumping out of his socks trying to reach the top of the hill. It was strange watching those perfectly flighted balls soar and then plummet some 30 yards short as Player was trying to decide which driver to use.

"This course is a par 80 to me now," lamented the Black Knight, who is on a mission to beat Arnold Palmer's record of participating in 50 Masters. This will be his 51st, a record that Palmer, as he would, suggests should not count because unlike his, Player's 51 are non-consecutive as he missed one a few years ago through illness.