Gripped by a tsunami of punting pain on holiday in the Algarve

There I was, sitting outside a restaurant on a beautiful Algarve promenade, a glass of quality lager in hand, my five-star hotel just behind me, an ocean glistening under warm sunshine in front, while my healthy, happy family frolicked within earshot at the swimming pool.

And I was thoroughly miserable. Breathlessly miserable. Why? Because of betting. Or, more specifically, because of Dustin Johnson.

I booked a holiday to Portugal as soon as Lucas Bjerregaard won the Portugal Masters at the end of September, securing a truly idyllic location, and untold joy would have resulted from the trip had the betting gods not chosen to rip me to pieces on my first day there.