I just had a feeling, you know?

It’s like it was pre-ordained; an inheritance of sorts.

There was no reason for it, no logic.

I don’t recall a build-up to the moment as if it were part of an inevitable trajectory.

To be honest, it started as an inkling and became utterly overwhelming.

Maybe it was a psychic phenomenon?

I’ve worked with psychics in the past – it was a show called “The One”, which would still be on if it was any good. When the psychics talk about their ‘gift,’ they reckon they don’t choose to receive the information from the Spirit Guides. Rather, it just comes to them. That’s kind of how it happened for me.

It was at Margaret River Golf Club, in Western Australia. It’s a nice course – the back nine’s a bit more spectacular than the front, and all the golfers reckon it’s in the best condition it has been for several years.

The weird bit is, I wasn’t in the west for golf. I was actually there on a surfing trip with a group of mates, and we were chasing absolutely massive, Hawaii-style waves. Gnarly stuff.

OK, so that’s an utter lie!  I was there to launch my new novel, One Step. But there had been a weather event and the surf was outrageously huge and there were only old guys on old-fashioned guns surfing. But if I’d gone out and survived, it would have been the best surf trip ever.

I get to the fifth hole at Margaret River Golf Club, within earshot of the pounding surf, and this feeling comes over me.

I’ve rented clubs from John at the pro shop, and he’s given me the Callaway X-20 Pro irons. They’re older than my Apex irons, but not dissimilar to look at.

I started with four balls and was down to two after the first.

John reckons it’s hard to lose balls at Margie, but I like to prove people wrong.

By the time I got to the fifth (a long, slightly uphill 185-metre par 3), there’s a knot in my gut because if this ball goes to God, I’ll be down to one – and that’s no way to play golf.

There was literally no one around. Just me and the kangaroos. If I was ever going to have the glory of a hole-in-one, it’d be just my luck to get one like this.

And that’s when the feeling hit.

This was the moment – there was nothing surer. This was going to be a hole-in-one.

The weather was beautiful – the sun is working its way through the gum trees with barely a breath of wind. The surf is the soundtrack and I can see the trajectory of the ball before I hit it. Clear as anything, the shadow line was there, too.

My ego thought about filming the moment, setting up the phone from behind. But then, some things are best for the memory. So with a last look and a Jason Day-ish hypnotising of myself, the ball, the club and the golf course, I lined up to hit over the left side of the divot a metre ahead of me.

The shot? It would be straight, with slightest of fades. The ball would bounce just over the front edge, pitch slightly to the right after landing and fall into the cup after the second bounce.

I swear, nothing like this has ever happened to me before – ever. I’ve had a beer in front of me and been less certain about drinking it than I was about this ace. The club went back, I paused ever so slightly at the top, brought it down and the gentle thwack of X-20 on Hex Chrome was barely audible. Everything went into soft focus, except for a halo around the ball. It launched over the left side of the divot (just like in my mind!) and was ever so gently fading – towards the Holy Grail.

Can you believe it? It was the perfect golf shot; exactly as it had come to me in the vision from the Spirit Guide. Never would I question the psychic gift again.

The ball hit the top of the arc and began descending. On line … on line … oh my God. It’s on line, it’s going in, IT’S GOING IN! It’s… short.

It was short.

By a club length.

Buffoon. Damn you, Spirit Guide. The rented X-20s were about a club shorter than the new Apex Irons. Not quite a disaster, but still, not the hole-in-one it could have been.

But at least now I know how it’s going to feel when the day finally finds me.

Andrew Daddo