SUNDAY

IT'S getting pretty dark at Club de Campo when I hole the birdie putt on the 17th. Now I'm five shots clear and I reckon I have it my first tour win. I say to Johnnie (caddie, John O'Reilly) on the 18th tee "you can play it from here."

There's plenty of room up the left of the 18th but I feel confident enough to hit it hard and draw it off the right. I want it to be a good shot. And I want to hole the putt so I can get a bit of a cheer. But I end up three putting. It doesn't matter I've won.

I've no time to think. It was only on the 18th that I thought about winning and now it's happened. I'm not over the moon not really thrilled more relieved that I'm done myself justice on the day. It's great that my mother and girlfriend are there. I give them a quick hug. It's special that they're sharing this moment with me.

Then there's the press conferences. Everything is happening so fast that I lose all track of time. Suddenly I realise that my mother, my girlfriend, John and myself are the only people left in the clubhouse, other than the staff. It's around 11 when we leave.

Back in the hotel my legs are weak and I'm beginning to feel really shattered. I make a few phone calls home, go out for a Chinese meal and McDonnell's ice cream. That's my victory celebration. I get to bed at 1.30 a.m. Out cold.

MONDAYS

THE day starts early. It's not even 7.30 and there's a phone call from BBC Radio 5. I can't believe this. They want to do a live interview for their early bulletin. They'll ring me back in an hour. No problem. I'm wide awake and ready for a few more phone calls, this time from home.

Change my flight home so that I can fly out at lunchtime with my mother and my girlfriend. A very relaxing morning. I even do a bit of shopping and buy myself a shirt, but I'm not really thinking of all the money I've won. This is grand, just strolling around.

It's time to go home. I'm not a good traveller wish there was some space age device to zap me home. The time is now preying on my mind but we're back in Dublin, at last. And I'm beginning to feel very tired. Then I'm thinking that there's something up because I phone my dad to tell him what time we re arriving at but there's no reply.

It can only mean that there's going to be people at the airport. But I'm surprised there's so many of them family and friends inside the airport. A rousing welcome. Their excitement starts to give me a buzz. Suddenly I'm on a high. I'm really thrilled they're so happy that I've made this possible for them.

Normally my brothers are waiting to slag me, but not this time. I realize they're shocked. While playing a tournament, I would never allow myself to contemplate this sort of celebrating for fear I'd blow it.

On home. The phone doesn't stop ringing. I must have five or six cups of tea or coffee and l haven't time to take more than a mouthful out of any cup. Then on to my club, Stackstown. An amazing crowd, Standing room only. So many handshakes. Then my dad makes a speech. He doesn't normally show his feelings but this time I know it's from his heart. I'll makes me feel very proud.

TUESDAY

No time to ease myself into the day. More phone calls. More interviews this time on the Pat Kenny Show with Myles Dungan. And there's another one for West Cork Radio. Castletownbere, my dad's home town, where I spent a lot of happy holidays.

Leave RTE. Get my hair cut. Go to the building society in my local shopping centre to get some money out. For the first time since I've come home I feel I have time to relax. It's a beautiful, sunny day and l decide to buy myself an ice-cream, a "99". Walk back to the car and turn on the radio.

I'm just sitting there, watching the ice-cream get nice and soft. Relaxing, minding my own business. Suddenly, a car pulls up alongside me and the driver rolls down the window and calls "Congratulations. Well done." At that moment it dawns on me that this is a foretaste of what's to come. A week previously, I would just have been a guy sitting in a car relaxing with an ice-cream. Now, I'm recognised as the guy who won the golf. I don't have a problem with what the man did but I realise my life has changed.

By the evening, I feel l must get away somewhere to relax. Caroline (my girlfriend), myself, Tadhg (my brother) and his girlfriend watch a video and then have a Chinese meal. Those three or four hours are important to me as a break from all the rushing around. I go to bed in a good mood.

WEDNESDAY

UP before 6.0 a.m. to catch an early flight into Heathrow. I've already agreed to do a newspaper interview on the flight. It's the only time I'll be able to fit it in. My manager, Adrian Mitchell, meets me at the airport and we drive to The Oxfordshire. We talk business on the way and there's more business to be done when I arrive at the club.

At noon, I hear that I've been drawn with Nick Faldo in the first round of the tournament. My first thought is that I would love to play with him when I felt really confident about my game. And I know that I don't feel confident this week.

I know my swing worked well in the Spanish Open but I'm not so sure it will work in the wind. I'm feeling tired, mentally. But I try to think positively. No matter what comes out of the experience I will have learned something.

I head out to the range at 1.0 hit some balls and at 2.20 I'm on the tee for my first experience of a pro- am on the European Tour. I try hard but I know I'm playing poorly. We don't do particularly well as a team but I know it's not all down to me. I do my best to be a good pro by giving them a few tips but I can't be sure if they've enjoyed it. The general scoring is very hot and it just isn't our day.

It's late when we get in. We're cold and I'm soon heading to my hotel where I'm staying on my own. That suits me because l feel so tired Ring home. Ring Caroline. Then to bed.

THURSDAY

A lie in. I'm up at 10.0. A late breakfast. I get a courtesy car at 11.30 to the course. It's a great facility being driven round like this but I don't take it for granted. In fact I often go by bus if the schedule suits but this time I have no alternative.

On the way to the course I realise I've lost track of time. What day is this? Can it be only four days since I won in Madrid? It seems like two weeks. So much is happening in my life. Everything so hectic.

But I try to concentrate on my routine. I must do the same as I always do prepare for one hour and 20 minutes before heading for the first tee. Now I'm getting things in order. I'm on the first tee with Faldo and Diego Borrego and we introduce ourselves to each other.

Faldo hits first. It's a beauty, straight down the middle. The way the wind is blowing I try to hit it down the right don't want to push it I pull it away left and that's it. Not the start I wanted. It's only afterwards I learn that when I was about to hit my drive, Faldo was standing only a few yards away directly to the side of the tee, watching my every move. I'm surprised he would bother to do that.

All the way around I'm thinking about the technical adjustment I'm working on in my swing and how difficult it is to apply it in the wind. The best way to play in the wind is with a natural feel and I realise I haven't got that, because of the changes I'm making. My mental approach is desperate. I can't seem to figure things out.

Still, I'm thrilled to be out there with Faldo is looking at his mental approach to the round, how h is always trying to hit the right shot. And I realise what a disciplined player he is, always hitting a little fade off the tee even though he knows he's going to be leaving himself with a lot of long iron second shots in these difficult conditions. There's no question of him trying to hit the drive an extra 10 yards simply be cause it's into the wind. Amazing control.

My coach Howard Bennett is here and I go with him to the practice ground after the round. There's a lot to be learned.

FRIDAY

FROM my chat with Howard last night, I'm determined to revert to the ideas I had in Spain last week. I've looked down the results from yesterday and I know I have to play good golf to make the cut probably one or two shots better than the first round. That's going to be my motivation today. That's the pressure that I need to put on myself.

Unlike yesterday, we start on the 10th and I cover my first seven holes in one over par which means I'm four over for the tournament at that stage. No need to panic. Then it happens all because I send a really good drive down the middle of the 17th fairway. There would have been no problem had I pushed it into a bunker as I did on Thursday, when I made a comfortable par.

With 250 yards downwind to the flag, I feel I can hit a three wood and make it comfortably. It never crosses my mind that 240 of those yards are over water and that it might be better to lay up. Anyway I hit it but it's not high enough to make the carry. Water! I take a drop which now leaves me with a shot of 220 yards. This time I hit a three iron and again it finishes in the water. And I hit another three iron. Water again.

After that, I decide to lay up with a six iron which carries the water before bouncing back into it. By the time l find dry land with a second six iron, I don't know how many balls have gone. So I ask John (his caddie) to count the balls I've left, then I subtract that from the original figure and I learn that it's four.

The 17th is an awkward sort of hole. Played as a three-shotter it's only a two iron, four iron and wedge, but I know it was designed to tempt players into going for the green as I did. It wouldn't have happened if I was thinking clearly. I wish it hadn't happened but I'm not embarrassed. The fact that I'm playing with Faldo doesn't bother me. These things happen in golf.

All I'm thinking is that it's been a difficult week and I'm tired. That's why I'm really delighted at the thought of going home. Home for tea sounds just perfect.