David Howell

You almost expect the front door to open just an inch and a quiet voice to whisper, “Who is it?” before letting you in to his tidy, understated Weybridge town house. You picture his contribution to general chit-chat to consist of the odd smile and nod of the head and you’re fully prepared for every question to be returned with a gentle forward-defensive, maker’s name prominently displayed. That’s the way David Howell has been characterised – a shadow among Europe’s golfing greats, that bloke who somehow ended up in the Ryder Cup team at the expense of Freddy Jacobson, Alex Cejka and quite a few other players with bigger playing reputations.

So when he says as soon as you’re in the door, “Help yourselves to a cuppa, mine’s coffee with two sugars, thanks,” before streaking up the stairs to grab a shave after a hard day’s graft on the range of Britain’s most prestigious golf club, Queenwood, just to return five minutes later, saying with a playfully abrasive sneer,

“Right, let’s test those coffee-making skills, then...” well, you can’t help re-thinking tactics somewhat.

“David’s one of the most natural people around,” reflects Stuart Cage, former Tour-pro colleague who now works for ISM, the management company Howell is contracted to. “You could spend an hour in the company of guys with much bigger reputations for being outgoing and you’d find a lot of them have nothing to say compared to David. He’s alive, you know.”

» David Howell Pt.2