The summer starts here. Well, it does for me anyway. While the onset of the summer months are usually indicated by lighter nights, or all-too rare periods of clement weather, I never feel like they have truly arrived until the sports editor moves me on to the golf beat for a couple of glorious weeks every July; an unforgettable fortnight which more than makes up for all the miserable Tuesday nights reporting on CIS Cup third-round replays in deepest winter.

It was Mark Twain who famously asserted that golf is a waste of a good walk.

He had clearly never played 18 holes at Loch Lomond. The natural splendour of the venue, where next week's Barclays Scottish Open will be held, is enough to convert even the most committed golfing atheists. Not only is it a breathtakingly beautiful part of the world, but it also plays host to one of the most prestigious tournaments on the European Tour.

Next week's Scottish Open will include no fewer than seven of the world's top 20 - World No.2 Phil Mickelson, US Open champion Angel Cabrera, Ernie Els, Luke Donald, Retief Goosen, Sergio Garcia and Trevor Immelman. High-profile European stars, such as Darren Clarke, Jose Maria Olazabal, Lee Westwood and Paul McGinley will also all participate.

Then there is Monty: the man who has spurned more majors than Saddam Hussein in a strop. Summer wouldn't be the same without the emotional rollercoaster associated with following the fortunes of the gallumphing Scot.

The Colin Montgomerie parabola is nearly always the same. Giddy expectation levels accompanied by an avalanche of goodwill at first, then the gradual descent to a sobering reality. Yet he rarely fails to deliver great box office.

Every golf writer has their Monty moment' and mine occurred at the Open qualifying at Sunningdale in 2004, when the bold Scot thought he spotted his estranged wife's boyfriend in the crowd.

Cheeks flushed, sweating profusely as he angrily eyed the gallery, he looked like he was about to spontaneously combust at any moment. "Just see the shot," muttered his beleaguered caddy, as his man paced around the ninth tee looking like a caged lion.

The Scot is now 43 in the world rankings and has not won a tournament since December 2005 - the second longest barren period of his career - though his joint third-placed finish at last week's French Open was an encouraging sign. At the age of 44, the travails of Monty will continue to remain the subject of fascination, even if his talents no longer trouble the upper echelons of the leaderboards as frequently as they once did.

Then there is Tiger.

The world golfing audience breathed a sigh of relief when the timely birth of his first child last month meant he would be free to defend his title at Carnoustie in a couple of weeks. The Open without Tiger Woods would be like Wimbledon without Roger Federer. Someone else would emerge to take centre stage, but the absence of sporting greatness would be keenly felt.

Any sports fans should make it a priority to witness Woods in the flesh just once. David Feherty, the former Ryder Cup golfer from Northern Ireland and now a leading golf analyst in the United States, attempted to put the Woods phenomenon in context in an interview with The Herald earlier this year. "I know what I'm seeing out there, and this is the 500-year flood," he said. "And there's no-one like him on the horizon. If Tiger quit playing tomorrow tens of thousands of people would lose their jobs."

AND FINALLY . . .

What is it with all this time-wasting at Wimbledon? Rafael Nadal took four days and six rain breaks to finally see off the challenge of Robin Soderling this week.

Okay it bucketed down for much of the time. But what they didn't tell you was that he spent two of those days pulling his boxer shorts out of his rear end and a further day tugging up his Nike socks by a millimetre.

The allotted time between points is 20-25 seconds, but the Spaniard was taking 45 seconds on occasion. It became so tedious Soderling started to imitate him.

As for Novak Djokovic - has anyone in the history of tennis ever bounced the ball so much before serving? By the sports desk's reckoning, his average amount of bounces is 15. The wing column laments the passing of the fuss-free firepower of Pete Sampras.