Caddie's Role:Now I am in Hong Kong, which has been associated with mainland China for a decade, I feel already very familiar with my surroundings. You see I was here just last week. It was an impromptu side trip on my journey to Shanghai, which is of course very much at the heart of the Republic of China.

It is a rare occurrence but I left Shanghai twice in the one week and arrived in Hong Kong a couple of times too. Having had a few free weeks before the HSBC Champions event I decided to leave for Shanghai a day early in order to acclimatise. The trouble was that I left Dublin on Sunday and didn't arrive at my ultimate destination till Tuesday.

I landed in Pudong International airport on the east side of the sprawling metropolis feeling groggy, wobbly and disoriented. On the trip I had watched movies I had already forgotten I had watched, dozed in and out of restless sleep as you do on these long trips and found myself in a state of semi-consciousness shuffling with the rest of the BA passengers toward immigration.

As I stood in line I was planning my day ahead based upon the best activities to partake in so as to avoid falling asleep and hopefully combat the jet-lag that overcomes you with an eight-hour time change: check in, unpack, go to the golf course, get a yardage book and walk the course, this followed by a light work-out in the gym and dinner should take me up to bedtime.

I walked forward having been pulled out of my day-dream by the voice of the immigration officer. Distinguishing facial features among Westerners must be as difficult for the Chinese as it is for Westerners when it comes to the Chinese.

With the squinting and head jerking ritual the official was carrying out, it seemed he was finding it hard to reconcile my passport photo of a year ago with how I appeared to him after a long flight from Europe.

My identity was to be the least of my problems, I soon realised. Another officer was beckoned, there was a rapid exchange of dialogue in the vernacular, which I took to amount to, "Mr Byrne, your papers are not in order. Follow me."

I was to be assigned my own personal immigration officer for the next three hours. He was like my shadow and got me to the top of every queue I could possibly have stood in during my "status" ordeal.

As I got to the next immigration office in Pudong airport it became clear my visa had expired. As someone without much of an eye for bureaucratic detail I did not think too much of the finer print on my expired visa and assumed it would be easily rectified.

An hour later, in another immigration bureau, having signed an official form, I fathomed through an airline representative that my easiest option in this unfortunate case would be to make the two-and-a-half-hour flight south to Hong Kong and obtain the necessary papers there.

"Oh dear," or words to that effect, I recall uttering to myself as my plans for staying awake for my first day in north-east Asia had been abruptly disrupted.

Despite Shanghai and Hong Kong being effectively in the same country, it is easy to forget about the system China still conveniently operates under. There are no exceptions, so I could have flown back on the plane I flew out on from London or taken the shuttle down the road, relatively, to Hong Kong.

Despite the inquisitive looks from fellow passengers, especially Westerners, having your own immigration officer shadowing you through the airport is liberating on the one hand because you glide though each queue without delay. On the other hand you begin to feel uncomfortably like a fugitive when you have to ask permission to use the toilet and can hear your "escort" pacing patiently in the background as you use it.

Thankfully the travel services in Hong Kong are well practised in dealing with undocumented immigrants like me. Despite my having to wait overnight, the process of obtaining a visa was painless, though not free. Which made me wonder why I had to go through the inconvenience in the first place.

I arrived back to Shanghai with my papers in order and checked into my hotel a day and a half later than anticipated.

Word spreads quicker than an epidemic on the golf tour. I was greeted with the quips and jibes that I had expected from my colleagues: "Illegal immigrant! Refugee!"

I could not have picked a worse event to be disorganised for. HSBC held the second annual caddie awards this year with a light-hearted roll of honour for us world porters.

There were eight categories. seven in jest. The "caddie of the year" award was of course more serious. Unfortunately for me the first award went to the most "prepared" caddie for the Champions event in Shanghai. I was naturally the favourite for this ignominious award and the secret ballot confirmed my suspicion. "Eejit of the Year" was awarded to me last Friday night.

Three Irish caddies were recognised that night. Dave McNeilly received the "most dedicated caddie" title and accepted it with a flowery speech in which he compared the European Tour to a form of cookery in which the various parties involved in the make-up of an event are the ingredients. The analysts are still trying to make sense of his text.

Ronan Flood received the "caddie of the year" award as Pádraig Harrington's bagman.

Meanwhile, my knowledge of the Shanghai-Hong Kong route and its relationship with the mainland is building almost as quickly as my new-found respect for having my papers in order.