Anyone who knows me well will be fully aware of how much I detest the game of golf and anything remotely associated with it. To be honest, the thought of watching paint dry is more appealing! Recently I was persuaded to participate in a game of pitch and putt which in itself is a far cry from real golf but still very unappealing.
Clear blue skies, the sun beginning to go down and the temperature about 16C … the scene was apparently set for a very informal early evening a few weeks ago. I dutifully paid the entrance fee and collected an array of various implements ready to embark upon the nine-hole course. Immediately it became apparent that I was surrounded by so-called professionals who had brought their own tool kits to tackle the course. I later learnt that these tools were called clubs!
For many, teeing off for hole one presented few problems, there being a gradual downhill slope towards the hole. With player after player surprising each other, not least themselves, by their accurate shots, they proceeded to subsequent holes exuding with confidence. This euphoria was soon to diminish rapidly as slopes became mini mountains, the apparent short distances to the holes seemed like miles, and who was the mysterious person who persisted in planting prickly bushes in a direct line between tee and hole?
After hole number three, I was beginning to lose the will to live. More time was spent looking for the ball than actually hitting it and none of the available implements seemed to make any difference to my plight. After some unashamed cheating, the ninth hole was in sight and the thought of relaxation crossed my mind. I was not tempted by a few who decided to attempt a second round in a futile effort to improve upon first round scores as my only target was the bar and a large gin and tonic!
That must have been the first time in twenty years that I’d handled a golf club of any sort and it’s likely to be the last. Now where’s my paint brush …?