I spent two hours on a damp pitch-and-putt course with Ted and his eldest son Alan today. What a laugh. I was worried they might be very serious competitors and very skilled players, and that I’d feel self-conscious and amateurish in their presence, but not a bit of it. We had a scream. When we weren’t laughing at each other’s ineptitude we were telling bad jokes or hearing stories from Ted’s past. Alan kept sipping from a hip flask and got more and more giggly as the day wore on. Ted got more and more frustrated at his own mistakes and by the time we got to the last three holes he was like a dormant volcano about to explode. He seemed to be less interested in getting his ball in the hole, and more interested in digging holes on the greens with his putter. If he put the same effort into his shots as he did into venting his fury on the flags he’d have got round in 5 underpar. (see how quickly I’ve slipped into golf speak there?) In the end, when we checked our cards (there I go again) I’d taken 111 shots over 18 holes. Ted, with a bit of creative scoring, came in at 98, while Alan finished the first 9 holes in 31, but the last 9 holes in 53 (I think the rum may have starting kicking in) He still won though, and bought us all lunch as a forfeit. Fun, fun day.
RC 27-3-11
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