One more trip to the well …
Yesterday I was obliged to take a taxi in order to arrive at the Royal Ashdown Forest Golf Club by 0730 hours in order to play in an annual golf event that was taking place for the 37th consecutive year.
[I note here for the record that this cost me some £118.50 before any tip, not far short of the fee for playing in the tournament itself – such is the lot of someone who is now five weeks into his six month’s driving disqualification for amassing too many speeding fines for the authorities’ liking.]
This year – instead of being first off the tee as is traditional – my playing partners and I had been demoted by the organiser to setting off in the middle of the pack.
Any hurt or outrage felt at this demotion by our threesome was tempered in the event by the fact that the opening equivalent set off from the first tee hampered by a ten-minute Biblical-proportioned monsoon-like downpour.
The prevailing weather conditions offered weak sunshine occasionally leavened by darkening skies and further heavy showers of rain throughout the day.
In the event we had an enjoyable round consisting of much juicy and hilarious gossip and general ‘catching up’ punctuated by short intervals during which we each played some pretty execrable golf.
I need hardly elaborate – on a course where 72 is the par score – beyond to register here that our group winner carded a 90 [plus two “blobbed” holes on which he “retired” at the point where he could not gain any Stapleford points – the scoring system being used for the tournament].
He who came second posted a gross score of 129.
And your author? Well, much as I’d like to claim that modesty forbids, in fact I reached the clubhouse with a gross score of 176, featuring one classic hole upon which I notched a total of 18 shots!
About this time of year it is not uncommon for me to begin actively considering whether it might be time for me to hang up my golf clubs for the final time.
Something tells me that the moment may at last be fast approaching …
