“A broken night’s sleep does adversely affect accuracy. And everything else also…”
I managed to wake up just before my alarm at 5.49a.m. this lovely Sunday morning. I hopped
energetically out of bed (poetic licence) and dressed in my golfing uniform while pondering the
following: as there is now a line of flatulence odour reducing undies (I’ve seen the ads, it must
be true) could somebody design golfing-error-swearing-reduction undies… You know, when you
hit a bad shot and go into your pre-swear buttock-tense pose the undies could swiftly tighten on
your abdomen and reduce your agonised bright blue bellow to a slight and breathless sigh. Just a
thought. Then I opened the blind, saw the rain, ate my breakfast and crawled back into bed.
Leaping enthusiastically out of the leaba again at 11(ish) I was happy to see the sun was here and
even happier when the Big Fella said we’d go to the Club later and hit a few balls (euphemism for
play 18 Stableford holes). So off we went. After a brief 1st tee shuffle – 3-ball, 4-ball, 3-ball, chorus
– off we went. And then, on the very 1st hole, my interrupted sleep cycle assaulted me. The evil
scratching began in the worst way – my final shots on both 1 and 2 let me sample the beauty of the
greens but cruelly denied me a score. Harsh.
The pressure at the 3rd tee is always there (in the shape of a teemingly busy Clubhouse) and often
the pressure is good. Today, not so much. My first went towards the cleavage at a wind-defying 6”
off the ground but gimped to the right. I hopped nimbly upon the right hump (more poetic licence)
and duffed my second onto the hump on the left. Hurrah. My third allowed me to have a chance of
a score, but the putting demon said no, not yet Sweetie-Pie.
But I did get the best and longest drive on the 4th (yes, from the red tees – I must connect with my
feminine side from time to time) AND I got a score on my card. Which was nice.
The 5th continued my run of success – 6 iron on the green putting for a birdie. Which I got. Not, it
must be said, an actual birdie – but Mrs Annette Birdie makes her mark on my card that looks just
like a 3 and I shall not argue with that. I continued my run on the front 9 with a nice drive on the
8th and a nice iron shot on the 9th. Tack the 9 holes together and do some heavy editing and I hit
enough good shots to get me through one, maybe two holes…
The back 9 was terrifically exciting – we paused our game between the 13 th green and 14th tee to let
An Inter Club Competition Team through along with their supporters and all the golf buggies in the
world ever. Breathtaking. And a squidgy bit intimidating also. Especially when I had to follow The
Competitors as they moved on to their second shots and I went for the Ladies’ 14 th tee – I hoped and
prayed they’d stay focused forwards and not think I was joining them for a few holes. Their focus
was complete and my delusions of grandeur crushed. Ah well.
I hit a tasty drive on 16, it was just a wee tad misaligned and my beautiful Titleist 1 now sleeps with
the fishes. Alas. But brave little Titleist 2 let me away with two ball-shameingly awful chips to auto-
correct my fairly long putt into the hole on 17 before giving me a peachy drive on 18. A drive so
long it was the very longest and I was tired enough to need a little rest when I got there – one of the
previously unrealised disadvantages to hitting a long shot.
But both Titleist 2 and I faced a challenge on the 18th green, and we were both found wanting alas.
Our Mr President was walking back to our Clubhouse after his Presidential supporting duties were
done. We both saw him, but tried to stay focused on our job-in-hand. Mr President did, of course,
do the correct thing and paused as he saw me stood over my putt. ‘Twas no good – his force was
too great and Titleist 2 just couldn’t make the hole even though I’d given him all I could, Cap’n Kirk.
Thankfully Mr President only uses his power for good (& golf). Phew.