Lady L-Plater’s Golfing Journal
16-2-2010
Talk about the best laid plans – there I was at the clubhouse for 9.15, in plenty of time for the 9.30 draw. But the overnight frost persisted and the course was closed as ‘twas optimistically hoped the sun would burn off the ice by 10.30 and we could play the full greens – which would be lovely. So I, with endearing naivety, headed off down the town to buy stamps and was back by ten.
The car park and locker room were thronged with anxious ladies so our stellar Greenskeeper Willie capitulated and released us, albeit on the temporaries. But, of course, I had lost my place in the draws and away out I went at 10.30 in a 36er 3-ball. But ‘twas a lovely sunny day and we moseyed around the course with our usual aplomb and minimal swearing.
At the 7th, as L-Plater H was organising her drive, I was alerted to a presence by a twiggy noise from above our heads. I looked up to see a jaunty red squirrel, his mouth full of forage, hanging by his front legs (paws? arms?) away up the top of one of the mighty trees, swinging away and flashing his white belly to all and sundry. At least my golfing companions looked up to where I was pointing and understood the reason for the gormless pose I held instead of smiling gently and patting me on the arm sympathetically.
And we carried on, thinking that the squirrel sighting was the highlight of the day, towards the mighty 8th. And there we were at the temporary green – nearer than the full, but ever so much smaller. We were all just off the green, but I was just more off than the others so away I went. Near enough for a putt, I thought, and so I lined it up. I stood over it, pendulumed the putter towards the hole and away rolled my ball. I kept my head down for the requisite fraction of a second (absolute text-book putting this) then looked up as my ball rolled and rolled and rolled straight into the hole. I lit up and looked expectantly at my playing partners for “woo-hoos” and “well dones”.
They were both engrossed and immersed in the removal of putters from bags and had both missed the whole darned thing. Hurumph.
There’s always the shot that brings you back when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…