“Open Week has arrived, do-dah, do-dah, oh doo-doo-da-day”
So there I was at 7.25a.m., all breakfasted, fully dressed, imbibing a refreshing ultra-strong filter coffee and bopping inanely round the kitchen to the dulcet tones of AC/DC performing “Let There Be Rock” on YouTube. Funny what the combination of Open Week & Irish Sunshine will do to a person.
Sanity, or at least decorum, was temporarily restored as all us hearty golfers prepared for the day’s Scramble. I was doing my usual diligent pre-shot preparation among the Throng of Mighties at the 1st, confident that The Big Fella was going to tee off first. You see, he’d put his tee in the ground and, furthermore, placed his ball upon same. Imagine then my surprise when he said “Off you go, Ladies first.” My initial verbal reaction may, in hindsight, not have been particularly ladylike. Or maybe the deathly hush as I stood over my ball was to prevent any distraction. Alas, the groundbreaking drive of the day was not all that I had hoped. It went both straight and plenty high – but the distance was easily measured in single feet, nay inches, rather than the many squillions of yards I’d hoped for. But a birdie was got and all was good.
The 2nd hit us with an evil bogey, but we carried bravely on. The 3rd was parred – a mighty return and off I swanned all ready for my masterful drive on the 4th that would surely be used as my first of the day. This Girl is quite obviously not built for swanning. Stomping, perchance – swanning, not so much.
But the 3 Brave & Mighties who’d welcomed me to their team were at my back. And they could be filled with chivalry also – a mighty drive onto the 5th green was lipped by the driver and toppled into the hole for me for AN ACTUAL BIRDIE!!! The Big Fella was so pleased that he briefly turned into Captain Bird’s Eye with the smiling and the happiness.
The 6th was birdied again by a truly excellent greenside chip straight into the hole. An absolutely delightful slam-dunk by Mr Mc. So overwhelmed was I that I marched straight across the green, reached down into the hole, skilfully working my digits around the flagstick, retrieved Mr Mc’s ball and handed it back to him. Almost like a modern-day Golfing Suffragette me. Almost.
And as for my drive on the 7th – ‘twas just the bestest, longest, most manificentist one ever. But one of the Brave & Mighties did even better. I stood over my strong, brave ball and took a vivid, permanent mental image of same in that place. Some memories can keep you warm in old age. And no, it was fine. Honestly.
I did at last get my 1st drive on the card on the 8th. I was entering the Good-Golfing Zone. At the 9th I did my usual line-drive-up-with-very-huge-oak-to-compensate-for-slight-tendency-to-slice thing and, somewhat unusually, hit a perfectly straight drive. Apologies to very huge oak.
I hit another not quite long enough beauty of a drive on the 12th but I just knew that the 13th was mine. Mine, I say. Mine. So strong and confident was my “mine” aura that the Brave & Mighties meandered along the track to the Ladies’ Tee Box. I mean, they were obviously my teammates and I was touched by their faith in my driving ability. However, their presence meant any need for undergarment adjustment could not be addressed. Should that need have arisen. Which it didn’t.
But my drive on the 13th was a good ‘un. So darn good that the Hearty Scotch had us putting for eagle. Teamwork, every time. They were so happy with me that they came to the Ladies’ 14th Tee Box also. And I was just being considerate when I purposely hit my drive in such a way that it looked just like what they hit off their Tee Box. You know where I’m talking about. Teamwork.
Apart from my ball returning to the wild on the 15th – we all saw it bounce, we all searched, we all failed to find, we all wish it well in its new life – and my (had to be used on the card) drive on the 16th skidding to a halt just after the old Tee Box – all was quiet as we neared the 18th green. The Hearty Scotch had us (only just) over same and we were all jolly well able to give our birdie putts a go. They went, all 4 of them and mine was just a wee fraction closer to the hole. And there, on the 18th green, I sank the final putt of the day. And not a sinner on the balcony to witness my triumph. Sigh.
I now officially declare Open Week 2013 open – Bless her and all who sail in her.