“Maybe, just maybe today will be THE DAY – or maybe not…”


Well after the Heavens opened comprehensively & completely last night, it was delightful to rise to cloud cover but no overspill.  It was a wee bit parky though so my double t-shirt & windbreaker combo had to be temporarily reinforced by another windbreaker to stop my blood from slowing down and affecting my swing.  Quadruple layers of clothes will obviously not limit my swing in any way shape or form.  Onion Girl returns for Open Week 2013.
‘Twas a Champagne Scramble format which certainly motivates one to improve the drive part of the game.  Some of my second shots (on the drives of another) were taken from what felt like different time zones – thank ye Big Fella & Hearty Scotch.  The only downside being that the terribly long walk between shots can make you a little tired and that fatigue may just cause a wee duff which may just completely undo the benefits of drive distance.  Sigh.
Anyway, away we went with the early holes giving us stonkingly good average scores of 6.  I mean imagine – 6 points over 18 holes, just do the sums.  And I’d had a nice rest day yesterday and was still nicely buzzed after my 2 ACTUAL PARS on Monday so maybe, just maybe we could pull it all together and, you know, be in with a wee chance.
There was a minor hiccupette on the 6th when the seriously-short-on-shots Hearty Scotch & Big Fella had to make their marks to get us a 4.  But there could be no despondency – not on uber positive Wednesday.  The drive of the Big Fella was used on the 7th and all our 2nd shots were there or thereabouts.  The Hearty Scotch’s would have been over the green, but there is a somewhat inconveniently placed enormously large beech tree in the fairway which took the sting out of the tail of his shot.  I, for the first time ever ever, was on the 7th green in 3 shots.  Pin high, just a little (15 – 20 feet) to the left.  
Now, before I carry on with the tale, there are two things I need to bring to the front of your mind, Honourable Reader.  One – the 7th is a Par 5 for Ladies.  Two – is the number of shots I have on every hole (still for shame).
So there I stood over my ball on the green putting for AN ACTUAL BIRDIE.  And the totally unexpected happened – I GOT IT.  ME.  AN ACTUAL BIRDIE.  There was an outbreak of jazz hands and, had I not been on a green and wearing golfing shoes I would have Michael Jackson Moonwalked my way back to my bag.  I settled for inane grinning and unrestrained verbal celebrations with The Honourable Mr J. who ably followed up my 5 POINTER with an excellent 3 POINTER giving us a total of 8 lovely jubbly points on the 7th.  Yippee-de-doo-dah-day…
But golf is a game of concentration and forgetting the past shots (even the good ‘uns) to concentrate on the next.  I stood up on the Ladies’ 8th Tee with nary a drive to my name.  I controlled the lunatic celebrating in my head and focused on my shot.  And you know, it worked.  A nice, long, straight drive that was smack bang in the middle of the fairway and my first drive of the day was in the bag.  I was about to re-enter the Golfing Zone and nothing could stop me now.
The minor setbacks of not being able to contribute to the card on the 9th or indeed the 10th were not a problem.  I was surrounded by better golfers and that high-performing atmosphere could only benefit me and add to my education.  And we were approaching the 11th – with only 1 score counting on Par 3’s I knew one of my Teamies would stitch it to the pin and give me an opportunity for another BIRDIE & 5 POINTER.  Hearty Scotch did just that – a mighty shot that hit the green about 5 foot to the right of the pin, rolled the whole way up the green and rolled the whole way back down.  He lipped his, but finished for a Par.  I placed my ball down, lined up my putt, committed to my stroke and told myself to relax.
So dang garn relaxed was I that I committed the jaw-droppingly atrocious putting duff – I not only hit the ball badly and in entirely the wrong direction, I actually managed to double-hit it at the same time.  Aaaargh.  It is going to take me so long to straighten my putter back out after smacking it off my head that hard.
The 12th was a write off for me too – although the focusing of anger and frustration can from time to time benefit your stroke that was not the way of the day.
But my drives were counted on 13, 14 & 15, so at least that day’s work was done.  With my required contribution made I ate my Snickers, inhaled half a semi masticated peanut and got some caffeine into my system just to calm me down.
Today was a day that could have been THE DAY.  But it wasn’t.
Week ain’t over yet….

“Ladies’ Day is here – who needs sun when we have colours…”


Ladies’ Day for Open Week 2013 has arrived: How terribly exciting.  Somewhat unfortunately typical Irish Summer weather has also arrived – on with the thermals, ho-hum.  But both Clubhouse and Course were buzzing with electric feminine energy so the sun was not missed overmuch.
Off I went with two of our fine upstanding Lady Golfers with sufficient gravitas and golfing talent to keep me exceptionally firmly grounded.  I still went through my usual 9-12 hole warm-up routine – the less said about the front 9 the better – although I did manage a brief flash of inspiration (perspiration??) and the whisper of potential with a (net) birdie on the 5th.  And to be fair, my driving was improving steadily – the ones that were not irreparably duffed had a reasonable bit of distance to them.  I must now begin to really work on my accuracy because all the distance in the world is absolutely useless unless direction can also be mastered – golf is very demanding indeed.
Thankfully the calming influence & unbelievable consistency of my companions began to work on the back 9.  Needless to say, I scratched the 10th but did manage another (net) birdie on the 11th and a monster drive on the 12th.  Then I went all out and (just) managed to log a score on the 13th as well – 3 holes in a row – I was on a roll.
My drive on the 14th was good nuff also but my 2nd went a tad awry – it sent my Loco ball to nestle comfortably in the grass on the right of the green with only a wee Cliffs of Moher sided bunker between me and a par putt.  Not a problem – after yesterday’s 18th – not a problem.  600 came out and I was just gonna drop it down behind Loco and chip him onto the green – cuddling the pin, preferably.  Not a problem, indeed.
So confident was I that I had my head up to see where Loco had landed before I’d even hit him.  So Loco went into the sand to play.  Ok, still not a problem.  Only a minor detour.  Sandwedge out and shot played to almost perfection.  I say almost as Loco hopped out of bunker but decided he wanted more beach time and rolled back in to play some more.  A slightly more major detour, but still not a problem.  I addressed him again with my trusty sandwedge & whoosh –the perfect shot was struck.  So perfect he hopped straight over my head, behind my back and frolicked in the sand again.  Maybe starting to become a wee bit of a problem – only 1 shot left.  But I dried my tears of laughter and smacked Loco out of the sand at last.
With laughter still ringing musically in my ears (between my ears? Echoing emptily therein, perchance?) we approached the 15th tee.  Loco, having had his fun at the beach declined for once to go and play in the woods and found his way to the back of the green in two.  And I actually got to “putt for birdie” – Loco declined to oblige, but I got AN ACTUAL PAR – A NET EAGLE.  I did, alas, scratch the 16th (adrenaline overload, no doubt) but Loco & I - we were in the groove and my “putt for birdie” on 17 lipped out and I got a 2nd ACTUAL PAR / NET EAGLE in one round.  Wow.  This self-inflicted mental torture we call golf is very addictive – can’t help but love it though.
And yes, I only scored 1 on the 18th, thanks for asking…

“Sleep – why sleep is for wimps, for wimps I say…”


Open Week 2013 Day 3 arrived on a gorgeous sunny Sunday morning.  Having only got to my bed at 2a.m. due to work commitments (on a Saturday – I know), 5.50a.m. seemed even more obscenely early than usual.  Coupled with this was the minor matter of me not having a playing partner for the day – quite a risk to sacrifice beautiful & badly needed sleep just to mooch on in as a spare and hope that my dynamic personality and winningly large handicap would snare me a round.  Could always mark a card, I suppose.  Or walk home and crawl back into a still ever-so-slightly warm bed.
But good fate smiled upon me and I got to play.  One minor feature of not always fully understanding the rules of the competition of the day (any day, really), I was somewhat disturbed to discover that ¾ handicap for poor ol’ me was a loss of a total of 9 (count ‘em – NINE) shots.  In at the deep end I most certainly was.
Off we went, a family of co-competitors and I.  My gallant playing partner carried the round easily for pretty much the entire day – AND he gave me a Kit-Kat at the start which meant that my sugar & dopamine fix was sorted.  Alas, it did not overly assist my golf.  Mind you, my eyes didn’t open fully for the first three holes and my instincts and reflexes are not quite fully developed enough yet to play the course by sound alone.  And there was the added distraction of noticing that for the third sunny day in a row, not a deer or squirrel was to be seen – maybe they’d all gone to the beach but I do feel a little lost without my audience.  There is nothing quite like the supportive squirrel flurry as I tee off the 8th or the slightly apprehensive eye contact from any does in the area as I approach virtually any of my shots.
If my recollection is correct, I may have given my team mate a wee break on the 5th, finally getting a score beside my name (whew).  Alas the rest of the front 9 was an unfortunate combination of bad drive with no chance to recover or good drive but putt, putt, putting to nowt.
My 12 hole warm-up took longer than normal – I blame sleep-deprivation for same.  But, by the 16th my eyes were open, by Kit-Kat was eaten (yummy, thanks) and I was caffeinated to just under the legal limit.  I stood up to drive and hammered the ball down towards the wee white sign again.  And again came quite close to hitting same.  What an obscenely long drive it was.  I had managed the same yesterday but suffered a nasty case of Evil Hops when my 2nd shot went to the bunker on the right of the green before suffering from a real nasty dose of the Evil Hops and disappearing into the Barrow to swim with the fishes.
The same would not happen to me today.  I grasped my trusty 5-iron and lined up my shot for straight at the pin.  I repeated my mantra of “there is no water there” and attempted to loosen my death grip on the club before I swung (relax, darn it relax…).  Trusting to fate, I swung and made good contact with Loco, my trusty ball.  And Loco flew so he did, flew.  But he was not going to fly enough, the no water was coming up to meet him, to try to take him.  So I did what I could and let a mighty roar of “get over it – bounce Loco, bounce”.  And jolly well bounce he did – twice – on water – before settling down just off the green with a clean line to the pin.  The resolute power of sound waves continues to fascinate me to this day.  A tad unfortunately, being just off the green in two is of absolutely no use if all you can do is 4-putt.  I mean, aaargh…
But we reached the 18th still all on speaking terms, with the glorious beacon of the Clubhouse / Grubhouse looming.  I have to confess, for there were witnesses, that I duffed my drive and took 3 iron shots to end up pin high for the 18th.  Now, when I say pin high I mean that I could see the pin, but there was a wee bunker in the way.  Eep.  And the Big Fella was lounging on the Clubhouse balcony, refreshing pint of cold orange squash in his hand.  Right then, shot to make.
I took my trusty 600 wedge and addressed Loco (I mean actually addressed him – “look Loco, high pressure situation here – no beach playing today – over the bunker and then stop on the green and give me a chance, k?”)  He looked at me impassively, as only a golf ball can, before indicating that he would do his very best, but I was gonna have to swing the club and make the shot.  Good point.  And so I did.  And it worked.  I mean, it really worked.  Loco hopped over the bunker and compensated for my complete lack of ability to create spin by hurling himself at the pin and crash landing within about 3 feet of same.  Whew, relief.  The Big Fella’s spontaneous applause was lovely but created interest from the rest of the Brat Pack who came onto the balcony to witness my putt.  My back to them, the weight of their stares kept my head down as I repeated my other mantra “please don’t muck this up”.  Loco dropped obligingly into the 18th hole and I nonchalantly acknowledged the round of applause from the balcony by spinning round, removing my hat and attempting to bow.
Ready to meet any members of royalty I am not…  Nap time approaches.

“Sunny days make the dew go away…”


Day Two of Open Week 2013 arrived in an exceptionally beautiful but starting to get a little bit scary sunny Saturday.  ‘Twas a Standard Stableford Classic Two Scores Per Hole kind of a day and off we all romped in the early sunlight with not a care in the world nor a thought in the head.  Certainly not in my head, anyway.
My drive on the 1st was twice the length of yesterday’s, maybe more – it was on the fairway in one and happy(ish) I was.  But the 1st was a battle against the elements and the challenges of the course.  My 3rd went for a refreshing dip.  So refreshing that, after my ball had been retrieved, chastised and penalty-dropped, he jolly well headed off for a day at the beach in the bunker to left of green.  We are not amused.
My brill teammates were grafting away, pulling in the scores on 1st, 2nd & 3rd while I continued to come to terms with my new Straight Shot Affliction which is playing havoc with my Compensate For Slice Habit.  But I was full of positivity (and Capital Letters…) as I headed for the 4th Tee Box.  It was gonna be a good ‘un.  Real good.  And it wasn’t.  Not too good at all.  But inspiration is a funny old thing.  As I gently re-inserted my driver to my bag (that titanium plate in the bottom is a life saver) I glanced over at the Tee Box.  It was still very early and same box was still in the shade and heavily covered in dew.  Mine were the only footprints as I was the first female on the course.  For just a moment, I thought I could express myself in a modern way by foot-shuffling out a rude word into the dew.  Using Nature as Art.  But I didn’t.
The 5th Green evaded 3 of us, I was in the far left bunker.  But both I and The Junior came thundering through, waving our handicaps and getting a pair of 3’s on the card – yee-har.  The 6th & 7th brought me back down to earth with a bone jolting crunch which entirely unsettled me until the 12th.  You start me juddering and the aftershocks are mighty.
But, today I had the 13th Tee Box all to myself.  And I hit a peach of a drive and tuned my ears for the sound of my teammates’ drives swooshing overhead so I could track them for future reference.  But then confusion began.  I began to hear ball-swooshing from all quarters and was starting to feel distinctly under attack.  Thank God for the ring of trees, the ring of fence and my ludicrously bright face & shirt colour combination which all combined to protect me from the onslaught of ever-so-slightly-misjudged drives.  And not only from the 13th Blues, oh no, from the 18th Blues also and a wee murmuring from the 10th as well.  But I remained safely unhit and carried on to play my round.
As I began my journey to the Ladies’ 14th Tee, my brill teammates went to their Blue 14th to take their shots.  I paced my walk, as another team were putting on the 11th and I wished to disturb them not.  I paused as each man took his putt in case my clicky knees and grindy hip became distractions.  As I walked on I heard the most dreaded acronym in the English language – “FORE” (Flatten Or Regret Eternally) followed by my name.  The ball passed me by harmlessly but my verbal response to the putters of “and they’re on MY team!” was greeted with slightly nervous laughter.
The trauma of the experience fed my inner Drama Queen to such a level that the rest of the round passed in an entirely unfamiliar haze of duffed shots and near misses, nothing like my normal expert course work.  (It is so lovely to have something other than myself to blame, delusional as it may be).  The fact that my teammates never even noticed just shows how terribly impassive I can make my face remain despite the inner trauma and how ridiculously hot ‘n’ cold my version of the Beautiful Game of Golf goes.  But the extraordinarily sunny day and preternaturally fine course made Day 2 of Open Week 2013 just the very finest.  Must go to work now…

“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.

“A Game of Ups and ever so many D
O
W
N
S”

Well we started the day way ahead of ourselves – the Big Fella had already competed in the Men’s Competition a day and a half before and I was entering the Ladies’ Tuesday Comp at 6.50a.m. on a Sunday – enthusiasm or what?  Not only that, we legged it off in our 2-ball before the Brat Pack had made their draw and sent their Sunday Possies on out.
Well, all that eagerness caught up with me at the 1st green – up beside it in three and only a nasty itch to be had – c’est la vie – the round was young and my eyes not yet open.  And lo, what a second I had – on the green in 4 and putting for a female par – ‘twas not to be but I briefly became Ms Annette Birdie, which was nice.  But the round slid from then on with the only even moderately reliable part of my game – putting – utterly unable to cope with the ridiculously good greens, a situation not even remotely assisted by a Titleist 2 inexplicably scared of the dark.  Although, in hindsight, sticking same ball in my pocket from green to tee may provide an explanation for its heretofore misunderstood achluophobia (thank you Google).
Now, to be fair, it is not that I wasn’t hitting any good shots – I did.  At least three or four on BOTH front and back nines…  But the course was absolute poetry, both for golf and astounding (distracting, perchance?) natural beauty.  Just after we’d driven off the 7th tee, the entire deer cast of Bambi cavorted across the fairway (not a hoofprint to be seen).  A whole line of them from himself through all the herselves and maybe one or two weans.  Now it was either a David Attenborough moment of pure natural beauty, or the herselves had all just realised simultaneously that she was not the only one, and himself was Dead Stag Walking…  Breathtaking as it all was, it assisted my golf not one wee jot and onward the deadly itch went.

And then, upon the 8th, I had my first true Up of the round.  After my drive, which made it comfortably through the gap before turning bananaesque to nestle comfortably on the right side of the big tree on the right side.  In this case these two rights most certainly add up to a wrong, as my drive had been aimed for the yellow stake on the bleedin’ left of the gap.  Unintentional trick shots make nobody laugh.  Well, nobody with a will to see the end of the round, anyway.  Anyhoo, the up.
We proceeded along towards our second shots and were brought to a stanstill by the sight of not one, not two, not even three but four squirrels all manically circling around their feedbox on the tree, scampering up and down and generally having a lovely ol’ time.  My Up moment came as I was momentarily transformed into the adorable golden lab from the movie of the same name with the somewhat obvious exclamation of “Squirrel!”  Brains to burn me.  Brains to burn.

Alas, beauties of nature aside and wonderful fellow golfers aside, my golf was inflicting me once again with an almost terminal case of scratchiness.  I endlessly reminded myself (and could, quite possibly also have been endlessly reminded) that the dual goals of the day were to i) submit completed 18 hole card and ii) get oh so desperately needed practice.  On occasion, I may have aided this reminder by bouncing my club off my head – I would never disrespect our beautiful course by bouncing a club off our fairways (or rough – more frequently rough – ok, virtually always rough with occasional woodland / swamp / river / pond / path / buggy) AND the ringing, nay operatic if somewhat hollow tone of club on skull was artistically and musically pleasing also.
The back nine, approached as always with empty bladder and just opened bottle of caffeine, held the usual 3 to 4 good shots that will bring me back for more.  Just imagine how exciting it’ll be when I can hit a whole string of those shots together and actually bring in a score.  But to be fair to the almost saintly level of patience that the Big Fella demonstrates towards his somewhat troublesome student, towards the end of the round I did start to correct some of the glitches in my swing which resulted in some lovely straight shots and a moderate to almost good amount of distance.  Unfortunately, I had aimed somewhat to the left to allow for same glitches and when they didn’t happen the ball travelled straight where I was aiming.  If those shots were politicians they’d be so far left they’d be Trotskyists.  No score on the Left either, alas.
In short, on the day the golf was not too good.  But it was a lovely day for a walk and the delicious and caffeine rich fresh-scone-with-butter-black-as-night-freshly-ground-coffee more than made up for same.  She lied convincingly.

“Rumblipoos indeedipoos…”
So at a positively approaching lunchtime 8.15a.m. our hardy threesome were first out to break in the course for the truly exceptionally good cause of the Rumble for the Crumlin – gotta do it for the childers… in the pending squally showers… and the wind that caused dainty, tiny wee me to do a sterling sail impression back towards the clubhouse as I ventured out for the first.  Dramatic start to the day, but the wind blowing through my ears cleared my head of all needless and non-golf-related detritus so off I jolly well went, empty headed and happy…
But there was trouble ahead – I feared that I may have peaked a tad early as my two points made the card on the first – and there I had been, comfortable in the knowledge that the teenage-handicapped Big Fella and the SINGLE-FIGURED Hearty Scotch would be more than able to accommodate my usual 12-hole warm-up requirement.  Scoring on the first?  Me?  Nevair!  And yet I did.
And the rumblies truly began within me as I made the 2nd green with two whole shots left.  My 4th had been pin high, just a little to the left.  Left as in I was able to have a whispered chat with the team teeing off the 1st.  And none of them moved closer.  Just fractionally left. That’s all.  And then I may have just fractionally overcompensated to end up microscopically off the green to the right.  That is a microscopic path, yes?  Anyhoo, I was on the green with two to go, and needed I was not – thank you, Gents.
Hearty Scotch did the biz on the 3rd and I canna remember the 4th, so it probably weren’t mine.  We were all three upon the green at the 5th.  Well, we were all three within putting distance on the 5th – my definition of green may refer more to the grass colour than the more specific golfy terminology, but the Gents were on the real thing.  The excellent quality and tremendous speed of the greens made our (their) superior driving and short play shamefully unrewarded as the capricious pins and invisible clingfilm made our (their) putts so close, yet not close enough.  The points that were left as offerings to the putting fairies today – gonna bring Christmas cake and porter next time…
The back 9 began with my sterling display of “getting the waterproof trousers on, complete with pocket content transfer in less than 45 seconds” – who said I had no tangible golfing skills??  The effort killed my 10th hole scoring potential stone dead – I was tired – but Hearty Scotch and Big Fella had it sorted.
And the 11th was mine – not all mine obviously, but certainly at least 50% mine anyway.  I did it – I briefly became Ms Annette Birdie, just for an instant, and got a lovely, nay a sexy 3 beside my letter on the card.  It was just lovely.  Somewhat unfortunately, my ecstatic but über restrained happy dance resulted in a slightly pulled back muscle, but c’est la vie.  Then came the 12th, the final hole where everybody (me) didn’t have to score…. 13th loomed with a slightly unluckier look about it today…  But we approached it bravely and headed onwards to make our drives.  (Joys of being Lady Golfer – could hide behind hedge and quiver in peace as part of pre-driving routine…)
I hit a peach of a drive, a peach of a 5 iron and a peach of a Lay Up (is that right?) with sand wedge to a peachy position on beautiful flat piece (peachy piece) of fairway in front of 13’s Pond to Hell.
I then hit an absolute stinky-poo of a shot and condemned a perfectly good Titleist 1 to a watery grave.  An unexplained Deep Blue cloud appeared briefly above my head – très mysterious – but I ignored it, dropped Titleist 1 Mk II and hit a peach of a shot over the evil, ball-swallowing water.  Why, oh why does it never happen first time?  Oh why?  But we all scored, so 13 remained peachy in the main.  And 14 was okeley-dokeley also.
And then, on 15, came the Great & Evil Distractor – I was stood there, driver in hand.  The Gents had taken their drives to happy places upon the fairway and the turn now was mine.  I casually glanced over at the 14th fairway and glimpsed two caddy cars approaching the 14th green – not a wee whit unusual… or so I thought.  And then, filling my previously empty head came a blindingly vivid image and a deafening anthem – Benny Hill performing “Ernie (The Fastest Milkman In The West)”.  My drive rolled sadly off the tee mound and hid in the grass, sobbing softly.  Still made the green in 4 and came away with 2 points and a head filled with memories best consigned to the very early 80’s along with my bowl haircut, black elephant cords and brown Start-Rite sandals.  Shame of it all.
Moving swiftly on to the 16th, I stood there lining up my drive towards the life bouy on the pond (a little to the left, yes).  I stood over my ball and did the usual pre-shot mental routine.  Ah, in hindsight what a waste of my time that was.  My drive went straight for the magnetic waters of the Barrow and a blessed tree had to leap up to deflect same spherical object.  I patted the tree to say thanks after my second – thank your helpers or they’ll flick it in next time.  But I drowned Titleist 1 Mk II in the pond, despite his best efforts to skim the whole way across, and Titleist 1 Mk III just couldn’t warm up fast enough to take the big jump.  So I smacked him off a tree with my 17th drive and he punished me with a nasty itch that made me scratch the 17th also.  Two consecutive scratches.  In a rumble.  On the last 6 holes.  When all 3 scores count.  Sorry Gents.
And now here it is – the Great Eighteen.  I stood over my ball (we are back on speaking terms – he’s my new BFFL), but as I wished to drive an howling gale forced me back and my flailing arms, while they did retain my balance and save me from leaving the imprint of my buttocks forever on the 18th tee, were not conducive to a good drive, so I stood off.  And when I did drive, it was mighty.  The two gents and I made our way down the fairway to the 3 balls, closely grouped but with a pecking order also.  The Big Fella (Teenage Handicap) took his shot first.  The Hearty Scotch and I approached the remaining two balls.  I automatically approached the next but IT WAS NOT MINE!!!  I got to turn to a SINGLE-FIGURED handicapper and say those immortal words “I think this is yours”.  Hee-hee.
And, as a reward, Ms Annette Birdie came to see me again at the 18th.  Sore back be gone, let the dancing begin…

“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.

“Oh look – holding the narrow end of the club DOES make a difference!!!”

So there I was, at 6.30a.m. (yes that is A and M) on a bank holiday Monday extracting myself from
the bed to make my long-threatened-much-delayed return to the wet, wild and wonderful world of
golf. I had been sought out to fill an aching void in a team who would have been incomplete without
me – a golfing emergency indeed…

Off we teed at roughly 7.42.36a.m. and I, as Ladies do, stepped up to drive first – and a fine straight
drive it was and ended up only a wee tad short of the fairway – my trusty muscle memory not
kicking in over fast then, eh? But the Big Fella, Mr Super Improver and the Short of Sight, Long of
Shot (SSLS) were strong enough to carry me through – and carry they jolly well did although their
shots were so darn good all I needed to survive was the requisite 4 drives that were the essential
component of my team membership.

And, lo, on the 3rd I stood bravely on the red tee area, driver in hand (I know it’s a Par 3 but I’m older
and colder than I was) and I buried my wild and irrational on-course anxiety re people – whom I
normally like but fear greatly with club in hand – and I hit a stonking peach of a shot to within 6’ of
the hole – tasty. Did I convert?? – Alas no, but the Big Fella rolled it in as 4 th putter for a sexy birdie
on the thirdie – lovely jubbly.

I fear I peaked early though – but tasty drives on the 7th, 13th and 14th had me sorted with my
requirements. And the 13th and 14th came AFTER I’d put on my waterproofs on the 10th – just in
time for the rain to stop – which was nice. It brought my layers up to 3 (bottoms) and 5 (tops) – you
try swinging anything wearing that much – I looked like an onion on a rampage.

However, the highlight of the day was the 16th – we were using the Big Fella’s drive with the rest
of us sorted, but I certainly need the practice so I decided to drive off anyway. Soft ol’ ground out
there as I buried my beautiful Titleist about 8” down – my fingernails were ruined, ruined I say,
ruined.

But the Team were laughing mightily (with me, not at me) and, thank the Lord, I sank the putt for
birdie on the green – redemption was mine. If only I’d done the same on the 18 th we’d have done
even better than the miraculous 3rd the lads achieved with me on the team – a mighty double result
– a prize AND I’m one of the fellas – joyful golfing world I’m back (at last)…. Did you miss me??

The morning was sunny, clear and carrying just a smidgeon of Autumnal freshness as a mighty dozen of us descended on the 10a.m. Ladies’ draw.  I was in the second 3-ball with two Lovely Lady M’s – M1 and M-eile.  Away we went with smiling faces and happy hearts and all three of us remained scratch-free for the first two holes.  Yowzah…

But, before any ego or vanity could take over and ruin our golf, I rectified matters by wedging my second shot on the Par 3 Third into a bunker.  A bunker wherein the ball remained for 3 more shots.  And one putt is very rarely quite enough for me – itching begins, alas.

Upon the 4th, Lovely Lady M1 became the victim of an unfortunate bounce and her ball also became bunker-bound.  She hit a perfect and magnificent shot out of the bunker.  So magnificent was it that the ball jumped straight into the opposite bunker just to experience that miraculous flying sensation all over again.  Out again she hit and managed to find the hole while the scoring of points was still an option.  Utterly admirable bunker tennis to be sure.

My bunker fear lingered on the 5th, when a simple little pitchy shotty thingy became a terrifying barrier because the bunker was there in my way.  I did avoid the bunker and end up on the edge of the green, although I utilised the slightly unorthodox method of raising my head and skimming the ball along the edge of the bunker using the good ol’ trusty “toe of the club” shot.

We carried on, all down to our short sleeves with the benevolent sun rays upon us.  My excruciatingly disastrous drive (EDD) on the 10th brought about offers of post-round tuition (probably in case I hurt someone with the next one…).  I was honoured and then worried that I would be considered rude and inconsiderate when I drove fairly competently for the rest of the round.  I enjoyed happiness at the hitting of moderately good shots.  And I suffered the murky depths of mortification at the thought that I had maybe broken one of the ten million secret rules.  You know the ones – undiscussed  yet the cause of potentially fatal offence.  Kept the ol’ head down and the ol’ mouth shut for all while and all seemed good..

Upon the 12th Lovely Lady M1 gave on to me an apple (terribly kind, as bananas and I do not get on).  Delicious it was, but I encountered a couple of wee problems (me? problems?? NEVER!!).  One – an apple is a delicious, crispy and bloody noisy to consume piece of fruit.  Two – holding an half-eaten apple in your mouth a la suckling pig while taking a shot is not the wisest.  Three – perching half eaten apple on the (hopefully) cleanest part of golf bag attracts homicidal, near-death wasps.  Four – my hat looks just like a dying wasps last supper.

Lovely apple though.

The 18th was upon us so quickly ‘twas borderline unreal.  I felt the usual emotion – combo of disappointment that the round was ending so soon and heart-warming relief that the round was finally ending.  Lovely Lady M-eile drove the 18th using a 5 iron.  My happiness at my reasonable drive was extinguished by the glorious flight of her ball straight and true past where mine had landed.  It is such a long trek and pilgrimage to the Land of Good Golf.

Summer still alive & kickin’ when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

The day was fab.  Warm t-shirt weather at 8a.m.  Sadly my somewhat toasted forearms clashed unbecomingly with my classy purple Lacoste top.  Fashion and I do step warily around one another.

But, the 1st 6 holes were grand for me.  The Buddy was accompanying me to mark my card so he played outta his socks as ‘twas only a practice for him.  Annoying, no?

After my happy 1st 6, I had a slightly tense 7, 8, 9 & 10.  In fact, I was so tense on the 10th that if you’d flicked me I’d have chimed like a bell and then shattered.  Thankfully, flicking is prohibited on the course so I managed to relax and continue to go with the flow.

And there I was at the 13th again.  I was on that awkward fairway place on the 13th , you know the one where the pond is in your way?  (‘Tis quite a large awkward area, to be fair).  So, I lined up my shot for the pond, confident that it would skew right, as all my shots do.  Except this one.  Straight, sure, stunning, splash.

Not to worry, I thought (among other thoughts that shall not be recorded in script), I’ll teach myself to hit over the pond.  I fished out a somewhat weary & lumpy ball from my bag – a Bagpuss Ball – lumpy, scuffed but true.  I dropped Baggy in front of the pond and went about condemning him to a watery grave.

And yet no, he flew up and across and over the pond to bounce perfectly upon the green.  Good ol’ Bagpuss.

I rested Baggy for the 14th and 15th and resurrected him for the 16th.  He did not let me down – skirting Barrow and pond like an ageing ballet dancer.  And, upon the 17th he expressed a feline’s true aversion for water and went skittering into the woods on the left, dry as a bone.

The day’s golf was ending for me as I hit a peachy sandwedge onto the 18th green to be there in 5 (not brilliant, but hey).  The ball was in love with the daylight and it was shot number 10 before I could persuade him into the hole.  Golddurn good weather…

Good weather can affect ball performance when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

I was part of a 3-ball on this very fine day.  The Lovely Lady-M and the Lovely Lady V.C.  Our current Lady V.C. is glamorous, refined, sophisticated and a fine golfer.  I am lumpy, misaligned and wearing a ridiculous floppy hat to protect my ears from the sun.  And ye already know about the quality of my golf…

Off we went, the 3 of us and my banana-drive affliction.  It is nice to have become comfortable enough in my own golf to be able to appreciate the exemplary golfing of my 2 companions on the day.  Lady V.C. had a beautiful birdie on the 2nd.  I scratched the 3rd.  Lady V.C. had a divine off-the-green-straight-into-the-hole putt on the 6th.  I overhit my 7-iron across the 6th green – Hulkesque.

I did manage to scrape a point on the 7th despite having sputtered my way all along the fairway.  And I had my bestest ever on the 10th – a 1-pointer of an 8.  Yeehar…

And then there was the 13th.  13 used to be my lucky number.  Not so much anymore.  I had a good but somewhat banana-style drive.  I subsequently duffed not 1, not 2 but 3 iron shots to end up with a path (of sorts) throught the trees onto the green.  Lady V.C. chipped demurely to one side – playing the wise percentage shot.  I lamped the ball into the trees for an unbelievable double ricochet which landed smoothly beside the Lady V.C.’s ball.  I had also performed a demure percentage shot, but mine was U-shaped and the ball was covered in splinters.  I followed this with a Dukes of Hazzard 8-iron shot along the edge of the pond and upside of the bunker to hug the side of the green at its end.  Alas, one putt was not enough, but what a rollercoaster journey it was.

Due to a complex stroke / handicap combo thing, I won the 15th.  Which was nice.  But I had to drive 1st on the 16th and the wheels came off, the walls came crashing down and I scratched the 16th.  Pure game of highs and lows this.

By the end of the day, I had 4 scratches – 2 + 2.  But my points had edged just over the mid 20’s.  It’s been a couple of years since I was heading for 30 – ‘twill be nice to do so again….

Revisiting your youth on the course when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

11.30 9-hole stroke was the order of the day.  The Lovely Lady-C gamely stayed on and agreed to play even after she realised it were only me.

Away we went, Lady-C back after a break and me consistently annoying like a chronic toothache.  1st was bad.  2nd was worse.  3rd was okeley-dokeley.  So buoyed up by this that I hit an absolute beast of an 8 iron from the 4th fairway bang onto the green.  I had been aware of the presence of The Guru in his Kingdom – although he was teaching Another, his powers are far-reaching.  I turned after my peachy shot for a token gesture of recognition.  I was disappointed for The Guru and Another were rooting in the hedge for strays.

But I carried on bravely to the 5th.  Now, Par-3’s and I do not often see eye-to-eye – I was told very very early on that a Par-3 was an “easy hole”.  Is it indeed, I thought to myself, well, let’s just see about that…  But I finally managed on this fine day to get my first shot straight onto the green.  And it remained on the green instead of making a break for freedom in the woods.  I love my 6-iron I do.

And the euphoria was in danger of becoming incandescent when I managed to miss BOTH the 5th green and the bunker on the right with my drive from the 6th.  ‘Twas a peachy day to be sure.

And then, upon the 8th, my head came up.  I would like to confirm that it was NOT a fresh air.  No it was not.  I sent a divot about 40 yards down the fairway so I did.

But I recovered on the 9th and finished in an explodingly happy mood as I thought my overall score was about 8 shots lower than my best to date.  Off 9-holes that’s not too bad.  But, I was mistaken.  My beloved clicker had hiccupped along the way and stopped on a digit when it should have moved.  I was 10 shots off.

But the Lovely Lady-C could not have been nicer – she was a star after her big break and was very patient with me and my chronic foot-in-mouth syndrome…

Technology is not the answer when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Another variation on the bizarre 4somes Greensomes combo.  We were two teams of two.  Our handicaps were added and halved.   A coin was flipped to decide who drove on 1st and odd holes and who on 2nd and evens.  I dropped the coin twice and then it stuck to my hand, so we adopted a “I have a 6th tee box phobia at the moment so I’ll go on the 1st then” strategy.  Scientific, no?

It was a breezy (or mind bogglingly windy) day, but was nice and warm between the gales.  On we tootled on our golfing quest.

My playing partner – the L-Plater H – hit a momentous drive on the 4th – so straight and long that I requested a tea break having hiked the distance to reach the ball to perform a mediocre 2nd shot.  L-Plater H’s 3rd was a brilliantly cunning chip over towards the 2nd tee box – it gave me a perfect lie to the edge of the 4th green.  Fiendishly clever, L-Plater H.

Another momentous drive from her on the 6th, my 2nd  went from one side of fairway to other while her 3rd got me back out onto the fairway for my peachy shot-of-the-day which was up onto the green and considering getting friendly with the pin.  Lovely.

Upon the 8th I learned that gambling is, indeed, a sin.  For L-Plater H’s drive was caught by the momentous spring breeze and hurled by the evil wind to the gully on the right.  The mighty trees batted it back into play (thanks guys) on the tee side of the gully.  L-Plater H and I held a mini-team conference – chip out safely or negotiate path through trees for distance?  Go for it, she said.  And I did.  I did so hard that the branch the ball caught screamed in agony and slammed the ball deep into the gully.  Lost ball, dropped shot, gambling is bad indeed.

We got to the 9th, where I had my very own baby Monster Drive.  But the 9th fairway is afflicted by hilly bits and L-Plater H’s 2nd scooted up and ended up nestled cosy-close to the 4th plaque on the men’s 4th tee box.  Putting my brave face on, I strode over clutching my never-used 4 iron to compensate for my stance which would have my bum up in air (no, there wasn’t a total eclipse that day) and the ball beneath my feet.  I blanked my mind for focus (didn’t take too long that) and swung.  And the ball rolled gently to the edge of the 9th green.  I love my 4 iron…

Upon the 14th, the 2nd shot was mine.  And, lo, a miracle happened.  I set up my usual 5 iron fairway shot, swung and made the ball do Evil Kanevil as it somersaulted backwards about 18”.  Never done that before.

There we were at the 16th – L-Plater H’s Monster Drive was just fabulous.  My 2nd 5 iron went splish splash splosh into pond.  L-Plater H’s 4th went froggy across pond and out the far side.  L-Plater H carried the hole and a little feeling of inadequacy was thinking about seeping into my mind.

But, my mind said no, ‘twas full of stuff so away with you, inadequacy.  I drove the 17th aiming so far away from the Barrow that the woods were getting nervous.  I drove.  My banana ball started curving ominously towards the murkiness of the Barrow, we all went noooo and so a mighty tree stepped in and ricocheted the ball back onto the fairway.  I stopped hugging the tree to take the 3rd shot.  Love the flora and fauna so we do.

Today, L-Plater H graduated to Lady h.  Well done her.

Laughs are always mighty when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Under T-shirt was collarless so I perspired in silent fugue


The day dawned with the sun there and everything.  ‘Twas lovely but I did not wish to fall into the Aussie Spoons weather trap again so I dressed in sensible layers – easy on and easy off (thank you Mater Dear).  We went out at the same time as before, although I had a shiny new playing partner.  We moseyed on out, us 4 mavericks, into the balmy air and almost tropical course.

My shiny new team mate, Lady R, played off a tres impressive handicap of 31.  I was terribly impressed – almost awestruck.  But, over the journey of the round, I had a wee inkling of the pain that accompanies the pleasurable ego balm of a drop in handicap.  Our combined and divided handicaps amounted to 33.  Not much, I hear you say.  But, darn it, I missed those 3 shots so very much on the course.

We carried on, basking so much in the weather that our golf was improving almost unconsciously.  I confess though that I transformed my previously perfect golfing companions into savage chocoholics by the round’s end.  The Lady R, who is not a chocolate lady, accepted a nut-filled-choc-free-muesli bar while us other three had not one, nor two but three choccie breaks (& my final one was a doubler – at least I scored highly on the choccie front anyhoo).

We were at the 13th, and I began to utilise the dynamics of teamwork.  I asked the Lady R would she like me to attempt sending the ball over the pond, or would I jig it to one side and she could scoot it along.  She said jump it.  Eeeeeeek.  I lined up the shot, having gone a club up just to be sure to be sure.  I kept my head down, my arm straight.  I hit a perfect shot – straight, lofted and perfect.  Just about 6” too short.  We watched the ball fly, fly, fly before it fell, scraping and clawing down the steep pond wall, its little fingernails splintering, into the water.  Splash.

The Lady R bore the loss of her ball very well indeed.  She bounced her shot off the top of the evil wall and straight across onto the 11th.  Goodness, I was impressed.  It were borderline magical.

The whole day long, only one of my drives was used – on the 17th.  I mean, the others were OK distance-wise, they were just assuming a startling banana shape (& I truly hate bananas).  Although when they began going beyond banana shape to U-shaped German sausage shaped I got scared.  Real scared.

But, at the end of the day, our teamly duos both scored better than the first Aussie Outing.  Weather can create good atmosphere both out and in.

Atmospheric pressure is always good when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

All the squirrels, all the spring frolicking
Magic Ball-Hopping drive on 4th

This ridiculous early weekend rising has got to end.  I mean really, there we were, The Buddy and I, teeing off at 7.45a.m. on a Saturday morning.  Pro-shop and clubhouse snug and cosy closed and we’re heading out to play golf.  AND, we were not even close to first off either.  But the weather was so nice I even opened my eyes to look around.

And on the 4th tee box – alone Thank God – I performed magic.  I placed the freak ball upon the tee.  I lined up the shot, got my grip, swung my swing.  When it was all over the ball was sitting serenely on the little hole left by my tee.  The same tee was 20 feet away up the fairway suffering from G-shock and jet-lag.  I made the ball jump and the tee fly and not a witness there to see it.  Typical.

There we were, as if by magic, at the 8th tee boxes.  As The Buddy was organising himself for his drive, the squirrel fiesta began.  Not one, nor two but three squirrels were dancing, chasing, cavorting in a carefree manner through the woods.  Or indulging in some macho courting behaviour – my squirreleze is still in its infancy so understanding can therefore be compromised.

On the 11th, my drive meandered its way along the pre-fairway rough until it found a comfy spot to settle down.  The Buddy hit a tremendous beauty of a shot that landed not a micron away from the hole.  Sadly, not even forceful marching towards the green could entice the ball into the hole.  An almost hole-in-one.  Next time for sure.

My excessive and nauseating banana-drive behaviour carried on until the 16th.  For on the 16th, as I drove, I managed to get my hips outta the way so the club could come straight through.  And believe me, I am sooooo hip that was achievement maximus in itself.

And, more turning atrocious into reasonable, I managed to scrape a 1-pointer 6 on the 17th AFTER driving my first ball into the Evil Barrow.  Victory from potential defeat, hurrah!!

Practice makes Perfect (ly reasonable) when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Sunday being my traditional sleepy-inny-dayie I was still shell-shocked as The Buddy and I teed off at 7.45a.m.  I’m sure I’ll get used to it eventually.  1st Hole was a bit slow – I firmly believe my co-ordination was tucked up warm and happy in bed, the bowsie.  I chugged along quite happy, nearly making some scores along the way.  And then there was the 6th.  In hindsight, I should have paid more attention when the tune of Chris Rea’s “Road to Hell” could be heard whispering through the tree tops.

I stood up to drive, utterly determined to break my habit of bouncing drives across the 5th green.  And I did succeed, after a fashion.  My ball remained happily on the 6th tee box.  So I hit it with my 5 iron and it bounced across the 5th green and into the nice bunker on the right.  There was a brief and unexplained meteorological event when a thunderstorm broke out around that part of the course for about 15 seconds.  I did just make it to the fairway before the scratch attack recurred.

On the 7th, having succumbed to the magic magnetic ball attracting tree on the fairway, I hit a perfectly distanced if slightly off-directional shot which I SAW land in the bunker.  I strode up, sandwedge in hand, all ready to go.  And there I stood at bunker’s edge desperately seeking out my ball.  See it I could not for way too long.  I had obviously hit him way too hard and he’d rolled through the dew and cunningly camouflaged himself in sand, quaking in fear and impotent anger.

There was a lot of scratching on the front 9.  But bits were good – my waking-between-the-shots was exemplary.

So, there we were at the 13th.  The Buddy, playing off the Big Ol’ Blues, was away off to drive first.  I was on the nice enclosed 13th Ladies’ Tee, going through the shot-organising routine.  How terribly rudely was I interrupted all of a sudden.  There was the audible whistling of an approaching ball (you know – just long enough to panic, too short to react) and a resounding thump & ricochet off the fabulous fir tree shield.  My fright was only taking hold when it got scared off by two horrified pigeons who had probably been coyly courting in the trees when a golf ball interrupted proceedings.  Dangerous game this golf.  There were feathers, squacking and flapping.  And the poor pigeons were upset too.

I recovered well (over time) and made it onto the 17th green in two (hey, it’s good for me).  Then I 4 putted.  Oh dear no…

So there it was – the 18th.  The one last chance to do something – anything – worthy for the golfing day.  I chuffed up the slope to the Ladies’ tee, only moderately horrified to see I had acquired a (captive) audience of lovely gentlemen, gallantly awaiting my drive before they chipped onto the green.  And I did it – I hit a lovely, straight, long-for-me drive.  Then I hit a peachy 5 iron to reach my second captive audience of lovely gentlemen at the 10th tee.  And I did it again – I hit a beaut of a 6-iron  ONTO THE GREEN.  ME – ONTO THE GREEN – IN 3.

‘Twas 8a.m. on Easter Bank Holiday Monday.  I had, to be fair, been previously unaware that bank holidays even had an 8 in the a.m.  Golf is an enormous educational vehicle to be sure.  I was there, in body at least, with The Buddy, L-Plater H and the Mc Man, who were all fully present.  A classic it was.  We were 1st on the timesheet but The Rat Pack were leaving the 3rd when we entered the car park at 7.45a.m.  Impressive.

Away off we went and, for the first 5 holes us ladies – L-Plater H and I – were stonkingly good in spite of our hugely weighty 36’s.  What a nice feeling.  Then I woke up – always a mistake – and the Mc Man gave us praise.  Me and praise – we don’t get on.  It takes over my mind and has me rehearsing acceptance speeches and planning potential wardrobe combos instead of hitting the golf ball.  Small itsy bitsy piece of pride, giganganormous fall.  Keeps the ol’ feet firmly on the ground this golfing malarkey.

But the weather was lovely again – a tad breezy – I took off my hat – the breeze blew from ear to ear and my brain rattled – hat back on.

There we all were out on the back 9.  My stabilisers had come off at the 9th and stayed off at the 10th, but L-Plater H was storming around the course.  For a slender dainty lady, she effortlessly carried the 3 of us on an occasion of two.  But I contributed – I gave her chocolate on the 10th and therefore deserve credit for bring provisions to the troops.

But I did have a shot of the day.  Ah sure who am I kidding – probably shot of the month (season? Year??)  Let me tell ye all…

It were on the 16th.  I was, as usual, worried about the Barrow (he never writes to me anymore..) and I took a moment to aim my shot and position myself.  I drove and I fresh-aired it.  Yuk.  I drove again and it staggered away leftwards.  My 3rd dropped me just at the pond.  (This is the good bit, at last).  I walked up.  I kept calm.  I decided to use a 7-iron even though I thought that an 8 would do it and there was a tail wind.  I stood over the ball.  I chanted “there is no water there” inside my head, I kept my head down and next thing, there’s my ball on the green.  I winched my mouth closed (a mammoth task) and managed to get down in 2.  A net par with a fresh air.  Nice shot it were.

On the 17th I picked up after 6, still shy of the fairway.  Jet-lag from crash back to earth still wearing off…

But the 4 of us did alright, the weather was great, the golf was great, the team is potentially great (that’s gonna take a long, long time) and Easter Eggs were still in season – yee-har!!!

Golfing with your friends you found in golfing is a feature when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

I now know where our mistake lay – signing up for the morning on the timesheet.  If only we’d selected an afternoon slot how different the day might have been.  But the hour had changed, summertime was here.  I’d hopped out of my bed in the morning, my outfit for the day laid out from the night before.  Australian Spoons, I thought, best to dress appropriately.  I dressed in my ¾ length summer trousers, my short sleeved shirt and my lovely hat with all the corks dangling from the brim.  Then I opened the blind…

So the 4 of us went out, swaddled to the eyeballs and beyond in light of the brisk, somewhat damp weather.  So it seems that the only benefit of the hour change to date was a longer day of rain – definitely not worth losing the hour’s sleep.

It was my first time to play Foursomes / Greensomes and I found it to be a real high pressure situation.  For ‘tis bad enough when you duff a shot and the only one who suffers is yourself.  When you duff it and then hand it someone else to sort out it is terrible hard on the ego.  My in-depth ruminations on same distracted me so much that the Lovely Lady L, with whom I was playing for the first time, had to carry me for the first 5 holes.  Which she did, admirably.

At least on the 6th I hit a beaut of a putt.  Actually, ‘twas only a lucky putty, but it went whirly-gig around the hole and in – which was nice.

We trundled on, suffering in the complete opposite of silence.  Goodness, but it was fierce cold.  I supplied a mini choccie break on the 10th which provided a little calorific uplift.  The chocolate had to be held in the mouth for a moment to induce melting and reduce the risk of cracking teeth, but the minor delay was worth it.  My somewhat sluggish grey matter had a mini, choccie-initiated breakthrough.  I realised that if I could manage to outdrive the Lovely Lady L, she’d have to take the 2nd shot (hers were humblingly ever so much better than mine) and my duffing opportunities would be marginally reduced.  The message had finally travelled around my body – a long and messy journey – by the 16th.  I stood up, I drove, I assumed the tres attractive mouth-hanging-open-dribble-forming facial expression I use to express happy surprise.  Straight down the fairway my ball lay and it were one whole metre IN FRONT of the yellow M&M on the fairway (not giant candy covered chocolate and neither tasty nor edible – trust me).  One whole metre in front.  A mere 149m to centre of green.  Mmmmmm.

Lovely Lady L hit a little pitch to in front of the pond and I stood up, inflated with confidence, to hit the next shot.  It teased me bad by doing a Froggy skimfest across the pond before wedging itself in the bank a good 2 foot under water.  I fell back to earth so hard my teeth clicked.  AND my drive at the 17th went splish, splosh, sink into the insatiable River Barrow.

But we’d made at around the course.  The rain was getting ominously sleety and the wind blasted past our final destination (clubhouse) and concentrated its energy into the funnel of the 18th fairway.  We stood together as a hardy team of 4 stalwart golfers.  Whoever’s shot it was stood up to take it, facing the wind head on.  The other 3 stood with our backs to the wind, heads down, shoulders hunched.  But we remained entirely cud-free, so zero bovine references shall be tolerated.

By 3p.m. the blizzard resulted in the closure of the course.

Never any cattle on the course when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

So there we were of a Saturday – The Buddy and I – lurking around the shop, lying in wait for a couple of innocents that we could trick into assisting in the shepherding of me around the course.  And two fine and honourable men undertook the momentous task with nary a shudder.  And they could not have been nicer and were so laid back as to be virtually horizontal.


Their calm demeanours did nothing to alter my hysterical female side and I therefore spent the first two holes doing my finest “Beaker from Sesame Street” impression (you know – the Professor Scientist’s assistant who used to squeak in panic for no apparent reason).  But their calmness was contagious and I had a lovely 3rd (4 – or net birdie for yours truly).  So flushed with success was I that I removed my jacket.  And so refreshing was the breeze on the 4th fairway that I re-jacketed myself quick-smart.

In order to continue my self-sacrificing and to in no way whatsoever cause even an instant of delay for the three Lovely Gentlemen and their golfing rhythm, I gamely launched myself into a brisk jog (or cumbersome trundle, if truth be known) down towards the Ladies’ 14th tee.  You know, it don’t look THAT far but it is.  I neither stopped nor slowed and with my overwhelming physique ‘twas an high impact aerobics session that shook me (and most of the course) to our very cores.

And on we all went – my game had been a mixed bag (shock-horror), but on the 15th I had an absolutely peachy wee chippie thingy onto the green.  One of the Lovely Gentlemen was so generous and so genuine in his praise that he temporarily labelled me with a wee misnomer.  He was mortified while I was so darned happy with a good shot all of my very own and the praise that accompanied it that they could have called me anything at all and I’d still have been chuffed.

And the shot that will bring me back (yet) again … my 3rd on the 18th.  I followed through and the ball just went away away away.  ‘Twas lovely so ‘twas.  And the hour will change tonight – I will selflessly lose that vital one hour of sleepy time in order to have longer days for golfing.  I expect if back for winter tho’.

Long Days…Sunny Golf…Summer’s Good When
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Driving, Driving, Driving – Shots Developing BHP at last….

So there we were – 6 of us at 9.30a.m.  The #1 3-ball went off ahead of us, accelerating into the distance at breakneck speed.  I’ve never seen people outrun their own drives before – tres impressive.  We 3 plodded along behind – we did good, we did bad, we did downright ugly and the front 9 passed in a flurry of shots and much cleaning of sandy balls.  Whew.

Along came the 10th (with compulsory choccie break for Lady M and I, L-Plater H is a largely chocolate free zone) and I put into practice the advice of The Buddy which had worked real well for me on St. Paddy’s Day.  I aimed my drive way to the left and it were a goodie – my head stayed down, arm stayed straight, ball got hit fair ‘n’ square and lofted itself skywards straight towards the 10th yellow flag in the far, far distance.  Then came the Big Gust of Big Wind and my ball shot away to the right and nestled itself in the shelter of the coppice on right.  Aaargh.  I tried to chip gently back onto the fairway in one, no fancy stuff.  But, the trees were edging into and across my shots.  Some even jumped straight up in front of me – 120years of growth in 0.5 of a second.  My 5th shot cannoned into the big ol’ tree with the triangular root cave and ricocheted in a pin-ballesque manner from side to side until it settled comfortably in its little cave.  ????  The big 10 was scratchilicious for me today.

And in just a few minutes hard yet silent grumping time, here we were at the 13th.  Or my 13th as I now call it.  I had a lovely drive.  I had a lovely 5 iron.  I had a lovely 7 iron.  I had a lovely pitchy-chippie shot onto the green.  I putt-putted down in 2.  I had a 6 on a Par 5, or a nett birdie as I now affectionately call it.  My squidgy little 13ipoo fluffiumpikins (for today).

I floated around and there we were at the 16th already.  I applied the “2 club wind rule” that the Mc Man had referenced on St. Paddy’s Day.  It worked not for me.  The hungry Barrow and the malevolent wind conspired agin’ me.  The wind dropped, the river sucked, my ball splashed.  Oh, scratchy, scratchy, scratchy.

As for the 17th – a Par 3 should never create this much scratching to be sure.

But there we were – on the 18th tee box – clubhouse in view – 19th calling us with promises of sustenance and shelter (tea and scones).  We drove divinely, we fairwayed fantastically, my 3rd went waaaaaaay across the green, my 4th used the bunker as a ramp and hopped happily onto the green.  Down in 2 for a nett par.  As happy as my “just broke the 20pts” thing was, I should not neglect my two golfing companions of the day.  I am deeply suspicious that L-Plater H has been practising her putting.  She was hammering putts home like Tom Cruise’s pool shots in “Colour of Money” and went, over the 18 holes, from looking surprised, to disapproving, to pleased, to guilty.  And the Lady M spent the entire 18 holes chipping so devastatingly well that I was smelling salt ‘n’ vinegar by the end.  What a day was had…

Safe, fast, powerful driving en vogue when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Dum, Dum, Dum, De-De, Dum, Dum – Under Pressure

The glorious day of our Honourable St. Patrick (St. Paddy from now on) dawned with sun and no rain.  That is what the weatherman had forecast the night before, but I felt he was smiling in a nervous, “fingers-crossed” kinda way – more hopeful than definite.  But sure he was right, bless ‘im.

‘Twas a four-ball 14-Hole Scramble today and our pioneering team consisted of L-Plater H, her husband (& exemplary golfing gentleman) the Mc Man, The Buddy (my course baby-sitter) and me.  The working out of the handicaps was way beyond my mathematical capabilities (shoes off after 10) so I feigned nonchalance when informed that it was something and 3/7’s.  Indeed.

And away we went – the Mc Man had a cunning plan with a mere hint of superstition – we played each hole in an identical format to minimise bad luck.  Had I known the plan at Hole #1, I would not have driven off first.  But L-Plater H and I did well – on fairway and straight – day was looking real good so far…

2nd Hole – early for me to golf peak, but I carried on regardless.  The drive was mine, the chip was mine, the putt was mine.  Mine I tell you.  The 2nd shot that got my moderately dodgy drive into an infinitely chippable position was the Mc Man’s.  Good on ‘im.

The Mc Man’s final putt policy was testing for him though.  The 3-lipped putters had him emanating Queen & David Bowie’s “Under Pressure” whenever he held the putter in his hand.  “Dum, dum, dum, de-de, dum, dum”.  But his reads were more good than bad and he rescued us more than once.

17th was hard though – one ball to the left – just, one ball to the right – just, my ball took fright and jumped the hole and the birdie flew away.  “Dum, dum, dum, de-de, dum, dum”.

But us two L-Platers H & I had our 3 drives each well out of the way by the 16th so we did.  And we stood up to the 18th.  And our Honourable Gentleman Captain and his team were stood waiting for us to drive as they approached the 12th green.  And L-Plater H and I stood up, we teed up and we drove two mighty and stonking drives (chorus of “best of the day” from the Buddy and the Mc Man greeted each shot) straight down the fairway.  Lovely.  The men out drove us, but lovely anyway.  We are Ladies, don’t ye know??

St. Paddy’s Day Luck of the Green when

So toady off we went – 18 Holes of Stableford bliss lay ahead.  Day was fine weather-wise – it rained but the sun was thinking of shining and when the breeze stopped sliding in off the Barrow it was pleasant enough.

That said, one of my canny golfing companions had the only triple-glazed buggy on the planet.  She was cozy warm and could get out, place ball, select club, practice swing, take exemplary shot, return club and be sat back down with doors closed in 45 ½ seconds.  Impressive.  As was her absolutely charming tendency to call out “Good Shot” from deep within her cocoon.  The reverberations were borderline celestial and make even a somewhat moderately good shot sound miraculous.  Heady praise indeed.

And, it provided for me on one occasion at least, a little bit of almost decent golf.  There we were on the 15th.  My usual entering-the-back-9-blues had lifted we were winding up for the home stretch.  My 4th shot had a lucky ol’ bounce and fell onto the green, which was nice.  My 5th shot and 1st putt was a wee tad over-hit (i.e. skidded straight past the hole and away off the other side of the green about 6’ into the roughy stuffy).  And yet I recovered.  I stayed with the putter, I lined it up carefully and I pendulumed hard enough to ring Big Ben.  And the ball ran straight back up onto the green and into the hole where it belonged.  Woo-Hoo.

I was just enjoying golfy feelings of warmth at my microscopic success (huge and monumental to me, of course) when I was told I’d won the 15th Hole so up I was to go first to tee off.

I wasn’t ready for that.  Too much too soon.  I avoided the river.  I found the lake.  I scratched the 16th.  Back to earth with a tooth-shattering crash.


Perfect Balance & Equilibrium are key when
Golfing @ Garryhinch

The golfing day started with a wee element of confusion vis-à-vis strokes or stableford.  I duly overcompensated and made sure the cards were filled in for both along with shoe size, blood type D.O.B. (both real and imagined).  Much intense paperwork.

The weather was fab – positively spring-like – but the shot limit of Stepford, I mean Stableford, makes a difference.  Testing limits is a way of life for me (sorry parents) and I had an 8 on the Ladies Par 5 2nd hole. This came about due to the fact that, as I drove, the ol’ head came up hard enough to cause mild whiplash.  My Freak ball (a prize, don’t you know..) stayed up on the tee box as it didn’t want to miss whatever had caught my attention so fully.  Ironic, in a way.

And, on the 3rd (Par 3’s – should be easy, often ain’t) there I was – a mere 18” putt for a 3 (nett Hole-in-One pour moi).  I left with a 7 and a recently diagnosed possessed putter.  Hurmph.

But redemption lay ahead.  I had a lovely-jubbly 5 on the 4th – just kissing the temporary green with my 2nd shot.  Me – shot #2 – kissing green – mmmmmm.  It was, of course, the Aura of the Guru that steered the shots as he roamed his Kingdom and regarded his subjects while making driving noises so we don’t notice.  I owe the Guru a cappuccino or two so I do.


Shot Redemption is Feasible when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Sunday 7th March 2010 – Captains’ Drive-In Day
I shortened my Sunday sleep-in in honour of to-day’s importance – the Captains’ Drive-In.  And also to honour my bladder’s incessant reminders that I was teeing off in the Competition at 12.20 and nervous anticipation was crucial to same.


It was supremely sunny but when I let the dogs out my ears froze and my nose ran so I reckoned it were coldish.  Double t-shirt and jumper combo it was to be then.

The Competition for the day (and the two preceeding days) was a 14-Hole 4-Ball Classic Stapleford (please re-arrange mentally to make actual sense if necessary – I am an L-Plater…) and The Buddy and I were down with a couple whom I did not know at all.  Yikes.

I felt the buzz in the air upon arrival at the Clubhouse – many, many golfers dressed up and ready to go.  As 12 noon approached a tension accumulated as we gathered in anticipation of THE ARRIVAL.  The tones of the pipes drifted through the air as we turned as one towards the carpark.  And there he was – Herbie in Blue!!  And, even better, he had our two Honourable Captains on board in all their glory ready to drive the new golfing year into action.

Cheers were heard, photos were taken, hats were put on ‘cos ‘twas a fraction nippy…

It was my first ever Captains’ Drive-In and I did get to see the tree-planting ceremony (Alan Titchmarsh & Charlie Dimmock beware) but, due to our tee time of 12.20 I have yet to witness the actual drive-in.  I heard it was great though.

The Yikes couple, with whom I had been previously unacquainted, were fantastic – easy-going, patient and tolerant (of me) with a delightful tendency to cheer all the good shots  - the Husband’s operatic “Good Ball B” shall warm my cockles forever – and to ignore all the bad.  One L-Plater in golf Heaven here.  The weather remained beautifully sunny with a kidney-rattling Easterly breeze.  Hat went on, hat came off, hat went on, hat came off again.

My 1st Captains’ Drive-In performance was varied – a nice 4 on the Par 3 3rd for 3 points (woo-hoo).  My ball in the ditch on the right of the 8th (boo-hoo).  My two new team mates EACH had get-the-ball-out-of-the-ditch-thingies (woo-hoo).  My putting was a tad over positive on the 10th (The Buddy quote “good thing the hole got in the way of that shot”) BUT my 1 point was the only score on that hole – I prevented a scratch so I did.  (woo-hoo-hoo).

The Presentation that night was lovely – not least as my team garnered an award – and not just an ordinary prize – a “Special Prize”.  God, I love golf.

Well rewarded for bringing up the rear when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

12 – Holes – do be more than ½ way to big ol’ 18io
Disgusted, Dismayed, Distraught, D-I-S-Q-U-A-L-I-F-I-E-D

So to-day we made the 1st step in our transition from wintery 9’s to summery 18’s (19’s even if the thirst does be on you like).  It was a 12-Hole Competition but, due to a frosty wee morning, we were playing the temporaries.  So off we brave little 36er 3-ball went to explore the less familiar and slightly longer course.  And we three played well – drives were straightish and longish, fairway woods and irons got us within spitting distance of the temporaries and, best of all, we were delicately chipping (or even bumping and scudding) onto the temps.  As we availed of the 2-putt rule, we were moving swiftly along the course with the minimum of strokes.

Alas, our inexperience assaulted us in a brutal way.  One of our fellow lady members informed us at the 7th tee that the 2-putt temporary green rule applied only to Ladies’ 9-Hole, not to the 12-Hole.

Devastated and disqualified all in one.  Ouch.

We carried on gamely and I was pleased that I transformed myself from Taz to Mutley in a mere millisecond and just rumbled around the course for a few moments until serene calmness descended again and my golfing buddies stopped looking scared.

The sun shone, my golfing trolley was morphing into a clothes horse, the course was beautiful and, as our scores were now completely irrelevant, we played beautifully.  My golfing buddies had been availing of the golf lessons and L-Plater J had missed the final one due to an overseas trip, and she asked L-Plater H how the putting lesson had gone.  We were on the temporary 11th green and it was L-Plater H’s putt.  So she went through tres comprehensively how they had been told to formulate a putt.  Her head stayed down, her practice pendulum swing was sublime, her golf ball was gleaming and shiny clean and her putt was perfect.  In time to her running commentary the ball rolled straight into the hole and we went “hurrah”.

My putt was next, being fractionally nearer to the hole.  I responded to the pressure of stepping up after Ms Perfect Putt with the good hair by standing straight over my ball and saying I was going to ignore all that and just putt as I normally would.  I did, with my internal fingers crossed, and it worked – rolled straight in the hole.  Howzat..

Spring is putt-putt-putting along as we’re
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Lady L-Plater’s Golfing Journal – Addition 1
27/28-2-2010

1st Big Scary Competition
Stabilisers Fell Off Big Time


Saturday 27th Feb dawned clear and frosty early on, so I went back to bed.  But it was warm and sunny later when I resurrected myself.  Today is the day – my very first real live weekend competition with men and everything.  The Ladies were to play Stepford, I mean Stableford, so I would not run the risk of delaying anyone as I could lift the ball and scratch the hole should the worst happen.

And didn’t it…  My trusty stabilisers fell off and I wobbled unevenly and erratically around the course – which was beautiful and playing off full greens and everything.

Accompanied by my business partner and bestest buddy – a golfing veteran of course – we decided to delay our tee time until after 2p.m. to allow the fantastic turnout of competitors, societies and fanatics to carry on unhindered.  The 1st tee was free and the 3-ball ahead was just starting on the 2nd.  The sun shone, the birds were tweeting, the greens were full and it was all just lovely.  I loosened up and got organised as The Buddy did one of his characteristic Monster Drives.  I teed up, I practice swung and, indeed, the world was mine for the taking.  Then, as I stood over my ball I heard it – the ominous crunch of oncoming trolleys trundling along the gravel path to the first.  Like a startled grazing doe, as I swung to hit, my head shot straight up into the air and my ball, like a well-trained little faun, shot straight into the stump of a nearby tree and hid safely in the roots rather than being fully exposed on the fairway.  The 1st hole was scratched.

Carried on we did and I thought I was actually going to achieve it – 12 holes played and not a point in sight nor a putt to be had.  But no, I did break my duck but not significantly enough to reveal my score, which was small enough to me easily hidden to be sure.  But ‘twas for a very good cause and the road of improvement stretches for many, many, many, many miles ahead.

But for The Buddy, Sunday was to be the day.  He was a part of one of the top 3 teams from the Men’s Winter League, and Sunday was big ol’ final day.  The Heavens celebrated same by sending all 4 seasons in one day – warm, balmy sun to pointy, icy hailstones in the blinking of an eye.  And what an astonishing range of golfing apparel was sported by both Ladies and Gents upon the Course to combat the multitudinous weather fronts assaulting them.

By the way, his team was the winning one.  Good on ‘em..

Working on the competitive edge while
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Lady L-Plater’s Golfing Journal
23-2-2010


Miracle On The First
Too Many Hats, Not Enough Trousers

So there we were – bright, early and in splendid isolation L-Plater H and myself at 9.30.  The sun shone but it was a tad frosty so temporaries ‘twas to be.

Away we went with two fine(ish) drives and on.  My 3rd headed briskly for the fabulous ornamental water feature but thankfully stopped just shy of it.  L-Plater H, a mighty hitter, sent hers ever so much further to the watery mass.  I could see the despondency on her face as the ball flew straight into the pond and then I witnessed the disbelief as I informed her that her ball had skittered straight across the icy sheet and off the far side – as if I would lie…

We moved swiftly along and so too did the sun.  The Heavens opened with a lovely, slightly sleety fall of snow.  L-Plater H was waterproofed and fine.  My waterproof trousies were dry and snug – safe in the back of the vehicle.  Undefeated, I improvised beautifully – my jacket was fully zipped up, my waterproof hat went on over my light Spring woolly hat and under my tres optimistically placed shades, my back was turned to the wind and my trolley parked behind me.  I was fine.

We allowed two ladies on – not due to our slow golf, but due to their turbo trollies which are eerily fast and always cause my childhood fear of Doctor Who’s Daleks to re-surface.  Distracting that.

Alas, I became afflicted by a nasty ball-losing condition which broke out on the 7th  - out of bounds and invisible in the gloopy gully – and continued to the 8th – way on down in the right hand drain, perfectly visible but sadly unobtainable.  Just to note that the ball with the two cartoon faces on it is mine.  Mine I tell you.  Mine.

But L-Plater H, having set the tone by getting her ball to walk on water at the first, had a great round.  Lovely-jubbly.

Gotta love the Water Features when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

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…

Lady L-Plater’s Golfing Journal
9-2-2010


So we three brave ol’ 36ers made an executive decision to turn up at 9.30a.m. rather than 11a.m. so we could “get more done” post golf AND we’d get to play golf with different ladies…

And there the three of us were – the only ladies that were there at that time on this day (how do they know?  How??) – so off we jolly well went.

But we were a 3-ball of good intent and limited experience and we were followed by not one but two sets of exceptionally talented and far hitting 2-balls.  In honour of good golfing etiquette we let them both through at the third tee.  Although I did feel somewhat like a jolly old traffic director as I waved them on, both L-Plater H and I got to visit the facilities – for ‘twas a cold northerly wind that rattled our kidneys.

The cold breezes aside, I did manage a stonking good drive on the 9th – all my golfing coalesced in one beautiful swing – my head stayed down – my left elbow remained uncollapsed – my left knee resisted the urge to genuflect and my drive made that lovely noise when it hit the ball perfectly.  The ball flew – lofted into the air – going for miles – straight into the last tree on the left of coppice #1 on the right hand side.  Hurmph.

My dear fellow L-Platers reacted with the speed of light – their facial expressions morphed from “bloody well done girl” to evil bloody tree” in a mere split second as the ball’s forward progress ended and it went sharply to the left.  Bummer.


Trees are forever friendly when
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Lady L-Plater’s Golfing Journal
2-2-2010


In honour of this the second day of Spring I very courageously left off my waterproof over-trousers for this morning’s golf.  I did, however, have leggings on under my trousers along with 2 t-shirts, 1 polo-neck, 1 woolly jumper, 1 waterproof jacket and 1 voluminous ear-covering hat.  For this is an Irish Spring we are having and one doesn’t wish to get carried away, L-Plater or no.

At the 11a.m. draw I went out as one third of a 3-ball – the least experienced of the group as is currently usual.  In celebration of Spring the full greens were open for play.  For all the misery and discontent that we golfers suffer from the temporary greens during the harsh weather I discovered that the sacrifice is very worth it.  The full greens are immaculate – smooth, darkly coloured and in perfect condition.  My putting, however, completely ignored this but ‘twas still fine to see.  And the happy smiles of my co-players as their putts glided for 10, 20, 30 even 40 feet into the holes lit the world around us.

But I was inordinately chuffed to-day on not one but two entirely unworthy occasions:  One of my co-players was playing off a mighty 6 at the height of her game and, as a septuagenarian who looks not a day over 40, she still plays off a very respectable 14 and I outdrove her once.  Yes I did.  Not by much (a couple of feet at best) and it was her first time to play at Garryhinch since last October – but I nonetheless got to utter the words – “I think that’s you first” to her.  Mmmmmm lovely.

Occasion # 2 was perhaps a fraction less earth-shattering in its importance but still nice.  On one (yes, just the one) of the 9 holes we played today I got to drive off second – not third’n’last but second.  So I came in second on one of the holes.  I’m telling you – when the Golf-Bug bites he bites real hard and he hangs on in there for life.  Something to look forward to…

Spring is here for
Golfing @ Garryhinch…

Lady L-Plater’s Golfing Journal
26-1-2010


Today is my 35th birthday – not young to many but, in golfing terms, I’m only just out of my nappies.
Today is also a Tuesday – which makes it Ladies’ Day at Garryhinch – Portarlington Golf Club – it’s a tad frosty but still potential good golfing weather so out I go.  The vehicle battery is dead – an excellent start.  Golfing gear into the van, lift over and I’ll store my stuff after and walk the 1 ½ miles home.  Happy Bloody Birthday indeed.

It is exactly 4 years since I became a member of Garryhinch and exactly 1 year since I began playing golf (don’t ask).  I would have laughed in a politely dismissive way should anyone have suggested that a year later I would still be a complete L-Plater despite the hours of golfing undertaken.

They were right…

Three of us L-Platers played today – L-Plater H, L-Plater J & me.  We set off in a big ol’ 3-ball, our huge handicaps blowing in the wind and no fear in our hearts at the temporary tees, temporary greens and frosty hard fairways.  The other two did admirably, as always.  I was, also as always, finding the 36 just a little tight to accommodate my golfing style – hurmph.

But the course did not let us down – L-Plater H spotted a beautiful red squirrel dart across the 7th fairway and straight up a big old beech tree, where he sat and laughed at us.  The splendour of the course and the wildlife within can make even bad golf almost painless.

Gotta feel better when
Golfing @ Garryhinch