Golf in honour of Her Majesty
Yesterday I played golf. Civil servants get the day off the end of May Bank Holiday as a privilege day, meaning they don’t bother turning up for work in honour of one of the Queen’s many birthdays. I too took the day as holiday and joined two of them for a day of golf at Cray Valley near Orpington.
Now this morning, the sun is shining and conditions are perfect for a relaxing round of golf. Yesterday, there was light rain throughout the day, clearing up the moment we stepped off the 18th green. Bastard rain.
I’ve not played for a couple of years, but held my own pretty well. Actually, that’s not quite true. I held Simon’s late dad’s. His driver. And it served me very well indeed. The direction was not always spot on, but the distance and connection was there 90% of the time, which is no mean feat for someone whose last round was probably two years ago.
I went out in 56, which I was marginally disappointed with, mainly because it was tainted by a septuple bogey on the first hole—four shots of which were taken within inches of one another in a bunker. Had that been a six instead of an eleven, I’d have been ecstatic with a 51.
And I came back in 48, a remarkable feat for me, but a half-round again tainted by a hapless nine on the twelfth. My last six holes were all fives, something I don’t think my scorecard has ever seen.
And four pars in a single round is unheard of for me. (Simon disagrees, and never having played me before, believes I’m a ringer. I’ll suggest he calls my dad to vouch for my overall ineptitude for the game.)
Simon will be producing a full, Excel-driven Stableford analysis forthwith. But in the meantime, I’ll dine out on my score of 104 and my three pars. Despite the rain, I spent a great day in very good company, and here’s hoping my next round is less than two years from now.
Now, I must speak to Simon about his dad’s will, and whether the driver was in fact left to his son’s friend, one that he’d never met. I’m hopeful.