The Golf Police

The phone had been put on silent and placed in the pocket of the golf bag.  And there it remained.  Unaware of its starring role, involving the Queen and all her horses and men. And the Golf Police.  And on this occasion, there was no Plan B.

It was late evening when I took the call. The solar lights lit up the dark corners of the garden and the street lamps caught the rain drops.

“Do not be late” said Red Team Leader. There are three things which never wait. The military, the tides and tee times. We synchronized watches.

“And do not bring that golf umbrella”.

I had history with the golf umbrella.  Cities and golf umbrellas do not make good companions but last year the forecast was dire for the Colonel’s Parade and the golf umbrella caught the train. Along with the black bin liners.  We met our group under Admiralty Arch.  The brolly had not taken to the city streets or crowds.

“Careful. You nearly took my eye out” said the Golf Police as we weaved our way through the multitude heading towards the Arch.  The red buses turned on their lights and their wipers. The city pavements were grey with the rain. Soldiers in black bearskins, red tunics and  medals, sold programmes for the Parade.  continue reading…

The golf trip to paradise seemed like a distant dream.  Lush fairways and true greens.  Blue skies and bobbing boats. Brazilian waiters and chilled wine.  And chips.  But even in paradise there are vipers. The grass is not always greener. Sometimes it has been sprayed with fertiliser.

I needed a new putter and a new body. The putter had to go – too many missed putts on the golf tour.  The body – too many mirrors in the hotel bedroom and bathroom which did not lie.  Full length mirrors in the bathroom and bedroom.

The wish list was simple.   A Scotty Cameron for the golf bag and a body which was less rather than more. Toned. Firm. Less.

The putter and I hit a rocky patch after some very makeable putts.  We had built up a good relationship over time. Seen one another through some tight spots. We even shared the same traits. Always fought to the end. Never gave up. Never threw in the towel. I loved that putter. We even shared the same bedroom on the golf tour.Blue and I had known the good times and bad times. The highs and lows.  But we had reached that stage which every relationship does at some stage. We took one another for granted.  I didn’t always handle Blue the way I should and in return Blue held back a little. Especially on the up hill putts with left to right break.  We should have remembered the ‘c’ word. Compromise. Stepped back and cooled off.   But sometimes things are said in the heat of battle and there is no going back. continue reading…