Just another manic Monday

Having rediscovered my golfing mojo, there was only one thing to do this morning; venture to the Thornbury Par to play a quick 18 before taxiing son number one to his latest exam at Coombe Dingle.

But I reckoned without my fellow pensioners.

I waved my membership card at the cheery staff on the front desk and made my way to the first tee only to find a queue of people who were, it must be said, not exactly in the first flush of youth.

I have learned about golfing etiquette in my two years of playing and part of it is to allow quicker players, or in my case Billy No Mates (me), to 'play through.

The people in front of me knew of no such good manners.

There is preciously little snobbery at most courses in golf, although I have heard the odd grumble from older players at the poor manners of the young.  But today it was the older players who carried on playing and holding me up as if I wasn't there.

I played the first hole in double quick time, particularly now that I am once again capable of occasionally hitting the ball in the right direction and caught the group in front before they had even started the second.  Well, they're bound to let me through, aren't they?  Granted they're old, they can hardly walk and they certainly can't play, but they'll let me get on, won't they?

They didn't, of course, and after an hour and just six holes, I realised that I was not going to complete my round.

I did allow the odd curse under my breath as I departed the ninth on 36 (not good, but a staggering improvement on my last four rounds) and returned to my car.

But I wasn't going to allow it to spoil the improvement in my game.

And how did I do it?

Over the weekend, I looked on You Tube and instantly found out what I had been doing wrong and took it to the golf range to work on it.

By the time I stood on the first tee today, I was confident things were improving and that the ball missed the green by a mere 10 feet represented good news.

I only lost one ball too, a rapid improvement on recent times, and even there I hit the ball perfectly with my seven iron, dead straight. Sadly, I was aiming in the wrong direction and the ball disappeared into the trees off the seventh hole.

In the words of the epic poet, Pharrell Williams, I am now 'happy'.

I celebrated by driving to my favourite record shop, the wonderful Rise on the Triangle in Clifton.

I always feel obliged to buy a record there but instead today I bought yet another book the add to the absurd pile I have already acquired in recent months.  Absurd because apart from on holiday I read very slowly.

Since you ask, the book is Wild Tales by Graham Nash, the great singer and composer from those great popular beat combo outfits the Hollies and Crosby, Stills and Nash (and sometimes Young).

And I had to buy some more golf balls at Sports Direct because the extra ones I ordered through the internet haven't arrived yet.  By the end of the week, I should be able to go into the golf ball sales business.

One thing did cheer me up when I left the golf course.

I know it's pathetic, vindictive and silly, but it started pissing down with rain as I drove away.

I'm pretty sure there isn't a god but if there is maybe he was teaching those older, very wet, golfers who don't understand golf etiquette, a lesson?