WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT JIM!

And so, the great day arrived, a momentous date in any Englishman’s golf calendar, 29^th March 2021. Golf courses once again declared themselves open for play.  One minute after midnight national media portrayed a golfer teeing off into the coal black night air. Now call me a cynic why don’t you, but I am unsure as to whether this was an over-zealous heliophobe or just a photo opportunity. No one however saw said golfer search for the ball in order to take his second shot!

Due to the Metronome’s work commitments myself, the Bandit and the Builder didn’t turn up until 3.00 pm on the day, with me and the Builder turning in late as the other two merrily prepared on the putting green. 

Moving to the first tee box you could tell by the banter everyone was happy to be back. Fuel injected by our first covid jab we were ready to go. The Metronome was first off and readers, nothing had changed, straight down the middle, with ease.  The Builder quickly followed in his partners footsteps and the Bandit went off right heading precariously towards the 9^th green but nevertheless comfortable. Then it was my turn!

Now I had watched a lot of golf on TV in the last few months, I had studied the swings of all the Pro’s and I was buzzing. Ball teed up in line with heel of the front foot, right shoulder slightly below the level of the left, weight on the soles of the feet, left hip pushing slightly forward. Club lying comfortably in the grooves of the hands, two knuckles of the right hand showing, what could possibly go wrong?

Nobody said a word! Not a titter, not a moan, not a gasp as I picked up the peg, swapped clubs, moved five feet up the tee box and executed my second. It was going to be a long day!

Remarkably the Bandit and I won the game! Well, to be more accurate the Bandit won the game and I chipped in with three pars. Uncanny really.

Moving on to 8.28 am, Wednesday 31^st March, I felt this game would be far better. The rust from around my ring had been licked off and I was ready to go as the six amigos took to the course once again.

Today was the hottest March day in 92 years and it was a time to shine. The new gear was out, we had clothes and gadgets to die for.  The Bandit getting out of his car and with the wind gusting, quickly affixed his flowing locks under a standard white cap which matched his new trews and to complete the ensemble he also had a matching industrial face mask, but only ever to be worn when under 2 metres distance from anyone, so once we were underway there was no further use for it!

The Romantic also emerged from his vehicle with a rather dapper titfer, a wicked cross between Peaky Blinders Murderer and naïve New York 1920’s Paper Boy.

The Metronome was his usual understated self with new Sunderland of Scotland trousers and a colour coded Gillet.

The Builder in true Yorkshire style appeared not to have spent his well earned dollar on anything in particular and later, in a discussion about the cost of overnight accommodation, revealed the level of his frugality.

Kryten however had been gifted a brand-new Garmin S60 with all mod cons and we were about to find out in no uncertain terms that he had yet to read the manual. Some refer to “man reading” as scanning, but I like to call it, in depth analysis, I suppose it depends on what side of the coin you are on.

Balls in the hat, teams drawn up and even after we had acknowledged our playing partners, Kryten was adamant we had seven on the day. All, ready to go then? Not quite, as there was an immediate need to reacquaint some with the WHS ready reckoner board. It appeared during the enforced closure the Romantic had forgotten his score and handicap for the course. No fear his good buddy Kryten leapt to the rescue, pulled out a scorecard and began working out 90% of everyone’s handicap. That is in between asking me how he gets to score his round on his new S60 as he had observed yours truly had a similar watch.

You know the odd occasion when you leave the house for golf and at the back of your mind there is a niggle that you may have forgotten to pack something? This was one of those occasions when you wished you had!

The first three set off promptly, guess where the Metronome put his ball? No surprise there then. The Romantic drove into the trees on the left as did the Bandit but there was something oddly different about the Romantic today. Apart from the titfer he appeared to have a sense of well-being and contentment with an almost laisse faire attitude to all that was going on around him. What could cause this air of serenity in the Beau?

As the first three moved off on this hot spring morn there appeared to be a bounce, reminiscent of a gambolling lamb, in the step of the Burnley Beau,!

While myself, and my colleagues waited our turn I was immediately interrogated by Gruppenfuhrer Kryten as to the mechanics of the Garmin and this quickly became the order of the day, as at every opportunity I was asked “Why can’t I . . . ?”

Fast forward to the 3^rd tee and I had attempted to answer just some of the following:

Why can’t I put my score in the watch? Why can’t I see the hazards? Why did it do that? Why doesn’t it show hazards on par 3’s? Why can’t I see the time? Why can’t I measure that shot?

The Builder also noted that having hit two previous pearlers with his driver, Kryten opted for a 3 wood at the 3^rd which was not executed as well as we would expect for the former Brough based R101 test pilot. It prompted the Builder to ask, if based on my previous occupation I could analyse Kryten? To which I nodded assertively but would refuse to give out such information publicly!

Moving to the 6^th Kryten returned to the driver and hit an absolute dream of a drive, easily 250 yards plus. Having earlier seen the hash his good buddy had made of the hole, as the opposition walked off the green, Kryten strode up to the ball with his chest puffed and his shoulders flexed, he was like a cockerel on heat.  A simple chip to the flag would suffice for a sure-fire birdie. Sadly, in golf failure can immediately follow success and he was lucky not to find the bunker, from cockerel to cock!

The nemesis 9^th and the usually watery grave for my Titleist 3 was looming fast. Throughout the round the Builder had given me some welcome advice as to how I could straighten the swing and for the first time in a long time I was able to avoid the pond. One of my few successes on the day. Kryten had also chipped in with a few words of wisdom explaining the best advice he had been given was to consider his body movements were that of somebody starting an outboard motor. On this occasion however, it appeared at the 9^th as if his motor had blown a head gasket as the ball shot precariously close to the 8^th tee.

Halfway, 37 points amassed, not good enough against the oppositions 42. Three tomato soups acquired from the shed were like one of the Beau’s liaisons, hot and peppery and we were off again.  Kryten back on form with a birdie at this par 5.

The par 3 14^th sees us all come up short and the Bandit moving off from the 15^th states he sees no gimmes on the green, meanwhile the Beau breaks into song, “What a difference a day makes, 24 little hours, brought the sun and flowers, where there used to be rain!”

Why the joys of spring? Of course, that’s it, he’s pulled and I don’t mean his drive. Romance is in the air, why had I not seen it before? Perhaps my head was too deep into the Garmin S60 manual, or just too far up my own ….

As a team we were progressing well until we hit the par 3 16^th, the Builder comes up short as did I, and Kryten sticks one in the out of bounds. No worries, a quick snatch of a quality ball from the Builder’s bag sees him to the back of the green and the first to arrive. At which point two mating Canadian Geese fly in and land feet away.  Kryten quickly dons his Dr Doolittle head and reminiscent of a Tudor geese herder, uses his putter to shoo them off. Initially there is a cacophony of sound from the geese but they do eventually take the hint and just before departing leave a smouldering parcel in the middle of the green. Perhaps this was Mother Nature’s attempt at a metaphor for my standard of play.

Nothing of real interest happened after that and both teams achieved the same score on the back nine as they did on the front, therefore the £1 winnings were handed over to the opposition. As we parted Kryten, just for a change, asked one final question. “Why can’t I see my shots on my phone like you can?”. The easy answer? ”Because you haven’t read the bloody manual!” but I’m too nice a guy to say that, so instead for 4 hours 30 minutes I persevered, leaving the course with a feint trickle of blood seeping out of my ears.

Till the next time!