BANTER
It has been said that golf is a game invented by God to punish people who retire early and never a truer word has been spoken in jest. There are many aging players signed up to the superhero breed of the “Eternally Disappointed.” Of which I am a fully paid-up member. As one moves around the course, chatter is plentiful but never during a player’s shot. A successful drive, chip or putt sees the plaudits come thick and fast, a duff, fluff or scuff however is greeted with stony silence. While the performer of said shot seethes, the accompanying golfers move off with a certain level of solemnity. Early one morning as we stood on the first, the Beau, who had been playing particularly well recently, hit one into the trees, only to be mocked by the Judge and my good self. “Oh, what a shame” we said in unison and with great irony, only to be chastised by the golfing supremo, the Metronome. “Be careful what you say as the golfing Gods will get you” and sure enough within minutes we suffer...