SKIDBY WITH THE SCUMMIES

It was an honour to take on Skidby today with two of the Sunday Night Boys. Along with the Joiner, we finally convinced the Mick Philekson of Burstwick to attend. Like Baroness Orczy’s most famous character he is a hard man to pin down. ‘They seek him here they seek him there . . . . . .  that damned elusive Pimpernel’. The alter ego of Sir Percy Blakeney, a wealthy English fop who turns into a quick-thinking escape artist, rings true in so many ways for this modern day Scarlet Pimpernel.

Always one to quickly know about others, he tends to keep his own business under his hat.

A pincer movement of texts from myself and the Joiner saw the Burstwick Battler submit to our cajoling.

The Joiner who hadn’t played for over 8 months fancied a game and with Boom Boom incapacitated due to a patella malfunction in the privy, we three met, 8.12 am at Skidby Lakes.

Resplendent in his two-tone top, and chequered slacks, the early morning sun glinted off his Lennie Peters designer sunglasses . The only thing missing was the compulsory holiday moccasins.

As we unpacked the cars, he was on it, like an on it thing.  “What’s the pro called?” “What time does the club shop open?” “That guy over there said it could be anytime?” “What’s the annual subscription here?” ”I need a dump!” Rapid fire questions followed by a statement of intent he was pacing up and down like a dog on heat!

As we walked to the first tee, I attempted to bring in some form of competition for the round only to be told. “You do what you want I’m keeping my own score.”  That’s me put in my place then.

As he relived memories of the early 70’s, playing in the snow at Sutton Municipal Golf Course in only a pair of shorts and a vest, to give himself a fighting chance, the Joiner played one under my handicap. Once a competitor always a competitor.

The first three holes saw a steady performance from one and all. On reaching the intimidating par 3 4^th  SI 14 at 181 yards, Mick was concerned his Strata Eagle could be finding a watery grave. He had nothing to worry about as a strong cross wind kept him right of the pond, the Joiner went left and I sunk one into the foliage 15 yards left of the tee! Although I did make up for it with a birdie at the 5^th. The Joiner stating my putt had considered the curvature of the earth!

As we travailed up the long par 5 6^th, Mick made a quick detour, to speak to someone he vaguely recognised. “Roger isn’t it?” he said and seconds later he was walking back towards the green with a wealth of information. Meanwhile the elderly gent was left open mouthed, dazed and confused. That’s the skill of the boy!

Reaching the  8^th SI 1, Mr Philekson was the first to tee off and not wanting to be out done, copied my action from the 4^th, not once but twice. As we moved off to the 9^th Mick stated he had carded an 8. Now I’m not one to question but at 441 yards, that is some going when playing 5 off the tee.

The Joiner, struggling to flex his tongue and groove on the first 10 holes, saw the septuagenarian, golly hander, offer to pick the ball out the hole for him on several occasions. Small recompense for the number of Sunday night lifts provided gratis but there you go. Putting had to some extent been the Joiners downfall on the front nine.

Mick was a steady eddy throughout, although an iron off the tee at a par 5 and a 3 wood when submerged deep in the bush may bring into question his club of choice. While wandering the course, his shortcomings were further exemplified, as he struggled to differentiate between a goose and a duck and as for ‘gimmies’ these appeared to be self-imposed, the ball being picked up anywhere between 5 inches and 5 feet from the flag. We must remember however Mick is the  modern-day, Ronnie Pickering of Hull.

As the back nine progressed, the Joiners Mortise and Tenons had loosened and he was swinging like a man of yester year, carding only 8 over for those holes.

At the par 3 15^th struggling to insert my tee into the temporary mat, Phileckson commented sarcastically “Take your time . . . . ”, I responded with “I was hoping you could sharpen the peg with your wit!”. “Oooooh” said the Joiner. Clearly smarting from this brief tete a tete,  Phileckson attempted to maim me with his sliced second, however a weak shot, followed by a weaker shout of ‘fore’ fell mercifully short and we carried on.

The 17^th sees some fine fairway work with Phileckson commenting how he ‘comes good’ late on!

All told, it was an enjoyable morning of banter interspersed with some golf and as we retired to the club house Mick Phileckson admitted he had enjoyed it. With a mitt full of free biscuits to go with his mug of coffee he was a happy bunny.

As the Joiner quite rightly professed , “It’s not what you do, it’s who you do it with.”

The question then on everybody’s lips.

When Boom Boom is fully fit, will the jolly golly join us for a fourball?