COTTINGHAM CHAOS CONTINUES AS CALAMITOUS CUTS CAUSE CONFLICT

As the right honourable Jeremy Hunt led the country through an alleged, fiscally responsible Budget, we of the Cottingham constituency haggled over cuts of a different kind.

In a need to hide their riches in offshore accounts, the Judge had  headed off to sunbaked Benalmadena, the Consonant Kid had opted for the golfing equivalent of the  Marrakesh Express and our foreign minister, the Beau, had only just returned from banking in Barcelona.

Prior to Wednesday’s budget, it had been leaked that we would ensure no shots on shortened holes and would play off 85% half handicap for the remaining 11. Those with a mathematical bent will note that our right honourable green keeper had reduced our course to 15 holes.  In my humble opinion and in praise of the new head greenkeeper, the guy is doing a fantastic job under very difficult circumstances.  The cutbacks of tree branches, now provide excellent views of the course and ensure players are not doubly punished if they go awry. He should therefore be highly commended to the (club)house.

On the Monday, as we walked towards the division lobbies, the rules were hastily adopted by the party. First away were my good self, the Metronome and Handy Fairweather. As we moved off from the second I walked over to the first fairway, reminding those following that the SI’s  for the other 11 holes would have to be adjusted accordingly. The aye’s to the right had it and we were in full agreement with the Doc, the Big Easy and Kryton. Game on.

The Cottingham course continues to be somewhat of a quagmire however the sun did pop out for the first time in a long time and we were basking in a warmer clime of 10^oC. Not exactly the 28^o of the Consonant’s Moroccan minibreak, but you can’t have everything.

Nothing untoward happened until we reached the bette noir 9^th. Regardless of my many successes at this simple dog leg right, it still produces a nagging doubt that it will not end well. If they ever bother to drain the pond on the elbow, I am sure it will contain a mountain of Trufeel Titleist with 3 green dots!

Today my drive skewed left hit a tree and stopped well short of the watery grave, thank goodness for small mercies. From where I lay, I even had a view of the green, no worries, I have hit this shot a thousand times before.  Plop one, anger, plop two, anger rises, plop three, anger overflows and my head explodes! Did I tell you how many times I have been unsuccessful at this shot? As I said nothing untoward had happened however my game hadn’t been all that good and as I walked disconsolately to the 10^th  tee my head was in bits.  Five holes later and it wasn’t much better. Regardless of my misdemeanours the other two honourable members had played their part in producing a score that had won before.

Retiring to the chambers we awaited our colleagues return. They had succeeded in achieving a four-point gain and were happy to sit in the chambers lording it.

Now as we all know, any Budget, whether it be in spring or autumn, must be reviewed, as the devil is always in the detail. In the hope that a statistical anomaly could put my game in a favourable light I always like to check through the cards at a later date and today was no different. The scrutiny committee (me) revealed that on two of the shortened holes, shots had been given. No swingeing cuts here as points were freely administered in the same vein as parliamentary expenses. The Doc, our member for Hull East, obviously needed his moat clearing and the Big Easy couldn’t let his ducks go without an island home!

Whats App messages sent out by the select committee were quickly rebutted and questions were asked in the house.  On this rarest of occasion the speaker of the house, the Right Horrible Lord Kryton of Quadrant, stayed mute.

No matter we move on. Two days later, two days wetter and the course is a bog.

Due to copious amounts of Tetley’s Best Bitter, the Big Easy had spent many hours in the small rooms of the house passing amendments and duly arrived with a tighter plan.

As we stood in the Pro’s Portacabin, the leaders of the major parties debated the pros and cons of the bill and it came as a great relief to the Big Easy that his motion eventually passed.

With the  Pro otherwise engaged in using all his NVQ L2 IT skills to reboot (turn on and off)  the Horizon software computer, scorecards were rewritten and teams drawn.

The new ruling was as follows:

No shots on the short holes and 85% of full handicap on the other 11.

Had I miss heard, had there been too much gerrymandering going on in the Parliamentary Portakabin?

A bill that appeared to benefit the more well to do. No change there then.

As a member of the proletariat I felt guilty, I was being given too many shots. The aristocracy and bourgeoisie however were cocker hoop. Suddenly, the Metronome had shots to spare and Handy was released from the manacles of overshooting the green.

As we stood on the tee the Big Easy chucked in a considered amendment and  I was to be cut further. I was more than happy for this to happen, as I knew my place and doffed my cap accordingly.

Once again as the game progressed, it was an honour to tour the course with two quality mid handicappers.  Kryton continued to drive like a man above his means and the Big Easy continued to show why he is always in the money. Is it taxable I ask myself?

As for me, it was even worse than before, I was dog turd. Having shared with the Right Horrible Kryton that I had plopped 3 at the 9^th recently, he was keen for me to do well this time round, or so I thought. As I drove straight and true over the elbow, he was saddened, for he had it in his head that he would shout “four” in respect of the number of balls in the pond. Once again, his humour knows no bounds.

Have no fear readers, for my form before and after this hole was dire, to the point that at the shortened 10^th I could have quite easily snapped a club or two. Or worse still the shortened 11^th where I placed the ball on the artificially raised tee only to see my ball fall backwards  as I struck through the rubber tubing. I wasn’t finished there however, next up the signature 12^th saw me whoosh to no avail on numerous occasions.  It would have been such a relief to throw the whole kit and caboodle into any adjacent pond.

What then stopped me from this absurd approach?

1.      I am allegedly an intelligent individual.

2.      My phone , car keys and wallet were in the side pocket of the bag

3.      I would at some point have to wade into said pond to retrieve my gear.

4.      I was acting like a total and utter knob.

On exiting the course, our feet were wetter than Tom Daley’s swimming trunks on the evening of his marriage to Lance Black.

Fast forward to the club house and like a petulant child I chucked my £1 bet on the table. The aristocracy had whooped us by 6 points but wait, the aristocracy had handicaps of  7, 11 and 11, whereas the proletariat had handicaps of 9, 9 and 14 WTF! The cards indicated a random handicap had been allocated to the Bourgeois Beverely Beau, for after 40 years of play on the same course he was unsure as to his own handicap. The rarefied air atop the Sagrada Familia was having an impact on the poor lad.

Once again, the cabinet of the day had screwed up. One rule for them and one rule for us.

To celebrate no change in alcohol duty, the Metronome then went off and downed a few glasses of Doom Bar at 99p a pint!

Bring back Skidby, all is forgiven.

Two days hence and we did indeed  return to the rolling hills of Skidby. Game three of the week and my short game now resembled the smear of dog excrement you find  on the sole of your shoe. The long game wasn’t much better. Thankfully, as we played against the opposition of Kryton and Handy, my partner the Metronome had rediscovered some of his socialist values and took me under his wing.

At the turn (we) he was two points  down and provided me with an excellent motivational team talk at the 11^th.  “Take two weeks off” he said and then “chuck it”. As we moved on, further inspirational rallying cries were heard, “Get a move on Dopey!” struck a chord and sure enough I came good for three holes. One point down and we hit the 18^th, well not exactly, Handy did, we didn’t.

Game over and time to reflect on a less than satisfactory week. Will I be back?

Well of course I will, for the alternatives aren’t worth thinking about and as for the Budget, that was a bigger bag of crap than my game.

Just!