For the non-golfers amongst you, I apologise if this piece is a lamb in a hyena's clothing (or something of that ilk) but please bear with me. Rather like Sutter's Mill, there's a little more than rock there.
I went "tae the gowf" this morning. Now this doesn't mean that I have been on the pills. Haven't time for them, as you know. Mind you, a UK government drugs adviser was sacked this week for opining that, statistically speaking, ecstasy was less dangerous than horse-riding. I was about to relate this with glee to Mrs C, who had just fallen off a horse for the first time in her nascent equestrian career, when I bethought me that her whip could inflict serious fleshly damage, so I desisted.
No, I went golfing this morning with my oldest buddy, the Doc. Now the Doc and I predate the PreCambrian, so the conversation ranges very far and wide. And as the poor man puts in as many hours as God sends him and as many as his very sensible wife will allow, any golfing rendezvous is treated as sacrosanct. Which is why the club attendant looked somewhat askance when two aquanauts turned up, ready for the fray.
Now you have to understand: the wind - fresh and direct from the Arctic ice cap, 'cos there's nothing between the north coast of Ireland and the pole - was screaming off the sea at 35 mph, 45 mph in the squalls. The foam was flying over the first fairway from the whitecaps, all of whom were auditioning for a part as extras in the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie - the one set at Cape Horn, that is - and hitting a ball required X-ray vision if, like me, you wear glasses.
Still, a teetime is a teetime. As Tiger so sagely observed: It is what it is. And, being Ulster Scots, we are what we are. A recent tragicomic TV documentary about the role of Calvinism in Scottish Presbyterianism does much to explain the gift of guilt which is our birthright. And as for the frivolous concept of having "fun", that's the spiritual equivalent of Oliver Twist daring to say: Please sir, can I have some more? So we amused ourselves greatly - whilst leaning at 45 degrees into the wind on the first green - with the idea that driving rain and screaming winds were conclusive proof that fun was most definitely not on the divine "Things to do today" postit flapping on the door of the heavenly refrigrerator.
And yet - it was fun. For blindingly obvious reasons, we had the place to ourselves: now you know why there was only one twoball at the Royal Garden of Eden Golf Resort and Country Club. And as we climbed the hill, the rain stopped for a while, the sun lit up the headland and we had an uninterrupted 50 mile panorama from Inishowen in County Donegal to Islay in the Hebrides. Said the Doc: There's loads of people passing by who would think that we're mad to be out here. Sez I: There's wards full of people who would give every penny to be out here with us.
It is what it is. We are who we are. And thank God for both.
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