Another week and another golfing graph as jagged as a shark’s set of dentures, the evidence for which is as follows.
Monday late afternoon I went, as per usual, up to the range to get in the mood for the following morning’s competition. 50 balls in the bucket, 50 balls struck cleanly, confidence in the meaningfulness of life fully restored. Tuesday morning a straightforward Stableford competition: starting from the 10th, one of our trio had had enough by the time we reached the 18th and dropped out. I felt very much like following suit, but struggled on for another 9 holes, largely to keep my remaining partner company. A mark of how bad I felt about the whole thing is that I, highly unusually, didn’t stay on for coffee and chat after the round!
Wednesday afternoon I had an on-course lesson with Dean, the club pro who nurses the seniors. He had a nightmare start to things, stuffing it into the water on the first, and remained unhappy with his playing over the rest of the six holes we played together. I was ironically managing things pretty nicely, thank you very much, holding my own quite satisfactorily and picking up a few pointers in the meantime. Shame it all had to fall apart again on the range on Thursday, when I seemed to spend most of my time shanking it out to the far right of the known universe.
Yesterday (Saturday) I made up a foursome over an unseasonably mild 18 holes, with a benevolent sun shining on us during parts of the round. Not much metaphorical sunshine, though, in my game, as I really struggled off the tee and so handicapped most of my attempts to get anything close to a par. Still a bit of work to do there, then, or that good round is going to back away over the horizon. Another pre-Christmas Texas Scramble Tuesday: at least I won’t have to play all the counting tee shots …..