Thank goodness for the retirement of Mr Fish. A magnificent morning for golf on a magnificent course. It being a Saturday and a competition day we were put off the far back tees and with a very strong wind this was the sort of challenge Huttonian does not get at the Hirsel or Duns. Nor does he have there the backdrop of the Mourne Mountains 'sweeping down to the sea' Huttonian and his partner-one of Ireland's most famous sportsmen from the late 1940's early 50s had the whole championship course to ourselves and then made the tactical error of trying to squeeze in a few extra holes on the other course called by some sexist oldies 'The Hen Run' as it is the course mostly used by the Ladies Club-separate from the gents. Obviously. We cut in at a point where we could see no one behind us and as we were leisurely finishing off a first extra hole we heard indignant cackling behind us. Not actual Hens but a party of lady golfers who must have materialised magically or were beamed up from another dimension. Anyhow they took obvious umbrage at our obstructing their passage and we had to scurry homewards with them in hit pursuit. Fortunately distance and the wind prevented us hearing their comments.
After all this excitement we were desperate for a cup of coffee so up to the Spike Bar we went in persuit of sustenance. This is the area for those golfers who did not bring a jacket or tie with them-a sort of quarantine station or refugee holding centre. But it is Saturday. The spike bar had been incorporated into the main dining room and therefore no tie no coffee, no jacket no scone. So we had to sneak out and make our escape just ahead of a group of vengeful ladies, heavily armed with pitching wedges conduction a car to car search in the hope of finding the MEN who had cut in in front of them. Golf is no longer a safe sport.
