People in Scotland, including MPs, have been complaining bitterly about the new BBC Weather Centre graphics used by the post Fish team. The map centres on the trendy effete south and shows Scotland as a small distorted appendage of St George country and in consequence it is difficult to see where the virtual rain is meant to be falling-except you can be sure that it is falling in Langholm whatever the map might say. Norn Iron is worse-more distorted almost 'out of sight' as they say here when exclaiming about something good. The night we arrived with a car stuffed full of golf clubs in anticipation of my first round at crack of dawn we noticed from the new map that Newcastle, even a skewed version, was to be drop free next morning. So clubs and balls polished, trolley in boot, shoes unlaced and so to bed dreaming of a bright green Christmas and crisp dry golf the morning's morn. Woke to the sound of water roaring down our lane, leaden and weeping skies and a mighty rushing wind. Not even Huttonian can play in conditions like that-and note helped by the forecasts showing bright glowing sum all over Norn Iron. Come back Mr Fish etc.
Shopped in pouring rain and then when the first gleam in the cloudy murk rushed to the course. Of course everyone in Norn Iron had the same idea as Newcastle with its sandy soil was the only course for miles around not closed by floods. Even at £100 a go they rushed there butting and boring to get on to the first tee. Huttonian walked two miles to the far end of the course and found a gap behind 4 very old fogies who chatted their way around enjoying the fresh air, the comradeship and the slow appalling and creaking golf. Such play is infectious. I was also stalked by the phantom golf ball finder who has the uncanny habit of materialising after a bad shot, watches you fruitlessly search for your £3 Titleist, looks sad when you move on ball less, sends the highly trained Alsatian in to the heather/gorse bush/rabbit hole once you have moved on and then tries to sell you your ball back (or one very like it) a few holes later.
I eventually gave up as the four in front were approaching the first stages of rigor mortis and a heavy shower was moving towards the BBC radar screen. I spent a happy half hour on the putting green, umbrella in one hand and found I could putt better one handed than with the normal two. Not that is saying much. The four finally waddled past me. They were absolutely soaked.
Good.
