Put Out More Flags

Smart move to beat the bank holiday hordes by getting to the golf course at swallow dart. No Lollipop Ladies to delay my passage and it being Saturday the RCD (PBUI) championship course was open only to members-no fear of competition much before 10.00. The competition was however there in the form of the green keepers sweeping, mowing and generally loving the greens. Unlike Duns they are aware of other humanoids in the area and courteously stand aside as you approach the green to allow you to finish the hole-much safer for them as well-the way the Dingers turn broad backs against you as you get within range is surely highly dangerous -if of course you have the nerve to play your shot.

I managed to navigate my way past 4 greens with work in progress and then found my self on the tee of the par 3 200 yard 14th. The sun was warm, the view was magnificent, fluffy lambs gamboling (hopefully not loosing the fleece from their backs) the gorse bright yellow, the mountains glowing and the green, er green. Out with the 5 wood-then I noticed a slight problem-the green was there, broad and inviting, but no flag. Of course the early green keepers not only sweep the even earlier worms and do other loving things to their precious charges-they also insert the flags which are put aside at night so as not to attract the attention of marauding caravanners. A wise old professional (Now the pro at the Saintly Jehovah-in-the-sky) used to say=don't worry about the flag just go for the fattest part of the green; he called it percentage golf. Hoping that he was out on one of those woolly clouds as duty guardian angel I let fly and , mirabile dictu, for once the ball did the decent thing and landed right on the middle of the green. And, yes, when I walked up to it with the flag pole in my hand, it was about 18 inches from the hole. And even I could not miss that one.

I thought I could hear a ghostly ripple of applause from a few miles directly above my head. It seemed to come from a little fluffy cloud moving gently against the wind. Mind you I can't be sure. My hearing is not as good as it was,

Nor my sight.

Oh yes-the image is the drive at the 11th. 160 yards to clear the hill-anything short of that you are dead and a vast slice over the hill you are buried.  ¶ 12:03 PM