A good few holes; and NO rioja!

I have just been out for 8 holes with Ross. Unlike Sunday, I didn’t get to use the range first and I was first to go on the 9th hole. My tee shot went off into the trees to the right. I tried again and knocked it 10 feet forwards. I then teed the ball higher and hit a great shot onto the green. It was agreed that the first 2 didn’t happen and no-one saw anything. Ross put his tee shot short and then onto the green and was down for 4. I actually scored a par. 

The 10^th was a different kettle of prawns. My tee shot was probably as perfect as anything I have hit, and not just on that hole. The second shot left a lot to be desired, and the third was underclubbed to finish just short of the green I finished on 6, which I was very pleased with. Ross on the other hand cocked this one up a treat and picked up. There were a couple of fellow golfists behind us who had caught up and Ross suggested we stand aside to let them through, but as I stood by the 11^th tee he wandered off back to the 9^th hole and proceeded to hit a few tee shots. After the other chaps passed and went onto the 10^th green I walked over to Ross. We then walked up the 9^th to pick up his balls and then strolled over to the 10^th tee, where Ross started the hole again. I said I’d play it but would count my first attempt and use this as practice. As it happened I got to the green in 7 and Ross parred the hole. I have now christened this hole New York; so good we played it twice.

The 11^th saw a good tee shot from me but I still took an 8. The 12^th saw my only really abysmal tee shot and I finished with an 8, a 4 shot improvement on Sunday. The 13^th was a one over par and so was the 14^th and 15^th. We moved to the 18^th as it was getting late but, despite a really good tee shot, I finished on an 8.

 My total for 8 holes was 45 which compared well to the first 9 on Sunday which was done in 52. This is real consistency, well for me anyway. I’m not sure whether you can call me Miguel just yet though. Perhaps if you said Miguel Flitcroft; or is that Maurice Jimenez?

Call me Miguel!

Just call me Miguel! The rioja worked; well for 9 holes anyway, it wore off after that but for those first 9 holes I played my best golf ever finishing on 52. The following 9 were back to form with a 69.

I managed 3, yes read that 3, pars! The third hole is a par 3 I did a perfect tee shot and then 2 putted for the par. The seventh was an amazing par. It’s a long par 5 hole and my tee shot was wayward, very wayward. I hit it beautifully, it flew high into the air, but alas it went off to the right and hit a tree, which was out of bounds, bounced off the trunk and went thirty yards forwards and back into play. The lie was in the rough but sitting in a great position and I hit a perfect shot down the fairway. The third shot was the right distance but off to the left leaving me with my best ever chip with a sand iron, leaving the ball about 8 feet from the hole. A perfectly judged putt saw the ball drop into the hole for a genuine par 5. I held my club aloft with both hands, 4 points, 4 bloody points woohoo.

We were playing Stableford and, although we don’t have official handicaps, I was playing off an assumed maximum of 28 and Ross was playing off a 20. After the back 9 I had scored on every hole and had 17 points. I have never even got near to 17 points after 18 holes, the best I’ve ever done is 9. This was fantastic and having shot 52 I was looking forward to breaking 110 for the first time and, with a bit of luck, close to 100. Ross was disappointed as he too had shot 52 up to this point but was only on 14 points. It was now that the rioja wore off and I reverted to my normal standard. The tee shot from the tenth was good, 210 yards but the second rolled across the fairway 20 yards into the rough. The total for this hole was 8. The eleventh tee shot was also good, over 230 yards leaving just over 150 to the green. This went slightly awry, rolling into the gorse by the green. I took a penalty drop as it was unplayable and made a marvellous chip onto the green with 2 putts to finish the hole. The twelfth was a disaster. I cannot describe how awful this was and I ended up with a 12. Still the next hole was a very short par 3 so surely I could recover a couple of points here. No, no I couldn’t. I put my tee shot off the back of the green, the ball remaining stubbornly lost in the rough. This ended up as an 8. 

We took a welcome break in the clubhouse in order to recuperate.  As we walked towards the fourteenth tee I said to Ross ‘ We’ve had a good rest so now we’ll play like demons’. Ross then proceeded to put his tee shot into a bunker about 220 yards up the fairway. My tee shot wasn’t too bad and ended up about the same distance but on the short stuff. The distance to the green was only about 140 yards but was uphill and the sun was high in the sky right on line with where I needed to aim. I hit a 7 iron beautifully but I had no idea where it went as the sun was right in my eyes. Ross got out the bunker but only 20 yards further. His next shot went up and onto the green.. As we got to the top of the hill there was Ross’s ball on the green but mine wasn’t visible at first, then I spotted it over the far side on the fringe about 25 feet from the hole. Two shots later I had completed my third par and 3 more points. It certainly looked like demonhood beckoned.  Alas the fifteenth confirmed my mortality as I scored 5 on a par 3. The sixteenth saw me to the green in 2 and a par was there for the taking but my putting let me down leaving me with a 5. The seventeenth was the worst of the day, I scored a 13. A 13? What a load of old cobblers. This destroyed my round; I had now taken 62 shots for the last 8 holes and Ross had caught up, I was on 26 points and he was on 25.  There was only one hole to play and I was perfectly capable of plucking defeat from the jaws of victory. Ross put his tee shot off the right close to the trees. Mine went onto the first fairway. The ball was sitting there begging to be hit so I hit it, 40 yards down the first fairway. I could still salvage a par with a decent third shot, provided I could knock it over the trees.  Guess what? I rolled it along the floor and into the trees. I saw exactly where it went into the rough around the bottom of the trees. I looked, and I looked and I looked again. The ball had disappeared. Those fairway fairies had struck again, either that or it had gone down the gaping rabbit hole by the base of a tree. I dropped and hit through to the eighteenth. It took three further shots to finish. No points for me here so I had to hope Ross had duffed up. He was, however, on the edge of the green for two. He had 3 shots to win, 4 to draw. He got close with his first but missed the putt. He made no mistake and finished with a 5, 50 for the back 9 and, more importantly 2 points to finish on 27. He had won by 1 point. I had successfully snatched defeat, not from the jaws of victory, but from its stomach. I was, ironically, gutted. Still I had nearly tripled my previous best and scored 3 par holes in 1 round. All in all, a very good day. In the pub afterwards we looked at the scores; Ross wasn’t too happy with being over 100 but he made some very good shots. I was very happy with the first 9 but that made me unhappy with the second 9. If I hadn’t completely cocked up the twelfth, thirteenth and seventeenth holes it would have been a cracking round. 

I started the round as Miguel Angel Jimenez and finished as Maurice Flitcroft. Maybe instead of a beer break I should try a wine break, just to top up my Miguel factor.

Playing Golf the Spanish way

Our week of non-golf is about to end. On Sunday Ross and I are off a-golfing. It’s Captain’s Day but the course should be free after 3 o’clock so we’ll pop along early and get some practice in. The weather forecast is good too, so we’re looking forward to a cracking day out.

Actually it’s probably a good thing we are going later as on Saturday night I’m off round to Ross and Tracey’s for a ‘Spanish’ evening with some other friends. Unfortunately Michelle has to go away for a course and can’t go but I’m not going to miss it. The only problem is that both of us have been back on the Slimming World diet this week and I don’t really want to mess it up. The food will be good on Saturday but knowing Tracey there will be a not inconsiderable amount of butter and cream somewhere on the menu. This throws up something of a dilemma; do I not go and miss seeing friends who go back to Belgium next week and some others I haven’t seen in a while? Or, do I have my dinner before I go and not eat anything? Neither of these options appeal and indeed are quite rude. The solution is to contribute a dish to the proceedings and then try and stay off the rest of it, especially the ‘postres’.  Michelle has come up with a wonderful culinary invention which, if not exactly Spanish, certainly keeps to the spirit of the evening, so I’ll take that. Beer is also out so, as to stay with the theme, I’ll take lashings of Rioja. Actually I think ‘lashings’ only applies to ginger beer so I’ll take ‘un lago’ of Rioja. There are a lot less syns in wine than beer.

This will not only be in keeping, but will also help my golf. How the f… err, How is that going to help? I hear you ask. Well my reasoning is that Miguel Angel Jimenez drinks Rioja. Miguel Angel Jimenez is a good golfer. Ergo drink Rioja and my golf will improve. Add a cigar and I’ll be unbeatable. Not sure if I’ll look like a golfing chap smoking a cigar though. However a pipe would look rather dashing what! These days of course any one seen in possession of a pipe is regarded in the same vein as Pol Pot or Genghis Khan, certainly not the sort to have at the club. Yes, merely to be holding a pipe, unfilled and unlit, is seen as such a heinous crime that the anti-smokers would empty the prisons of murderers and replace them with the pipe brandishing degenerates. Now regardless of the merits of the pro/anti-smoking case; I am a non-rabid, non-smoker, I think the pipe is much maligned. It certainly gives the brandisher some degree of gravitas, leaving the brandishee (I couldn’t resist using that non word, irritating modern habit isn’t it?) in no doubt as to the sincerity of the holder of the item of smoking paraphernalia.  Its use as a point making device is unsurpassed. Lecturers used to use pipes now they use laser pointers, you can’t blind a pilot at 30,000ft with a pipe so they’re safer too.

I’m just sorry that Michelle won’t be there on Saturday. Besides she could kick me under the table if I go for the dessert or any second helpings. Still I will resist as much as I can and think ‘What would Miguel do?’ and have another glass of wine.

Reluctantly Golfless

No golf this week, Ross has been working and it’s been raining. Michelle has been ill as well so I’ve been very busy. I’ve applied for a couple of jobs and I’m still waiting to hear if I have an interview for a couple of others. It’s getting a bit depressing really but I’m sure that something will turn up. 

Some good news, however, Michelle has been offered a book contract. She had to do an awful lot of work on the book proposal but it has paid off. All she has to do now is write the book. I’m very proud of her and you can expect to see her in a book shop near you soon. Well next year anyway.

As I didn’t play it gave me time to watch The Open. What a fantastic few days and a thoroughly deserved win by Darren Clarke. There were some great shots and some that gave me hope for my game.

This blog is supposed to be about my progress from being a non-golfist to something approaching a halfway competent ball whacker. Sometimes, as described above, it’s just not possible and I have to think of a different topic to blog about.  The original title was going to be ‘The Thoughts of a Reluctant Golfist’ and was going to be about absolutely anything that popped into my head but then I decided to try and keep it about the golf, mainly because Michelle thought I would start off on one of my rants and would put people off. I have digressed on a couple of occasions and so I will do that again today.

Further to the Alternative History of Pompey I thought I would share some more snippets that I have managed to unearth.

After the Romans left these shores, the ancient Britons were left to fend for themselves. I have previously mentioned that the invading Saxons were defeated and then welcomed by the great Pompeyite leader Linvius Primus (Linvius the First). The following centuries are known as the Dark Ages, as little is known, but one man’s legend has been handed down to us; Arthur, Knight and later King, of the Pompeyites. He took them from the relative obscurity of the Southern League of English tribes to the brink of national importance and his exploits have passed into folklore. 

When King Alfred hid in Farlington Marshes, in order to regroup his forces, he famously burnt the cakes. These are commemorated to this day at Fratton Park with the various burnt offerings for sale on match days. Alfred founded the Royal Navy at Portsmouth, thus ensuring that the name of Pompey would be spread worldwide. 

The Middle Ages were a particularly difficult period to be alive. It was nasty, brutish and short. This was a time of plague and civil war. Many battles were fought over who should be King. Henry IV had seized the throne for the Pompeyites but was challenged by Harry Hotspur in 1403, at the Battle of Wembley. Hotspur was seen off and his army ran away. Hotspur was killed when he lifted his visor and a shot from Prince Boateng pierced his defence.

 A few years later Henry V took on the French in an away fixture. The night before, Henry made a stirring speech; in which he exhorted the troops to win the day. As the bard did (almost) say;

   We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
    For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
    Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
    This day shall gentle his condition;
    And gentlemen in Pompey now-a-bed
    Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
    And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
    That fought with us upon Saint Dickenson's day.

Henry VII feared invasion from the French so he tried to redevelop Fortress Fratton. Unfortunately due to some opposition from the local council and a Russian called Ivan the Terrible who owned some of the land he had to make do with building Southsea Castle. This gave him a marvellous vantage point to see one of the worst own goals seen at Portsmouth when Sir George Carew put through his own net and sunk The Mary Rose.

As England, and then Britain, expanded her empire, the Pompeyites were there helping to spread the game we all love; engaging in a little drinking and ’high spirits’ on the way. After enjoying an extremely long undefeated run in North America, they came up against the colonialists who were determined to gain victory. A win against Boston United at Bunker Hill gave the touring Pompeyites hope but they ultimately succumbed to York Town (later York City), losing on penalties after extra time. 

Defeated, but not disheartened, our heroes went on a tour of Europe, winning many games in Spain and Portugal before picking up their first European trophy against a French team led by Napoleon in Belgium. It was a close run thing but they brought on their German substitute Blucher who supplied the cross for the decisive blow in the last minute of extra time. Some say the Golden Goal rule was being used but this is disputed.

The empire continued to grow and the lads went on a tour of South Africa, their most famous victory being a narrow win in Natal. This was achieved with a defensive tactic called Rookes Drift.  There followed a win in Sudan, unfortunately losing their midfield general Charles Gordon in the first half. A return to South Africa brought a game against Dutch farmers which went to a replay. 

There are many more stories of Pompey’s great history which I am researching and hope to bring you soon.

Maybe I should write a book.

More therapy

I went out for my extra therapy today. I met up with a lovely retired couple who were out for the first time this year, so we played a 3 ball.

My tee shot on the first was hit marvellously but, unfortunately, ended up on the 18^th fairway. I had to play backwards through a gap in the trees but spectacularly missed and ended up taking 4 shots to get back to the fairway on the first. Two more duff shots followed and so, as there was quite a backlog on the first tee, I picked up and followed my two new friends to the green. 

The second hole started off much better and I hit a magnificent tee shot. The second ended up lost in the rough; I placed another ball down and took 2 to get back to the short stuff. It then took 3 to the green and 2 putts. It didn’t really matter as I was having a wonderful time just chatting.

The third tee shot was the right distance but ended up in long rough on the left. I spent some time looking but we called a 4 ball through. As I stood back to watch I stood on my ball. It still took 5 more shots to hole out and this is a par 3!

The fourth was probably my best hole, especially my second shot which went over the trees and landed perfectly on the green about 20 feet below the fairway. I should have parred but ended up 1 over. I was also 1 over on the par 3 fifth but the tee shot was magnificent; definitely the best I’ve ever done on this hole.

We played the 6^th, 7^th and 8^th before we all headed for the car park. My golf wasn’t brilliant but I had a wonderful time chatting to my new friends. Hopefully we will meet up again soon. I have mentioned before, this really isn’t about the golf, it’s about friendship and I’m so glad I decided on some more therapy this morning.

The weather forecast for the next few days isn’t good so I’m not sure when I’ll be out next. That said, it’s Pompey’s first home friendly of the season against Chelsea tomorrow and I’m sooo looking forward to that.

This is a different kind of therapy and is only for the seriously delusional; you may think you’ll get your handicap down to 10 or below, we think we’ll finish in the top 6.

The Doctor is in.

The 7^th hole at the club is 502 yards long and uphill. It is one hell of a hole. Today I got a genuine par!

My tee shot went of straight but then curved to right; fortuitously landing in front of a bunker guarding that flank. The second shot flew quite well but bounced right in front of the right hand bunker of a pair which sit slap bang in the middle of the approach to the green. The ball bounced over the bunker onto the steep wall of grass the other side. This wall is almost vertical but I was lucky that the ball caught in a tuft of grass and sat there about 2 feet from the crest of the hill. From this point to the flag is about 30 yards. My next shot is possibly the best shot I have ever made. I had to stand very awkwardly; with my left foot on the top of the hill and my right fighting for grip about a foot below the ball. I knew, instinctively, how to play this shot and I hit the ball with a 5 iron. The trajectory was a sight to behold; like a howitzer shell the ball flew upwards towards the flag, pitched and rolled, finishing about 7 feet from the hole. I could not have hit a better shot. The birdie was on but I slightly misread the green and the ball went past the hole on the left, leaving a 2 foot putt for the par. The plock plock of the ball going into the cup brought a huge grin to my face.  The rest of the 7 holes we played were irrelevant; this one hole was all I needed to make my evening and cheer me up. As you will know from my last post, my car blew up last Saturday and coupled with the fact I am currently unemployed, or ‘resting’ between jobs, I have been a little down this week, so this evening’s golfing has gone a long way to making me feel better.

Tonight I hit every tee shot; no air shots and only a couple which went astray. I was only let down by my short game; so practice is required there then. It was a beautiful sunny evening and the setting of the club is magnificent. It was a pleasure just to stop and take in the views, especially from the elevated parts of the course. I could get into this game, the walking is ceasing to spoil my golf and it is helping me to appreciate what I have in my life and to deal with my problems.

It’s forecast to be sunny all day tomorrow, I think I’ll get some more therapy.

This is an ex-Peugeot

My car’s dead! Well it appears to be. On Saturday I went to pick up Michelle from work and on the way back it lost power going uphill on the A3 just south of Petersfield. This also happened about 18 months ago and, after much investigation, was found to be the engine management chip needed a firmware update. My car had lost its marbles and was suffering from early onset Alzheimer’s. This time, however, was different. We crept onwards but after a few miles a warning light came on; ‘Depollution system faulty’ was the cheery message on the dashboard. We crawled home getting ever slower until smoke billowed from the exhaust and then, when eventually we arrived home, smoke appeared from under the bonnet. There wasn’t even enough power to get onto the drive so Matt was enlisted to help push it.  There was nothing to do except wait until I could phone the garage on Monday.

An early call brought forth the promise of a recovery vehicle being sent round as soon as it was available. Unfortunately it was only available the second I sat down on the loo, with the car key in my shorts, which were round my ankles. 

Having finished my devotions, I went out to the car. It was clear that getting it onto the trailer the recovery man had brought would be difficult. The car was facing inwards and would require turning round in order to get it onto the trailer. This was easier said than done. I tried starting the car and managed to reverse it off the drive and tried to perform a 3 point turn. The Peugeot was having none of it; it simply refused to go forwards so me, Matt, James and the recovery man had to carry out the task manually. As we live at the bottom of a small hill we had to cope with a downward slope in 2 directions. Eventually the car was ready to go up and onto the trailer. Have you noticed how modern cars appear to be lower at the front than they used to be? With silly skirt like things under the bumper? The Peugeot was no exception and it grounded out a couple of feet onto the ramp. Fortunately we have bricks left over from our extension and bits of MDF from the new kitchen. (now 3 years old) These were employed as ramps to lift the two front wheels enough to attach a tow rope to the front and winch the car on board. This was only the beginning, the diagnosis was to follow and it wasn’t looking good.

Tuesday came with a lovely sunny start. I dropped Michelle of at work using her car and then popped into the garage prepared for the worst. They hadn’t started looking at it yet so a stay of execution was issued. I had to pop into Portsmouth on an errand for Michelle and on my way back they garage called. My phone isn’t connected to Michelle’s hands free so I pulled over in Waterlooville and phoned them back. Apparently the depollution fault was caused by the EGC valve; which in itself would have been ok, alas the starter motor had disintegrated, the flywheel in the gear box was loose and the engine was locking up. Just to strip it down to ascertain the problem would cost a fortune and the car isn’t worth it.

Later, after picking Michelle up from work, we called into the garage. The options were discussed, burial, cremation or a Viking funeral.  I think I may go for a simple ceremony, the sound of the funeral march is heard in the background as the body of the Peugeot is slowly lowered into the ground. A volley of shots is fired over the grave and the mourners disperse to the pub. 

I’m buying German next time.

Thursday night is golf night.

The weather had been truly awful and the forecast was for more of the same. This appeared to put a stop to our Thursday evening golfings. 

Towards 4 o’clock the weather brightened so I checked the forecast for the rest of the day; no rain!
Texts were made and received and Ross and I headed for the club at half past 6. On arrival we thought about going to the driving range but, as we couldn’t be certain about the weather, it was decided that a quick practice in the nets and on the putting green would do. We proceeded to the 1^st tee. I hit the best tee shot ever, it flew up the hill and landed slap bang in the middle of the fairway over the crest. Ross then went and put his ball just shy of the crest but also slap bang in the middle. The steep walk up the hill was aided by a rush of smugness. This was our downfall. Ross put his next shot into the rough on the left; he followed this by three more shots in the rough finally landing on something approaching short grass about 100 yards further up. He eventually holed out for 10. I didn’t fare much better; admittedly I didn’t go into any rough stuff but I didn’t make significant progress either. My second shot was most definitely affected by smugness and went 20 yards to the left. I managed to hole out in 7.

It was a short walk from the 1^st green to the 8^th tee and it was my honour; which I promptly threw away by topping the ball and sending it Rawhide style about 50 yards. This wasn’t a good hole for me but Ross got a par despite being in the rough.  We played through the 9^th to the 13^th. There some very good shots, another par on the 10^th for Ross, and some bad ones; I sent one over the fence onto private property at the 11^th, which was a shame as had it gone in the direction I’d aimed it then the ball would have landed on the green. 

All in all it was a pretty good round, the rain had held off and the wind wasn’t too bad. We finished the 13^th at 9pm, pub o’clock, so a short while later we were imbibing some excellent real ale and talking tosh. And fine tosh it was, the bad part was forgotten and the two first tee shots were most fondly remembered. All that is required is to continue with that sort of form, but keeping the smugness secure in one of the pockets on our bags so it doesn’t contaminate our swings.