Golf and Tattoos

Still not quite  recovered from all the itis-es, specifically, the one which robs you of your voice . Some people, those few , who do not wait with bated breath for my every nugget of wit and wisdom might be pleased !

But cough, snot , sore throat or not , I had to get out  of the house after a week in bed watching Loose Ladies and Whose House is Best.....  and see some real live 3D  people  or go so mad that I end up prematurely in a Home For The Bewildered!

So I went to play golf to get some fresh air, walk a couple of miles and  socialise with the  other lady golfers at my club.  That is  is two sports in one. You have to have your wits about you for both and metaphorically speaking, keep your eye on the ball for both!

Some people think that golf ( and by definition ) golfers , are boring. Nothing could be further from the truth. As is that  old chestnut that golf is a great way of ruining a good walk or  that watching golf is about as exciting as watching paint dry.

Many moons ago, when I was a new Mum and married to my first husband, I lived " darn sarf " on the outer fringes of London in a very pretty house which backed onto Stanmore Golf Club . The first green  ( the bit which has a flag ! )  was literally at the end of my garden and I had  a good close up view of the second tee.
I used to sit in my garden with my new baby in his pram and watch the ladies ( and men but it was the ladies who most interested me  )  play golf. I thought then that they were another species of life, come from Planet Zog,  with their own fashions and their own language . At that point in my eventful life , I was fully occupied being  Earth Mother with a baby on my hip and a J cloth in my hand.

They were all terribly old, the golfers  ( I was 22 ) and wore Rupert Bear outfits with loud tartan trousers or even worse, some strange piece of apparel, never seen in my world,  called plus 4's. With long socks and white shoes. Whoa !  They all pushed little trolleys or carried bags on their backs,  stuffed full of  long sticks and some sticks wore little woolly hats, or  even big novelty animal  hats . These, I now know are called head covers.

Very strangely, pre Michael Jackson's Thriller video , male and females alike  all wore just  one glove on their left hand. Stranger and stranger !

I listened to them whilst I rocked my baby to sleep. " Good shot Daphne ! or Wilfred or Mavis " they cried. And " good putt " although this last quite often used to sound as if it came through gritted teeth !
This after they had  rolled  their little white ball in to a little  hole using a stick called   a putter ( I recognised this particular stick from family jolidays in Blackpool as a child when we used to play crazy golf on the prom,  then  go on the North Pier and put pennies in slots and then go for fish and chips for tea, AH !   precious memories)  then after replacing the flag ,   they, Daphne and co.  would move over to the raised mound just  a garden along from mine ,  and there they would take the hat off a bigger stick and stand swishing it through the air at nothing,  until they finally settled down and  hit the ball again, a long way down the field,  and moved off after it .  Ten minutes later another group arrived.

Even stranger than all this was that when it was wet or windy or freezing cold outside and my only reason to go into the back garden was  to hurry  to  the dustbin , the aliens were still  there, wearing funny hats now , or if it were wet,  waterproof suits and extremely unflattering rain hats. There they were, with giant umbrellas,   still standing patiently holding the flag while one of their number crouched and walked back and forth and looked up and down several times before trying to get their ball in the hole. In the p....ing  rain. Mad ,  mad people!

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would join this strange and mysterious sect, learn their language , wear the t shirt ( I too have owned many Rupert Bear outfits ) and go out in wind rain  or even fog and  in my more obsessive years even  play in light snow !

I will tell you how it all began for me  and then you will understand how even someone as sane as I   could get addicted to this maddening sport.
The baby years and the first husband and the pretty house on the golf course  were long gone and I was now living "oop North " , and  married to hubby  number two  who was very much a member of the golfing sect. For the first few years of our marriage  it was something that he did on Sunday mornings and took very seriously indeed. I ignored it. I stayed in bed late and ate bagels and smoked salmon with the Sunday Times, The Mail on Sunday and a very  occasional cheeky  News Of The World.

 One day he told me that he was helping to  run and play in a Celebrity Am Am competition in Scotland that was going to  be televised and that I was invited  too,  to stay at a mega posh Hotel and hang out with some famous people. Great, who doesn't love a  5 star mini break .

I stayed in the posh Hotel all the first day and chatted with some other wives who didn't play golf either ,  but that night the husband casually said  that he had a great game tomorrow and that he would be playing with ( drum roll ! ) SEAN CONNERY ! And Jimmy Tarbuck and another not famous man.
Right I said, I will come and help you. Err no, said he, I will have a caddy but you can come and watch but you must not make a sound and stand still when we are taking shots and don't walk on the greens and don't and don't and don't.
Fine, I said. What time and what shall I wear.
And that is how my long love affair with golf began. With 007 himself who was devastatingly attractive by the way, even more than on screen  and flirted harmlessly  with me all day and at dinner that night ( I barely batted an eye lash myself )  and showed me his tattoos ( at the dinner table so it was all lovely clean fun but his tiny wife who had her big husband firmly under her thumb did not like it one bit ! )

I told him that I had always wanted to have a tiny tattoo of a rose on my bum and he uttered , in that  inimitable voice in his sexy Scottish accent " Ya could have had the whole fuckin bouquet on yer ass Jacqui ! "
Husband loved that comment and repeated it  endlessly ad nauseum for years !
Please do not think that I have a huge ass. I didn't then and I don't now !  But as an introduction to golf , it was quite something ! And in between the jokes and the strange alien language and on this occasion , a lot of cursing, I became interested in the game. And enjoyed the walk ( in my flimsy, unsuitable  shoes ) loved the scenery and  that day I made up my mind that I would become a lady golfer and have people say admiringly to me too, " GREAT shot Jac " .

So I did. And that was then, the beginning and here I am now, over 20 years later,  an alien myself  , who knows all manner of funny rules and customs , got the t shirt and the video and LOVE it !

Golf courses are wonderful huge playgrounds and every one is different. Some are links course by the sea, some are parkland weaving their way through groves of lovely trees and undulating landscapes. There are courses on moors full of heather to trap one's ball and courses with lakes and mountains !  My particular one was designed by a sadist called Robert Trent Jones but I have grown very fond of it. A  golf course is also a refuge. A place to go to forget one's worries, to meet people,  somewhere that grown ups can play out  with a bat and ball !

As a game it is endlessly challenging. You can never say "I got it, nothing more to learn or practise." Not even the Gods of the Game , can ever say that. It comes and it goes and one has to learn humility and patience because it is a great leveller and no place for a big ego.

What is very interesting to me, with my background in personal development , is that golf is almost an analogy for life and tells so much about character.
Play a round ( I mean a round of golf, not play AROUND ! ) and you get to see parts of a person's character  which are often carefully hidden from the world at large.

Watch and see if your partner or opponent is careful about the line of your putt and is still and quiet whilst you   takes your  shot. In other words, is he conscious, aware and considerate? Or so absorbed in his game that he ignores yours.
Does he replace his divots and repair his pitch marks and rake the bunkers properly or at all ? This tells us a lot about respect and thoughtfulness and laxness too.

Is he really sincere when he says "well done "when you hole the winning putt or is it said grudgingly or not at all. That leads us to ask if he generous or a little mean spirited.

And is he accountable or a victim ?  My ball is buried, did you see my terrible luck, that tree wasn't there when I took my shot, WHO MOVED THE TREE !!!

Of course , if you are an aware kind of person, here is another opportunity to learn about yourself. As Socrates said, " an unexamined life is a life not worth living  "

Golf is a game which requires endless practise and patience and a willingness to be a little  humiliated. Not for the faint hearted. Just as in life it is often the smallest decision or choice which affects the outcome and without accountability, one will just carry on making the same old mistakes over and over. And if you are prepared to stay calm, follow the rules, take the occasional measured risk, the more chance you have of being a winner ! And of course  you have to learn to be gracious in victory -  and defeat . Nothing is  quite so bad as a sore loser or a crowing victor .......

So one of the best parts of the game is the people you meet. And one of the worst parts of the game is the people you meet!
I am not a man so I can't speak for them, but ladies in a group situation  can, on occasion, be....... how can I put this nicely?
Mmmmm..........
I can't put it nicely.....
Witches !
Well that is nicer than bitches !
 Not many thankfully, but enough,  and I understand that there is a coven at every golf club in the land !

Anyway, now you know something about the subject at large,  this Tuesday ( Ladies Day )  was what is called a fun comp. That means it isn't serious . We can get very serious on occasion even though we constantly remind our self and each other " its only a game , not a matter of life and death "  I am convinced that some people think it is ! Or more important than that ( another old chestnut ! )   Anyway,  I had a very nice game. We don't get to choose who we play with on Tuesdays, it is drawn ,  so this week I played in  the mud , lots of mud,  on a very grey day, with our new Madam Captain , ( Queen of the Ladies Section for a year ! )  and two other ladies, all of us as different in every way as could be but united in our love of this fascinating and maddening game.

We didn't win. Hey ho. But I had a very nice time and a cheese toastie and a  good old goss after!
 Being a golfer is fabulous ! I feel sorry for everyone who doesn't know the thrill of connecting club to little white ball and watch it going straight down the middle of a lush green fairway. The excitement of coming in under par and the orgasmic pleasure of " chipping in! " 
And the camaraderie with one's fellow fanatics draws us together in a very special way . It really is a great game.