Wasn’t too bad when I first got there,
I was ready to take on the course; whatever the weather threw at me, I would
survive. Kitted up with waterproofs, storm bucket hat, gloves over gloves,
snood, thermal vest and thirty quid’s worth of supposedly, waterproof socks.
Oh, and my supposedly waterproof shoes; well they were, for the first five
minutes at least. All of this for a solitary game of golf on Christmas Eve,
just because I could. No one else, just me, along with my thoughts and maybe my
old man looking down from his little piece of dry Heaven and shaking his head
in wonder. Then the weather bared its teeth and chased me down the first
fairway – a storm to end all storms.
The rain turned to ice and lashed my
legs with birdshot, but resolutely I hung on in there; I would finish my customary
nine holes or die in the attempt. Miraculously, the shots I managed to play
behaved themselves and, with my soggy soul still intact I kept on going… right
to the last hole. Then the sun came out and the rain went away and still I was
on my own, no one else there. Half drowned and frozen through with one
emaciated leg of my storm-proof umbrella twisted side-on at an awkward angle;
still, I felt good, privileged even.
Rather to be there on a flooded ninth
green, soaked and frostbitten, but with one more precious memory safely in the
bag, than warm and dry in some hospital bed on this stormy Christmas Eve...
To everyone who from time to time will
read my blog, or better still my books, I wish you and yours the safest, most merry
of all your Christmases and God bless for the New Year. Stay with me, book
number three is almost complete.
*
