CALAMITY JANE PART TWO

Got to play with a driver today – note to self, must hang about in car parks more often! (tee hee).  Joking aside I have now been introduced to said driver and having spent the first fifteen minutes worrying needlessly about its slightly less than robust structure and that its larger head was going to give me more room for error I finally plucked up the courage and started playing with it.  I even managed to give it back to Dara without him noticing the slight kink -only joking! And I have to admit I actually found it good fun to play with.  Just occasionally instead of a thunk! There was more of a melodic kerplink.

Having got used to this new piece of equipment it was suggested that perhaps I ought to play one hole.  I think that was all Dara’s nerves could take and I believe he still has nightmares of me digging my way out of a bunker on our first course lesson.  The fact that the bunker was approximately two miles away from where I was actually intending to hit, that’s a joke in itself, I shall merely say dribble the ball should not really have caused a problem, except, that a sudden gust of wind took it on a journey and embedded it into the middle of a bunker.  Unfortunately, it was very much a case of saying 'give me thirty minutes while I dig my way down to Australia.'  

Well after the embarrassment and the time it took to re-rake the bunker I decided that I was going to have to do something about it and luckily at a local car boot sale I managed to find a dual purpose sand wedge with the ominous letters PS written across it – I am not even going to try and find a suitable phrase for those two letters as I am sure you will be able to work it out for yourselves!  I’m not sure what the other purpose is, but from looking at it, the person who owned it before me also spent a lot of time in the bunkers, as the definition ‘well worn’ certainly applies.

Of course you can imagine how enthusiastic I was the next time that I ended up in the bunkers (no tittering here please!) and I have now recovered from the black eye, for although my stance, swing and contact were all good I misjudged the angle of the bunker walls and the return ricochet was somewhat faster and more painful.  Of course this serves me right for gloating the other day when my ball which was yet again heading towards a yellow patch on the golf course managed to bounce off a tuft of grass, hop over the bunker and land safely on the other side.  Dara later informed me that the phrase ‘how’s zat’ was not a golfing term!

Oh well, until next time………. and any ideas about what PS stands for, keep to yourself.