Captain!”
Grover emerged from the pro’s shop where his playing partners for that day, Trevor Armitage and Gerard Stocks, had been waiting patiently for him outside the door whilst discussing their relative chances of lifting the silverware that day, Armitage hopeful, Stocks less so.
Grover gaily tossed the box of Dunlop 65s up in the air, and caught it. “He'll believe anything, that pro,” he smiled.
The story of what had happened to his sweater was in fact just that, a story, a lie. Grover had thought for some time that Tobin was just a little bit too cocky with all his sales patter and needed to be taken down a peg or two and the tale of the titted sweater was his way of doing it. That he’d gained a free box of golf balls into the bargain was a bonus.
“ What’s that, Geoff?” said Stocks.
“ Nothing,” replied Grover. But it was far from nothing, and would prove to be as instrumental in spoiling Mr Captain’s Day as Fidler’s habit of always playing Top Flight four balls.
9.10 a.m.
R Garland (6)
T Harris (9)
J Ifield (9)
“ Good morning, gentlemen,” said Mr Captain, welcoming to the first tee the fourth threesome that morning. It comprised of Robin Garland, who was the vice captain this year, and his playing partners Terry Harris and Justin Ifield.
“ Well at the moment it is,” said Ifield, in his naturally gloomy voice.
“ Pardon? What was that you said, Justin?” said Mr Captain, aware of what Ifield had said but not why he’d said it.
“ Well it's going to start raining by eleven-o-clock, isn’t it.”
“ Raining?” This was news to Mr Captain and not news he wanted to hear. “Are you sure?”
“ Cats and dogs. Stair rods. Noah's Ark proportions, I believe. Hope you've got your waterproofs with you Mr Captain, you're certainly going to need them. And a pair of wellington boots. Maybe a rowing boat would help, and a couple of distress flares.”
Mr Captain looked anxiously at the sky. It was quite blue. “But there isn't a cloud in the sky.”
“ Well I'm only telling you what Fred the Weatherman said on television last night” said Ifield. “And I swear by him. Well I would if I was allowed to swear,” he added, artfully, then went on, “A warm night for the time of the year, minimum temperature fourteen degrees, followed by a promising start to the morning, but by eleven-o-clock this will have deteriorated, dark storm clouds quickly forming, leading to torrential non-stop rain for the rest of the day.” His gloomy voice made the forecast sound even gloomier than he had painted it. “Fine tomorrow,” he concluded, adding insult to injury.
Mr Captain checked the sky again. It looked as though it would never rain again, never mind in less than two hours’ time. But if it had been on the television weather forecast? They could be wrong of course, but they weren’t all that far out usually, and this wasn’t Michael Fish who had done the forecasting but Fred the Weatherman whose meteorological predictions he knew to be reasonably reliable. “You are quite sure about this are you, Justin?” he asked Ifield again.
Ifield nodded. “Well that's what Fred said. And I've never known him to be wrong yet. Especially where rain is concerned. He’s very good on rain. It’ll be coming down in buckets, no doubt about it.”
“ And they do say there’s only two things you can be absolutely certain of coming down,” said Harris, knowledgeably. “Rain, and knickers on a honeymoon.”
Mr Captain disliked crude talk almost as much as he disliked swearing but was so concerned by Ifield’s weather prediction that he didn’t even bat an eyelid at Harris’s coarseness, far less pull him up about it.
Not only is golf one of the most expensive sports to take up, it is one of the most difficult to play. It is possible, indeed usual, to pay over a thousand pounds to join a golf club, a further thousand pounds in annual membership fees, in excess of five hundred pounds
Grover emerged from the pro’s shop where his playing partners for that day, Trevor Armitage and Gerard Stocks, had been waiting patiently for him outside the door whilst discussing their relative chances of lifting the silverware that day, Armitage hopeful, Stocks less so.
Grover gaily tossed the box of Dunlop 65s up in the air, and caught it. “He'll believe anything, that pro,” he smiled.
The story of what had happened to his sweater was in fact just that, a story, a lie. Grover had thought for some time that Tobin was just a little bit too cocky with all his sales patter and needed to be taken down a peg or two and the tale of the titted sweater was his way of doing it. That he’d gained a free box of golf balls into the bargain was a bonus.
“ What’s that, Geoff?” said Stocks.
“ Nothing,” replied Grover. But it was far from nothing, and would prove to be as instrumental in spoiling Mr Captain’s Day as Fidler’s habit of always playing Top Flight four balls.
9.10 a.m.
R Garland (6)
T Harris (9)
J Ifield (9)
“ Good morning, gentlemen,” said Mr Captain, welcoming to the first tee the fourth threesome that morning. It comprised of Robin Garland, who was the vice captain this year, and his playing partners Terry Harris and Justin Ifield.
“ Well at the moment it is,” said Ifield, in his naturally gloomy voice.
“ Pardon? What was that you said, Justin?” said Mr Captain, aware of what Ifield had said but not why he’d said it.
“ Well it's going to start raining by eleven-o-clock, isn’t it.”
“ Raining?” This was news to Mr Captain and not news he wanted to hear. “Are you sure?”
“ Cats and dogs. Stair rods. Noah's Ark proportions, I believe. Hope you've got your waterproofs with you Mr Captain, you're certainly going to need them. And a pair of wellington boots. Maybe a rowing boat would help, and a couple of distress flares.”
Mr Captain looked anxiously at the sky. It was quite blue. “But there isn't a cloud in the sky.”
“ Well I'm only telling you what Fred the Weatherman said on television last night” said Ifield. “And I swear by him. Well I would if I was allowed to swear,” he added, artfully, then went on, “A warm night for the time of the year, minimum temperature fourteen degrees, followed by a promising start to the morning, but by eleven-o-clock this will have deteriorated, dark storm clouds quickly forming, leading to torrential non-stop rain for the rest of the day.” His gloomy voice made the forecast sound even gloomier than he had painted it. “Fine tomorrow,” he concluded, adding insult to injury.
Mr Captain checked the sky again. It looked as though it would never rain again, never mind in less than two hours’ time. But if it had been on the television weather forecast? They could be wrong of course, but they weren’t all that far out usually, and this wasn’t Michael Fish who had done the forecasting but Fred the Weatherman whose meteorological predictions he knew to be reasonably reliable. “You are quite sure about this are you, Justin?” he asked Ifield again.
Ifield nodded. “Well that's what Fred said. And I've never known him to be wrong yet. Especially where rain is concerned. He’s very good on rain. It’ll be coming down in buckets, no doubt about it.”
“ And they do say there’s only two things you can be absolutely certain of coming down,” said Harris, knowledgeably. “Rain, and knickers on a honeymoon.”
Mr Captain disliked crude talk almost as much as he disliked swearing but was so concerned by Ifield’s weather prediction that he didn’t even bat an eyelid at Harris’s coarseness, far less pull him up about it.
Not only is golf one of the most expensive sports to take up, it is one of the most difficult to play. It is possible, indeed usual, to pay over a thousand pounds to join a golf club, a further thousand pounds in annual membership fees, in excess of five hundred pounds
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