Well, not just Englishmen — there was a mad Irishman among the four 'eejets' that played Pallanne today. It was the October Medal and scores could also count towards the Eclectic competition.
We arrived soon after 8.00am. It was raining. Not just raining, there were stair-rods and occasional thunder bolts and lightning flashes. So the four of us — Roger Barton, Richard Gibson, my crazy self and Fergus O'Neill had coffee and waited for the weather to subside. After about an hour we thought the rain had dwindled to a mere downpour, so we teed off from the 10th.
Richard lost two balls, Roger's ball went in the lake, and Fergus bounced off a few trees before landing quite close to the green. I managed to hit the green and score my only par of the day.
At about this time the lightning started up again. We consoled ourselves that it was 'sheet' lightning and therefore not dangerous and in any case, we had started so we would finish. Scores were not great on the 11th — two 8s a 7 and a 5 were nothing to brag about, but the conditions were horrendous. And they got worse. The greens resembled lakes and four putting was not unusual. Grips were sodden, we were drenched to the skin, we were suffering from wrinkle-finger, trench-foot and — thanks to non-breathable waterproof trousers — betty swollocks.
We arrived soon after 8.00am. It was raining. Not just raining, there were stair-rods and occasional thunder bolts and lightning flashes. So the four of us — Roger Barton, Richard Gibson, my crazy self and Fergus O'Neill had coffee and waited for the weather to subside. After about an hour we thought the rain had dwindled to a mere downpour, so we teed off from the 10th.
Richard lost two balls, Roger's ball went in the lake, and Fergus bounced off a few trees before landing quite close to the green. I managed to hit the green and score my only par of the day.
At about this time the lightning started up again. We consoled ourselves that it was 'sheet' lightning and therefore not dangerous and in any case, we had started so we would finish. Scores were not great on the 11th — two 8s a 7 and a 5 were nothing to brag about, but the conditions were horrendous. And they got worse. The greens resembled lakes and four putting was not unusual. Grips were sodden, we were drenched to the skin, we were suffering from wrinkle-finger, trench-foot and — thanks to non-breathable waterproof trousers — betty swollocks.
We got so wet that Roger stopped for a change of clothes after 9 holes. But the great satisfaction is that we soldiered on. We were the only four people on the course, and we finished all 18 holes. Fergus played well and won the Medal, Roger came second despite having two 9s and an 8 on his card. I had a 9 and three 8s and still managed to cling on to third place and Richard took last place — and in so doing earned himself 4 points in the Player of the Year competition. He did that without the aid of a putter as he forgot to put one in his bag.
After the round I worked out our better-ball score and our worse-ball score. Better-ball was an unimpressive 80 and the worse-ball a ridiculous 133 !!!
After the round I worked out our better-ball score and our worse-ball score. Better-ball was an unimpressive 80 and the worse-ball a ridiculous 133 !!!
They say it's not the winning, its the taking part. We did that today, we took part in spades. Dripping wet in the bar afterwards we enjoyed a couple of beers, we laughed, we reminisced, we told stories — ww had a great day. For the three mad Englishmen and the mad dog Irishman it was all about the 'craic'.
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