Once upon a time, I played golf. It was an option for Games class at school and it didn’t involve running so I was sold. In an effort not to be useless, I even had lessons OUTSIDE of school. Then I got bored.
Last summer, England actually had a summer. Whilst I may have abandoned golf, my dad and brothers have persevered with the sport over the years, so it seemed like the perfect time to join them and give golf another try. In his optimism, my dad even signed me up to a golf club. My friends found this hilarious and I don’t blame them- so did I. I am the member of a sporting club. It sounds weird, saying it allowed. Or writing it down. A request to play soon came. We were on a family holiday in Suffolk, the boys were off to the golf course and I was invited.
I vaguely remembered some of my former training and so was almost capable of adopting the suitable posture to start things off. Once I got over my initial feminist indigence that the women’s starting point was further forward than the men’s because ‘women are not as powerful’, I soon appreciated the extra feet and apparently I didn’t embarrass myself as much as I was certainly capable of doing. One ball made it into a bunker and another into some thick reeds but I am happy to announce that I dodged the water. Ellis 1- Pond 0.
Admittedly some grass was hurt in the making of this blog post. But I put the chunks of turf back in the ground and patted it down. It basically looked like new. Sometimes I did have to throw the ball onto the fairway (golf term for the grassy bit you play on- I just googled it) so I could get on with it and not hold the group behind us up. I also missed the ball often. My little brother would often catch my eye and pretend not to notice.
I managed to get a few balls into the air but not particularly high. They generally went in the right directions but without the height- I was not particularly proud of my performance. Bizarrely, I was often the first to get onto the green but managed to do it in about twice the amount of strokes that the boys managed.
It also seems that patience is not a virtue I possess when it comes to golf.
Since Ellis’ Big Golf Day Out, I have not returned to the golf course. The boys went back the next day but I was all golf-ed out. They have also been twice since but I was not invited. Don’t be fooled though. I may never be a Tiger Woods (see I even know the name of a golfer) but one day I will get that ball right into the air. As a holiday activity, golf is slightly addictive, just not addictive enough to make me go back immediately.