Friday 27th March, 2015

MThis week, following my encounter with the optimistic, excited 7 year olds, I had a leaveout. My dad proposed a trip to the golf course which I willingly accepted on the condition that I could take Weasel, my dog. My dad just had to check the club calendar at Worlington to be sure the the course would be clear, but unfortunately and unusually the course had been booked. Even more unusual was that it had been booked by none other than the Old Rugbeian Golf Society a strange coincidence and one that made me less inclined to go the golf course for I had no wish to spend my break from Rugby with Old Rugbieans! However a quick ring confirmed that they were in for lunch and with Dad assuring me that we wouldn't meet them we nipped over for a few holes. I played my usual sporadic game, perhaps slightly better than usual! Weasel however behaved impeccably. Finally we got to the ninth hole.  The ball must travel over a river to get to the fairway and with a bold angle and some distance it is possible to drive both over the river and a small country road that separates the fairway and the green. Throughout the club house there is much competition over who can drive over the road. My dad, to his frustration cannot! This day was no different and all though he hit a beautiful drive his ball landed virtually on the verge of the road. I however, miraculously made it both over the road and over the green! We made our way into the club house for a celebratory pint of IPA with my head spinning with triumphant thoughts of golf, completely forgetting about the ORs! However shortly after sitting down there was the distinct sound of chairs being moved and the excitable chatter of many people heading out of lunch. Predictably one of the first men out recognised my  Dad and after an introduction he let slip that I was currently at rugby. Within seconds the gentleman had told his friends and we were soon surrounded by a noisy group of 70 year olds excitedly asking about the school and telling me what houses they were in. On hearing that I had driven the green on the ninth they declared that not only must I join their society but I would also be invited to play in the very prestigious Halford Hewitt competition ... If only they knew how my game actually was! But as a final comment there is a strange and clear parallel between the 7 year olds I looked after that Thursday and to the gentlemen I met on leave-out. Both groups of people were cheerful and bubbly and not nearly as scary as I thought they were going to be!