Four
Mike and I paid for our golf round – 18 holes, despite my recommendation for nine, two golf carts, two hire set of clubs for the girls and a healthy dose of wishful thinking. I don’t know if it was chauvinist to pick up the tab for a girl these days or not. Lisa sure wasn’t going to mind, let’s not even think she would be staying around if she had to pay for something, and it seemed Nina was following Lisa’s lead. Either way, no mention of mulla was made.
So even though no one mentioned it, I thought about it. I guessed that made me cheap. I shrugged to myself as we walked around the clubhouse; I’d been called worse things. Lisa and Nina walked behind us swapping secret whispers.
A neat row of angle parked buggies awaited us. Do buggies come in any colour but white? Would a club be disowned from the golf confederation for differentiating it’s buggies with colour? Pft.
I took the nearest one and strapped my half set of clubs into the back storage cubby while wondering if there would be a fistfight about the buggy seating arrangements. I would have been happy to sit with Mike again.
Nina gave Lisa a pitiful expression of plead and longing as she swaggered passed and hopped into Mike’s cart. I smiled at Nina, trying to make her feel at ease but I resisted the temptation to refer to biting. Does anyone bite?
‘Come on then,’ I said, sliding behind the wheel.
Mike zoomed off at 10 kilometres per hour. Golf buggies have two purposes. The legitimate one is of course to save people from exercising during their round. Now I’m all in favour of removing the effort of exercise from any sport. Did I mention I’m thinking of lobbying for chess to be an Olympic sport? But the second and far more enticing purpose, is so that everybody who gets behind the wheel can imagine themselves driving a wild cross between and dune buggy and a formula one car that has been moulded into the shape of a performance box. Ensconced in such a vehicle the driver must careen through the always delightfully twisty trails and tracks of the course at the maximum possible velocity.
Mike wasn’t going to get a free head start.
So even though no one mentioned it, I thought about it. I guessed that made me cheap. I shrugged to myself as we walked around the clubhouse; I’d been called worse things. Lisa and Nina walked behind us swapping secret whispers.
A neat row of angle parked buggies awaited us. Do buggies come in any colour but white? Would a club be disowned from the golf confederation for differentiating it’s buggies with colour? Pft.
I took the nearest one and strapped my half set of clubs into the back storage cubby while wondering if there would be a fistfight about the buggy seating arrangements. I would have been happy to sit with Mike again.
Nina gave Lisa a pitiful expression of plead and longing as she swaggered passed and hopped into Mike’s cart. I smiled at Nina, trying to make her feel at ease but I resisted the temptation to refer to biting. Does anyone bite?
‘Come on then,’ I said, sliding behind the wheel.
Mike zoomed off at 10 kilometres per hour. Golf buggies have two purposes. The legitimate one is of course to save people from exercising during their round. Now I’m all in favour of removing the effort of exercise from any sport. Did I mention I’m thinking of lobbying for chess to be an Olympic sport? But the second and far more enticing purpose, is so that everybody who gets behind the wheel can imagine themselves driving a wild cross between and dune buggy and a formula one car that has been moulded into the shape of a performance box. Ensconced in such a vehicle the driver must careen through the always delightfully twisty trails and tracks of the course at the maximum possible velocity.
Mike wasn’t going to get a free head start.
© 2004-5 by Des at 5:44 pm
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Thursday, December 09, 2004
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