We headed down to Brighton golf course last Saturday morning at an unsociable hour for 18 holes with G’s cousin’s husband. We were the only people there under the age of 55 at 9 in the morning.
I had my best game ever, consistently hitting (for most holes) no worse than double bogies though I had a massive fallout on the ninth hole where I hit an 11 on a par 4. I still can’t believe that hole is a par 4 at over 400 metres in length and a hind dog to boot. I nearly hit it over the trees three times.
The back nine is supposed to be easier. Those damn trees again, the dark woods of Dante’s Inferno.
Perfect soundtrack for the tree shots.
I was horrified to see these crazy buggies getting around the course:
The height of yuppification, right up there with black luxury cars.
