We had drinks before we went out to play and during the round, but that was pitch and putt imbibing compared to the evening.
The event is a fund raiser for Myton Hospice – in memory of David Beacock MBE. Run by his son Jason and the rest of David’s family. Jason is a lovely man with a smile and a cheery word for everyone and kept his composure well during a long day.
The evening turned out somewhat differently to what I expected given the aims and essential niceness of the day. The reason, I suspect, was the industrial amounts of alcohol consumed by all the participants. I only have hazy recollections of the end of the night. Jim and I, the last men standing. (To coin an only partially correct cliche – more the last men slumped on the settee in the main entrance). Waiting for a taxi – arguing about the fare – nearly being ejected in wildest Solihull and getting to his girlfriend’s flat.
Three incidents stand out in a weird but incredibly funny night:-
- The raffle. More prizes than players in the event. Carty, the MC, manfully struggling his way through when a member (not in the first flush of youth but certainly in the first flush of drink) asked for the mic. Then shouted for his ‘girlfriend’ to come up and tells his audience he is going to propose!!! No. No, no, no. Surely not. Mass movement of fingers over eyes. He creaks onto one knee, nearly topples over, slurs out the question and gets the romantic response ‘I suppose so’. Not quite a Casablanca moment.
- The aftermath. His fiancée retreats to her friends. In the re-arrangement to let her back to her seat another woman falls on the floor. A number of members rush to assist – to be informed, somewhat robustly, that the lady will see out the rest of the evening from that spot and doesn’t want to be helped back up!! At this point it feels like the club house is hosting two separate events. A golf day. And the village idiots’ convention.
- The battering given to the team which came third and included John Nugent and his son Chris. Chris is probably the best player at the club (+1) and his dad is a former club champion on multiple occasions. We found out John had played off 24 in the event!!! I was flabbergasted, shocked, stunned and at the stage of drinking where repeating the same thing endlessly seems to be the best way of making a point. So I did. All that stopped me was the slowly dawning realisation that we had been the means through which the God of Golfing Karma took his revenge on John at the 16th hole .
There is an old Scottish/Klingon proverb ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold – with chips’. It applied here. On the 17th tee my son John snap hooked his drive into the trees surrounding the 16th tee. We yelled ‘fore’but didn’t know that John Nugent was starting to divest himself of his excess water in the bushes by the tee. The cry of ‘Fore’ caused the first involuntary jerk with obvious consequences and just when he thought the worst was over the ball clattered into the trees showering foliage as liberally as John was now showering his waste products over himself. The focus of mockery then shifted from the more basic ‘f…… bandit’ to ‘Don’t shake hands with Nughie.’
All in all a strange evening but a great one. Not something I could do on a weekly basis though!!