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Resistance is futile... I will dress like a pimp from a blaxploitation movie
Why...
Do certain pastimes creep up on me as I get older? Golf is a great example. Forty years ago the whole clubby, cliquey, smug aroma of joining a club and spending eons smacking a little white ball around manicured lawns represented everything the young urchin in me hated. I refused ever to pick up a golf club, wanting the world to know I was kicking against the pricks in every sense of the word. I would rather have entered Richard Nixon than a golf club. Then a few years ago a virus struck down many of my friends who suddenly started not only playing the game but wearing tartan V neck sweaters and trousers, accompanied by white flat caps and checkered leather shoes that Cab Calloway would have been proud of. They even started drinking gin. Fortunately around that time I met my beloved wife. In an earlier life she had dated a professional golfer and it had put her off the game for life. I was safe. However a dear friend and his wife came to visit recently and both are avid golfers. As I listened to them ramble on about such arcane terms such as nibblets, bogies and my particular favourite an Adolf Hitler; (two shots in a bunker), I suddenly said: "That sounds great." Time stood still. You can't unring that bell. My wife instead of getting up and looking for a rolling pin to shuffle my teeth added: "There is only one course here in Malta!"
...and another thing
As acne heralded being a teen, does a desire to play golf mean my subconscious has sat down on the coconut mat of senility at the top of the slippery slide that runs in a downward spiral to bowls, bingo and incontinence pants?
I can imagine the Almighty on the sixth day of creation ruminating over the impending problem of his new creation’s dotage after his or her allotted four score years and ten…
” I will insert a chromosome that triggers between 50- 60. It creates an irresistible urge to congregate in one place, away from young humans who are useful. Herded together the oldies will become obsessed with an occupation that takes hours and has no value to anyone.”
Maybe clubs for golf, bowls, ballroom dancing and macrame are God’s way of creating a gated community for old farts. It’s just a shame to join the password seems to be “Well of course in my day…….”
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