Round 1 - Oct 17th 2015

A dry, breezy morning and a hundred or so Stoney members strike their first winter blow in anger. Summer tees are formally rested and mats will be the launch pads for the next five months, the first one lying directly beneath the clubhouse, your backswing practically reaching the optics behind the bar. 

There's a hell of a stink in front of the clubhouse. The gents bogs are blocked and the build up of decaying male matter, the morning after a Friday night’s excess, gives off an odour that fair brings tears to the eyes. Brenda is informed of the lavatory malfunction and scrawls 'OUT OF ORDER' on a piece of A4 before asking Willie Donald to do something with it.

“ Fit d’ye want me to dee wi’ it like?" asks Willie.

“ Stick it on your forehead” I beam. Willie doesn’t smile, I leave the vicinity as tumbleweed sweeps in.

Upon arrival, Keith boldly predicts that he will birdie the first, a pleasing habit he often enjoys following a break from the game. And blow me if he doesn't go and do just that; a booming drive, a flick to five feet and a tram lined putt into the centre. He follows this with another three on the second and I'm thinking I've made the right choice of winter league partner. It takes me until the 7th to contribute anything to the scorecard during which time the temperature has lurched from cool to Baltic to warm. I start by wearing two layers, soon increase this to three before stripping down to shirt sleeves (and trousers) within an hour. Welcome back to golf in the north east of Scotland (I've been away since 1986).

A steady performance from Keith carries us to a creditable opening score of 67 with my involvement best described as fitful. Upon three holes only did my score usurp Keith's, a somewhat humbling experience but hey ho, nine more rounds to address such tardiness.

Other noteworthy occurrences ...

·         Taking a gulp, I ask the fourball in front to get a shift on since they’ve fallen two holes behind. A terse reply is chuntered but the desired effect is achieved. They're a little frosty in the clubhouse afterwards, miffed that a brand new member is telling them to sort themselves out.  How to make an impression eh?

·         My tee shot on the 18th screams towards oblivion until crashing off the cemetery wall and rebounding to six feet. I respectfully muff the birdie attempt.
·         Slide my hand into a rarely visited golf bag pocket in search of a pencil, only to discover a virtually liquidised mouldy apple estimated to have lain in said state for a minimum of twelve months.
·         The winter league scoring system is explained to me several times during the round and I remain non the wiser. Safe to say Keith will deal with the score recording and given it’s almost exclusively his numbers being recorded that’s fair enough. 

Text Kate afterwards saying I'm running late, she replies by telling me to buy nail varnish remover and oven chips on the way home. Mention this purely for it’s randomness.Next game will be in a fortnight. We can’t play next week because Keith’s in Germany visiting the Becks factory (no I’m not joking).