My Ear Candy #5 Patrick Wood

I suppose I ought to begin by wishing you a happy New Year and all that. I’m not sure if this obligatory greeting refers purely to Hogmanay or the entire year, either way I half-heartedly wish it to you. I don’t really do New Year, I never have. How’s that for an upbeat opening!

What are your hopes and fears for 2017? My hopes are simple, there are three. 1) Bob Dylan lives long enough to perform for me at the SEC in May, no guarantee there given the procession of high profile deaths in recent months. 2) Aston Villa grapple their way through the play-offs for an instant return to the premiership, by no means an expectation, just a hope. 3) I get a book published, a long time ambition and it’s about time it was realised. As for fears, well look no further than the new President of the USA. To think that a guy like Trump will be the leader of the free world is frankly terrifying. I’m fearful too that my back pain won’t allow me to play golf, perhaps not as major a fear as the Trump farrago but important to me nonetheless.

But enough about me, let’s talk about my special guest on last night’s Stoney Baloney radio show, Patrick Wood, who was terrific company. I allow guests 6 of their favourite tracks, a dangerous business given I’m a music snob but Patrick didn’t let me down, opening with a satisfactory Razorlight track and following up with The Eagles and Oasis. So far so good, but unforgiveably, he’d allowed his younger brother Elliot to select the last two songs and that’s when it all went pear shaped. On came two tracks which can best be described as hollow, mainstream pap and it was all I could do not to drag them off air halfway through. Mercifully I exorcised this double barrelled nightmare by playing the show out with Ace Of Spades by Motorhead and we could all breathe again.

We learned a few things about Patrick; he was born in Southern California and moved to Auchenblae (thirty degrees cooler) with his family when he was four. A dozen years later here they still are. Patrick plays piano, keyboards, a bit of guitar, makes me jealous that, I can’t even play the spoons and studies at Mearns Academy (I say ‘studies’, perhaps I should merely be saying ‘attends’). His American twang has never left him and his claim to fame is American based too, though an utterly feeble one. I still maintain that playing toy cars for ten minutes with the young son of a Lakers basketball player and not actually conversing with said basketball player (Denis Rodman) directly, does not represent a genuine claim to fame. I walked past Buckingham Palace once, does that mean I’ve met the Queen?  Nope.

Great to have you along Patrick, hopefully you’ll be presenting on Mearns FM yourself sometime soon. To you I wish a genuinely happy New Year.

Patrick’s selections

1.       America – Razorlight

2.       Hotel California – The Eagles

3.       Long Road To Ruin – Foo Fighters

4.       Wonderwall – Oasis

5.       Am I Wrong – Nico & Vinz

6.       Flight – Tristam & Braken

My Ear Candy #4 Bryan Duncan

We had our serious faces on for the first hour of last nights Mearns FM radio show, devoting it to the issue of substance misuse and addiction. I attend an alcohol recovery support group every Wednesday (6.30-8.00pm at Stonehaven Community Centre if you want to join us) and Bryan Duncan, the group facilitator for want of a better description, joined me on the show to tell us about his work. The message that came across loud and clear was that anyone in this community of ours who's dealing with substance misuse should know that help is at hand, not only for them but their families and friends too. Nobody with a dependency on alcohol or drugs need travel this road alone, there are good people around to help you on a road to recovery, all you need do is put the first foot forward.

Bryan works for Alcohol & Drug Action (ADA) which is an Aberdeen based organisation that supports people the breadth of Aberdeenshire. He spends his working life getting alongside those seeking a road to recovery and he assists families of these people too, it can be even more of a torment for onlookers feeling helpless watching their loved one sink into oblivion. You can listen to our conversation here if you feel it could help you...http://www.mearnsfm.org.uk/listen-again

The second hour of the show had Bryan sharing six of his favourite tracks. I'd received his list a couple of days prior and given them a listen before broadcast, I like to check they're listenable and not profanity strewn in case the station's boss is listening in. They were indeed broadcastable but in one case only just, not because of bad language but the awfulness of the song, a slow paced jazz style dirge during which even the vocalist appeared to lose the will to live. I'm talking of course of Bobby McFerrin and his insufferable song 'Peace'. Thankfully the remaining tracks ranged from acceptable to excellent, the pick of the bunch being 'Blackbird' by The Beatles, pure gold.

My thanks to Bryan for two very pleasurable hours (aside from the five minute McFerrin farago) and a reminder again to anyone reading this who is in despair with alcohol or any other substance misuse, help is at hand. Bryan, myself and plenty of others besides, are here for you, just reach out and your road to recovery can begin.

Bryan's selections
1. Eton Rifles - The Jam
2. Throw Down Your Arms - Burning Spear
3. Feeling Good - Nina Simone
4. Blackbird - The Beatles
5. Peace - Bobby McFerrin
6. Love What You Do - Divine Comedy

The following missive has come in from Stonehaven GC member Allan Davidson. I have to say it makes for a pleasant read given the shameful actions of Douglas towards me last winter. Relying heavily on his playing partner once again I see...

Dear Stoney Baloney, I have taken great interest in your blogs and enjoyed reading your book about returning to Stonehaven to play in the winter league doubles with someone called Kirk or Kevin Douglas who is, by all accounts, like yourself, a decent player. Anyway, after being occupied for most of this winter season with football, I noticed I had a free Sunday so checked the online thing and saw K.Douglas (Kirk I assumed, albeit he is now 100) and B.Ferguson were playing with a guest at 11am. I did not know the guest and it was with trepidation that I put my name down. After a few phone calls it became evident that the K was not Kirk, and was indeed a chap called Keith of whom I had the pleasure of reading about in 'Stoney Baloney' The B was also confirmed as a chap called Bruce, the guest I still did not know. 

I duly popped up and ordered my 'breakfast' (Kronenbourg) and waited for the three players to come and sign in for the competition so I could introduce myself. Well, only two came in and I recognised them both since they had photographs of themselves hanging in the hall of fame, they were both former club champions! What had I done putting my name with these semi pro golfers? I didn't want to be too familiar with them, however, I did notice that both were slightly more folically challenged than represented on the roll of honour, I just assumed they had kept on growing through their hair. That aside, I asked the whereabouts of the 'guest' after introducing myself nervously in the company of these two great legends of Stonehaven Golf Club, but received no reply, it wasn't mentioned again.

After the pleasantries and changing of scorecards the short baldie one duly sent it OB at the 1st while the lanky baldie one drove the green. The next hole saw the lanky one, who'd birdied the 1st, miss a five footer for par after the wee one found sand, level par then after 2. The next two holes they exchanged pars and then we had the gully where the short one tapped in for a two and on the next hole lanky also tapped in for a two and back across the gully on the old 15th, the short one duly holed a putt for another two. The last time I saw that was with the good wife in Menorca in a fantoosh harbour side restaurant called 'Dos,Dos,Dos'. So with a heid like Peterhead I had two options, either 1) walk off with my NR at the old 10th and ensure that the integrity was put into question of Lanky and shortie, or 2) plod on. Thankfully I plumped for the latter. 

Despite feeling cold and tired I began to enjoy myself watching these two legends try to put in a good score. The next two holes saw them both miss birdie putts and tap in pars ensued, an easy birdie at the old 11th and then a poor par at the 12th, down the old 5th and the short one sticks it to ten feet, lanky however took the gas and knocked through the back and chipped on, somehow not putting to allow the short one a free putt, another par ensued. Over to the old 6th with both short and lanky missing the green and lanky, after his gas earlier, left his flat stick somewhere in the vicinity of the old 5th prompting a run back up the hill. He might as well have left it there as the short one saved par. Next up was the old 7th, lanky taking control as shortie again went OB. A tap in birdie followed by another at the old 8th suggested the guest was perhaps going to see something special. Lanky has an eagle putt at 16 and tells the short one not to bother with his birdie attempt but subsequently knocks it four feet past, both of them missing their next putts so the guest has to record a 5 while meekly suggesting to the lanky one ' why did you not allow your partner the opportunity of a 'free putt?'
As it is a Sunday, I can only say that I was told in no uncertain terms that he had been a member for thirty five years and does not need advice on what to do. With this the guest confessed to only being a member for thirty four years and offered an apology.

The 17th and the short one hits a good drive just off the green, lanky pulls it left, albeit a good strike. Short one, fed up with lanky contemplating what to do, duly chips in for an eagle. Usain Bolt, although the same height, could not have out sprinted lanky up the hill. The 18th then and a 56 is on if they can manage a birdie. Lanky and shortie both hit the green and lanky again puts the faith in the short one by not holing his par putt but the short one's par is enough for the guest to sign for a Heinz variety. Off then to the 19th for a repeat of my breakfast.

My Ear Candy #3 Cllr Wendy Agnew

Mearns FM broadcasts from Stonehaven Town Hall where we have a pleasant wee studio at the rear of the building. There is however one drawback, if the town hall is hosting a raucous live band the din drifts through to the studio and can be heard in the background by listeners across the Mearns. Last night the wonderful Chandeliers brought the house down with a terrific set but played so loud that my microphone in the back studio was shaking like a leaf and picking up their output for the whole of the Mearns to hear. Before you say it, I accept this was a blessing for listeners, my hogwash being drowned out by a Chandeliers cover of 'Paint It Black'. It was all good fun and testament to the efforts made in our community to provide entertainment for its people, I just hope the band don't expect royalties for the inadvertent broadcasting of their material, I'm skint.

Wendy Agnew was my special guest tonight and she spoke about her work as a Councillor, in particular her commitment to flood prevention here in Stonehaven. 2009 was traumatic for many households in the old town and steps have been taken to prevent or reduce damage should the floods rear their ugly heads once again. A further passion is the set up of a 'furniture fair', a second hand furniture facility providing for the needy in our community, more news of this will be released in the New Year.

I confess the music Wendy shared would not have appeared on a wish list of my own however it was largely listenable (if that isn't damning someone's musical tastes with faint praise). The classical music I enjoyed especially, quite a diversion from the jangly guitar stuff I favour, and anyone not appreciative of Louis Armstrong's 'We Have All The Time In The World' is surely tone deaf.

So, a splendid show all in all. Thanks to The Chandeliers for the backing track and Wendy for her selections. Next week we have another special guest, Bryan Duncan, who's a pillar of our community with the work he carries out at Stonehaven Community Centre assisting those of us, me included, in their recovery from addictions and the stuff of life. Tune in to www.mearnsfm.com Friday night 7-9pm.

Wendy's selections
1. Black Or White - Michael Jackson
2. Clarinet Concerto in A major - Mozart
3. Man In The Mirror - Michael Jackson
4. Adagio in G minor (strings)- Aldinoni
5. All The Time In The World - Louis Armstrong
6. Land Of Hope And Glory - Elgar

I believe I can claim without fear of contradiction that I'm the first person to have broadcast updates of an Aston Villa v Wigan Athletic fixture to an Aberdeenshire listenership. With the welcome assistance of an online Villa fans' forum and regular reports on social media from Jack Douglas perched on his Pittodrie seat, I was able to intermingle indy music tracks with football match updates from the Villa and Aberdeen matches today and great fun it was too.

Jack shivered through Aberdeen's dull goalless draw, his reports providing good value. " Sun setting pleasantly over the Merkland Stand" was the highlight of the first half and "booed off" says it all about the second. Meanwhile I was being appraised of the Villa game by the match thread on Heroes & Villains which bemoaned a game equally as awful. Comments here included -

"blimey this is turgid" - Hampshire Villain

" I'm desperately thinking of ways to stave off the boredom. Would anyone like to have a fight" - Jimbo

...but then came the 88th minute, Jack Grealish postage stamping a 25 yard winner and a broadcaster several hundred miles north of Villa Park was rendered speechless.  Ironically and beautifully, I was having to broadcast from Stonehaven Town Hall's broom cupboard. The town hall was hosting a pantomime and our studio had been given over to the cast for costume changes. The floor manager, a bluenose from Solihull would you believe, triumphantly packed me off to the cleaner's mess but I had the last laugh since we won and Blues got mullered. Sweet.

Thanks to Jack Douglas and the H&V crew for providing the entertainment today, your contributions were invaluable. The music came from various indy bands of my choice, tune in next time if you want to enjoy the fun - Boxing Day sees Villa v Burton Albion, rock and roll.

My Ear Candy #2 Catherine MacDonald

Last night's Ear Candy slot was a hoot, many thanks to Catherine MacDonald for providing her five favourite tracks. No, I'll rephrase that, thanks Catherine for turning up but forgive me for not congratulating you on the selections themselves.

2/5 ain't bad but the other three left a fair bit to be desired, foe example ploughing through Kate Bush's Wuthering Heights proved a true test of fortitude. We agreed on air that this was a song you might have fond memories of but halfway through realise it really wasn't 'all that' after all. Meandering limply to a climax, it jettisoned any tempo the show had built up prior to it's playing, cheers Catherine.

Thankfully Big Country and REM restored order and we managed to salvage some degree of respectability which appeared impossible at the outset when opening up with Marillion. I have to put my hands up and confess utter contempt for Marillion. I remember only one thing about them, a bald whale of a frontman (Fish) singing 'Kayleigh' back in the 80s, a dirge with no redeeming features. However, oblivious to me, they've spent the last three decades Fish-less and producing music with a different style. I've no intention of enlisting in their fan club but the track Catherine played was bearable if not jaw dropping so perhaps I've had a lesson there in the folly of being judgemental.

Lenny Helsing joins me next Friday (Dec 2nd) to share his favourite five tracks. It must be a virtual impossibility for a muso such as him who's played in bands forever, to narrow his favourites down to five, but I have faith he can provide us with ear candy and not ear wax. He'd better.

Catherine's selections
1. Marillion - Afraid Of Sunlight
2. Joe Jackson - Stepping Out
3. Kate Bush - Wuthering Heights
4. Big Country - Chance
5. REM - At My Most Beautiful

My Ear Candy #1 - Cllr George Carr

My 'Ear Candy' slot was launched on Mearns FM last week,  Councillor George Carr kindly sharing his six favourite tracks with my ever burgeoning listenership. George was a top bloke, easy company and a great conversationalist but I’ve learned an early lesson regards my ongoing musical street cred; if you let guests choose the music beware of cheese on a mighty scale.

George's opening selection called upon what I believe to be Mearns FM’s first ever exorcism, he chose ELO’s Mr Blue Sky, a cracking tune don’t get me wrong but also the music that Birmingham bleedin' City run out to before kick-off. The only way I was prepared to play this track was if it was bookended by thirty seconds of the music Villa run out to so I played Hurricane Smith’s ‘Theme From An Unmade Silent Movie’ either side. Next up was a pleasant Eighties dance/funk affair, so far so good, but it was downhill from there and I can confirm with some degree of confidence that I’ll never again close a show spinning Boney M’s ‘Rasputin’.

But the show is about the chat really and George was great value with tales of his life in local politics, the scouting movement, his grass specialism (lawns not smokes) and fireball swinging. He, rightly, had short shrift for my father getting whacked on the back by a fireball in ’83 when attempting to cross the high street ten minutes into the New Year and the enjoyment George had experienced in travelling the UK with the scouts was inspiring to hear. Thanks George, you're welcome any time.

Next up is Catherine MacDonald, a Stoney girl of my era so here’s hoping the sounds will be up to scratch this Friday. If not we can just reminisce over the glorious Commy nights.

George Carr’s selections.

1.       ELO – Mr Blue Sky

2.       Sheila B Devotion – Spacer

3.       Bruno Mars – Uptown Funk

4.       Maroon 5 - Tickets

5.       Rockwell – Somebody’s Watching You

6.    Boney M - Rasputin

Willie Donald SGC

(Sorry I missed your hair off Willie but there wasn't room if i was to fit in your beard!)

Well it was a pleasant send-off for Willie Donald at Fetteresso Church this week . Willie’s life clearly touched those of many given the numbers that turned out for him, the majority being fellow Stonehaven Golf Club members with friends from the bowling club and masonic lodge too. This was the opposite to a private family funeral and instead was a heartening reminder of how widely revered Willie was during his 73 years.

I respected Willie hugely and I’m confident  all those sat around me at Fetteresso Church on Thursday did too. He wasn’t much of a socialite or party raver, he was a steady eddie with a strong sense of duty to the community in which he lived, a super, reliable bloke. 

My fondest memories of him regard the encouragement he would give us as junior members in the early eighties. While many members walked on by without a word, Willie would always shuffle over for a brief chat then saunter away again serenaded by the jangling collection of keys that hung from his belt strap. He'd look like a jailer who’d forgotten his uniform. He wanted to encourage us, to welcome us to the club, he appreciated that a golf club only thrives when bringing through a conveyor belt of juniors and making sure those juniors build a genuine affinity to their local club. He would let you know if he felt you were out of line, those not repairing divots, leaving bunkers unraked or throwing clubs in fury were gently reprimanded but always  in a fashion that left you told, not humiliated.

Quite who can follow this man as the unofficial custodian of Stonehaven Golf Club I don’t know. There are several people equally as committed but you’d take decades to replicate the service that Willie devoted to his beloved club and he was such a unique character, irreplaceable really. His final weeks were difficult for him but spent right where he wished to be, in Stonehaven with a procession of welcome visitors around him. It’s people like Willie that restore any faith you might have been losing in humankind, a thoroughly decent, faithful and trustworthy chap who will be genuinely sadly missed.

No show Lenny

I presented my radio show (ooh get me!) for the third time last night. Another thirty three attempts and I might finally find the route around those damned faders, knobs, bells and whistles. It's like operating the Star Trek Enterprise console, instead of negotiating a spaceship through outer space though I'm trying to stave off that vilest of enemies; dead air.

A second of dead air feels like an hour, ten seconds a lifetime. The golden rule is to keep those airwaves occupied with music or talk, preferably good music and entertaining talk. I can't promise the latter but guarantee the former, my record collection officially classed as the greatest in the world. Last night I managed to minimise air of a dead variety however crashed a couple of tracks into one another, introduced songs incorrectly and bored listeners to death about Aston Villa. Still, it's my show, my rules, so there.

The studio is wicked (and I use that word simply to confirm that I'm indeed down with the kids). Moody lighting, warm atmosphere, an endless music library from which the most obscure track can be sourced. It's a thrill to have a million songs at your fingertips, to have the ability to pluck anything off the shelf and play it within seconds. I'm not sure listeners are enthralled when I spin a Wedding Present b-side but I view this as an educational public service to the good folk of the Mearns, and I don't even charge.

I'm kicking off a new slot next Friday called 'My Ear Candy', where special guests play us their favourite five tracks and tell us about themselves. It was due to start last night but my intended guest backed out via text as I was presenting the show. If you're reading this Lenny, you owe me bigtime sunshine, I had egg all over my face having to explain that my special guest would sooner pick up his wife from Laurencekirk train station than appear on my fledgling show. I've a mind to give you a damned good hiding but given I'm suffering with a bad back I'll let you off this time if you promise not to bail out like that again. I'm posting a pic of this man here (see above). If you encounter this individual feel free to pelt him with rotten fruit and boo him all the way to his front door.

Lording it up in Inverness

I'm 47 and last night I hosteled for only the second time in my life. Teenage Fanclub were playing in Inverness and I needed somewhere inexpensive to kip afterwards, it's preferable to falling asleep at the wheel driving back to Aberdeen.

Last time I stayed at a traveller's hostel was 1993 on my stag weekend in York. I remember nothing about it. This time I was able to soberly absorb the glory of hosteling and while possibly catching nits, found it a thoroughly pleasurable experience. The dormitory was shared by ten of us and was indeed grotesque, the bedclothes were minging, but in every other respect my stay was a delight. No prissy corporate welcome from a uniformed receptionist, instead a warm welcome from a heavily tattooed, black vested rocker who took my fourteen quid and exchanged my driving licence deposit for the room key. I dumped my gear, went to the gig, shuffled back and crashed for the night.

In the morning I chatted with a young Australian traveller in a communal lounge replete with flat screen telly, Netflix, wifi, guitar, books and Monopoly. Her travel log was fascinating, I departed inspired, with an only slightly dented bank balance and a dose of nits but these seemed a price worth paying. Up yours Premier Inn.

75 reasons to carry on

Stonehaven Golf Club is trialling a new course layout during the winter whereby the eighteen holes will be played in a different order. For those familiar with the course, you play the first four holes then the gully, then the field, then 5th-8th before playing the last three. I like it. The gruelling gully comes early in the round while you've still got some energy and since I broke my handicap with an imperious 75 in my first trial, I'm all for it. I vote Yes.

Ultimate Betrayal

I dropped into the golf club this week for a spot of lunch. Food was good, company too but my visit was somewhat spoiled by a cursory glance at the noticeboard as I departed. There on the winter league pairs sheet were the names ' Douglas & Ferguson', the Douglas referred to being the very same Keith Douglas whom I partnered in last season's event and carried to runners-up position. This was the first I'd heard that I'd been dropped, we'd had every intention of playing together again this season.

I have to say it comes to a pretty pass when the person you've played golf with every weekend for the entire winter league season, four months all told, sacks you without a word and chooses someone else to partner instead. I shouldn't be surprised, he has so little class, nevertheless it was somewhat chastening to learn of my dismissal through the backdoor rather than face to face. Well up yours Douglas, I hope your assault on this year's trophy falters spectacularly and you sink without trace you witless weasel. Good luck with your poisoned chalice Ferguson, you'll be needing a psychiatrist come Springtime I promise you.

Mearns FM this Thursday

Heard the gag about people having the perfect face for radio? Well I'll be proving that on Thursday when the good people at Mearns FM broadcast our talk about Stoney Baloney. I do have a good voice for radio but only if the audience understands a Brummy drawl so whether the good people of Kincardineshire understand a single word I utter remains to be seen. I've been interviewed on the radio before but it was on BBC Radio West Midlands, they crammed me in one Sunday morning between tips on growing radishes and a travel report detailing roadworks in Tipton. Rock and roll people.

I'm informed the red carpet for my appearance is being purchased from the finest furnishing company in Edinburgh so I'll be careful to check my shoes for dog dirt before stepping onto it from the limousine. My agent has informed the station about my rider requirements (white pudding supper, Mars bar and a can of coke) but I regret the autograph session has had to be canned since a satisfactory fee could not be agreed. If I could politely request all groupies form an orderly queue afterwards, we don't want anything unseemly when you fight over me.

Holte End reaches Aberdeen

This photo in the P&J last week has given me my cheapies and no mistake. Not the article itself but the photo. I've been trying to spread the word of Aston Villa to anyone who'd listen up here in Scotland for years, ever since first moving up in 1982, nobody has listened. So to hell with it, after over three decades banging my head against a brick wall, trying to explain who Villa were and that yes we're still 'all that' despite several seasons in the wilderness, extreme measures have been taken. When asked to submit a photo by the P&J to accompany the article about Stoney Baloney, I offered the above, a photo of me and my two brothers standing on Villa Park's Holte End taking a selfie in the packed stadium. How sweet to have Villa Park brought to the people of Aberdeen this way, finally Aston Villa have broken into Aberdeenshire. Up yours Delors! It's those little things in life you know!

Woeful Westwood

I have two Westwoods to blame for a rotten weekend, Lee and Ashley. The former muffed a tiddler on the closing hole on Saturday night to hand Ryder Cup momentum to America, the latter shilly shallied on the football allowing Preston to secure a decisive second goal in their defeat of Villa.

I can forgive Lee. He's been an integral member of winning Ryder Cup teams over the years so has earned his spurs. Ashley on the other hand epitomises all that's wrong with Aston Villa. He wasn't good enough for the Premiership and he's not up to Championship standard either yet he's a virtual ever present at Villa in recent seasons. He pulls out of tackles, scuffs shots, drifts in corners for keepers to gobble, never scores, can't beat an egg and has no pace whatever. He can point a lot and he applauds the travelling support after the final whistle, this is the sum of his contribution to AVFC and he has to go. Likeable bloke, good looking lad, I'm sure his Mum loves him but if my football club has ambitions of returning to even a shadow of former glory he shouldn't be anywhere near our first team.

Back to Lee and the Ryder Cup, it wasn't ineptitude that cost him his match but simply a dose of the squits while delivering a monumental putt. You can forgive him his miss given the match had been competitive enough to reach the 18th green, Ashley on the other hand, in golfing parlance, would have been handed his dog licence if Marjorie Proops had played him left handed. Defeat with honour is acceptable, surrendering week after week and hiding all over the pitch is not. Lee you are hereby forgiven, Ashley please accept this one way ticket to oblivion and take all your team mates with you.

AVFC Supporters Club - Auchenblae branch

Following my relocation last summer, it's taken longer than anticipated to build the Auchenblae branch of the Aston Villa Supporters Club. I had some early success when strong arming my three year old son Ernie into a subscription but there have been no additional enquiries since then. I can't quite put my finger on what the problem is.

It's over thirty years since I last lived in this area, when Villa were European champions, the darlings of English football, even Cloughie admired us. We were sexy then, blonde haired poster boy Gary Shaw scoring goals, toothless keeper Jimmy Rimmer saving them, captain caveman Dennis Mortimer bulldozing his teammates to glory. Great side, big support, even our iconic kit and match day programmes won awards until it all came crashing down with a humiliating relegation in 1987. We've never truly recovered. Yes we've enjoyed sporadic flirtations with second string silverware, winning a brace of league cups before fluffing our lines in two FA Cup finals, but a repeat of full former glories has eluded us comprehensively.

In particular the Chelsea defeat in the 2000 Cup Final epitomised the reasons for the dearth of interest that Aston Villa now suffer in British outposts. That day we stank out world club football's set piece event so pungently with a lily livered surrender that the public has never forgiven us. Like a drunken Uncle sabotaging his nephew's christening, our irredeemable display cast us asunder in the hearts and minds of hitherto empathetic football followers, many of whom might have favoured Villa as their 'second club'. Gone was the goodwill and bonhomie, replaced by grudge filled resentment. Even the kit we wore that day betrayed the club, the players looking like they'd left their pyjamas on. It was a turning point, Villa unofficially dropped by distant admirers and consigned to shoulder shrugging status. Leicester City beware, your time may also come.

Recent seasons have seen Villa competing purely as Premiership make weights and latterly, cannon fodder. For years the annual dalliance with relegation miraculously ended happily until last season demotion was achieved with such sustained haplessness that even Blues fans felt sorry for us. Such ignominy awoke the Villa faithful from their Lerner induced comas and they were compelled to tell the club just what they thought of the malaise. The final straw was the attitude exhibited by Villa's players who cocked a snook at fans with ill chosen social media faux pas, confirming their indifference to the club and obsession with wealth's trinkets. Supporters' patience snapped, gallows humour was replaced with furious protest, having lurched from one rock bottom to another fans had seen enough. The roll call of ritual humiliation in recent seasons had 'boasted' regular cup exits to lower league opposition including a semi to Bradford City, routine local derby defeats, three victories in an entire season, ten games without a goal, and these just a glimpse of the torture suffered by a once proud club, a founder member of the league. It was almost a relief when we were relegated last season, relegated with knobs on, the inevitability obvious before we'd even started the reverse fixtures in December.

Will the worm turn? Can Aberdeenshire's coach companies expect fortnightly excursions to the West Midlands or will a Ford Fiesta continue to suffice? There's a lot of making up to do by Aston Villa, not least to their own supporters. How can the club expect to win new recruits if the existing faithful remain disillusioned? A season long restitution period is called for culminating in direct promotion, not a sassy shuffle through the playoffs, perhaps then a bridge might be built with the faithful and foundations laid to entice further followers. Perhaps then I can plan the Aberdeenshire supporters club's growth, meantime committee meetings can remain in my lad's bedroom.

Gettin' the needle

The base of my back will be in receipt of a surgeon's needle on Thursday, my immediate golfing future will then be decided. Three slipped discs have put paid to hopes of regular golf, the backswing is bearable but the through swing tortuous, that's from both the player's and spectators' perspectives I grant you. The surgical procedure I face on Thursday is aimed at freeing up a trapped nerve while reducing inflammation, at least that's my understanding, you just put yourself in the hands of the professionals don't you, entrusting their expertise. I love my golf so this damp squib of a season has been difficult to stomach particularly since it's my first year back at Stonehaven Golf Club after three decades away.

My hope is for a speedy return to the Stonehaven fairways, not that my ball often finds them, back to a piece of land I consider home. Perhaps it's because I'm one of life's sojourners that I've never felt a sense of belonging to a certain town or city, I've hopped around so frequently that I've never considered an individual place as home, except Stonehaven's golf course. The expanse of turf between first tee and eighteenth green has the capacity to becalm me, the rigours of life that crowd my head banished for a time. There's something reaffirming about the familiarity of the terrain, an absolute constant in my life while so much around me has changed or is in mid turmoil. The humps on the 1st , the ravine that separates tee and green on the 15th, the spectacular Skatie Shore beneath the 7th tee, all of these and more were there when I played Stoney in the 80s, they're still here now and will remain long after I've gone. In a life devoid of structure, these constants have significance.

Familiarity may breed contempt, but not where my relationship with Stonehaven's golf course is concerned, instead it breeds love and respect. I may love it but have never mastered it, being fully cogniscent of its humps and hollows doesn't insulate my golf ball from these perils. It's an unforgiving stretch of turf, our long standing friendship hasn't softened its approach to my game, the course remains unyielding and punishing at times. My loyalty goes unrewarded in terms of numbers recorded on the scorecard but is rewarded one hundredfold with satisfaction, peace and pride. There really is no other place on earth I'd rather be, I've found eutopia.

Junior Golf...stalwarts of tomorrow

Super to see so many junior members enjoying their golf up at Stoney this afternoon. Hats off to the adults who accompany them, a lie down with a cold flannel on the forehead is surely the order of the day. Players ages range from 8 upwards so some of the younger participants become somewhat, let's say, 'exuberant'. They don't mean any harm but their lack of spacial awareness tempts decapitation as they amble into each other's swing arc mid tee shot, the adults supervising die a thousand deaths as they look on helplessly. 

The etiquette, or absence of it, is understandable yet hilarious. Personal favourites; speaking in each other's backswings, standing unabashed upon putter's lines, alighting at the greenside to count up the score while the group behind wait to play, it's all there but is entirely innocent so instantly forgivable. And to tell the truth, these things don't irk the juniors they just irritate the adults and given the tee is devoted to them for a couple of hours, to my mind they can roll how they want to. They're the future these kids, golf clubs would crumble without the next generation coming through so thanks to each one of you for sharing this game and club with us. We look forward to you plonking your drives past ours before long.

Audio version one step closer

Well we sure turned the air blue recording the audio version of Stoney Baloney tonight. Keith Douglas's potty mouth was in full effect, I'd have recorded bleeps over his swearing but it would have ended up sounding like a dead person flatlining. He seemed intrigued by the book's ending, a touch of poetic licence had been used, but if I'm the one who could be arsed to write the bleeding thing I can say what I bloody well like, end of.

The book is selling well, several outlets are looking to stock it now so you won't struggle to buy a copy (or have an excuse not to). As things stand they're available at the golf club, RBS & Bank Of Scotland in Stonehaven, Jenni Mac's (get yourself a delicious sandwich while you're in there) and online via Amazon. The audio version aint far away but make sure the kids aren't around when you press 'Play'.

Banchory tankory

Well that's my golf over for the season, serves me right for playing with three slipped discs. I dosed up on painkillers but they'd outlived their usefulness by the fourth green and the remainder of the round was like a slow death. Banchory isn't a tough track but try it with an electric shock searing up your coccyx every time you strike the ball, it ain't funny.

No golf for me then but I'll be up at Stoney Golf Club for Captain's Day this weekend where members will graciously contribute cash for the RNLI and Rotary. In return they'll receive Stoney Baloney, a page turning opus to rival Dostoyevsky for international acclaim. Seven sovereigns and you could be a proud owner. I'll be at Stonehaven's Harbour Festival on Sunday too, just follow the crowds, I'll be the one signing autographs and agreeing to selfies next to my yacht in the harbour.

Fame! I'm gonna live forever...

It's early days but so far the reviews of my book have been encouraging.

'this is some sort of joke right?' - Auchenblae Messenger

'this book's a triumph...if you have a wonky coffee table to steady' - P&J

'he's no son of mine' - my mother

'absolute rubbish' - Mearns Leader

The book launch on Saturday wasn't quite the spectacle I'd hoped for, somewhat lacking in pizzazz. The signs weren't good when The Chuckle Brothers cancelled, they were going to cut the tape but took a last minute booking at Accrington Baths for a kids swimming gala instead. Charming. The helium balloons I'd bought were hijacked by kids who used them to make silly voices and the shop owner's dog cocked his leg over my first box of books. The anticipated queue from car park to front door wasn't disorderly thanks chiefly to its non existence and when finally a couple of people did pitch up I was to discover they'd got lost and simply wanted directions to the bogs.

Hey ho, we'll go again this weekend with a relaunch at Stonehaven Golf Club. It's Captain's Day so perhaps club members will dig deep, I suggest they do or they'll discover how deep I can dig ...down at the cemetery by the 18th green. Plenty room for more bodies down there.

And release....

And it came to pass on a sunny Auchenblae morn, that a grumpy parcel delivery driver with rancid body odour did alight at Chez Russon, offload seven hundred and fifty copies of Stoney Baloney and disappear without trace. Verily therefore, I do now stand the proud owner of twenty two boxes containing books that I hope will presently wing their way via my front room to bedside tables across the land.

Stoney Baloney is an account of golfing escapades fair and foul at Stonehaven Golf Club, with heated competition, stand up rows and ill timed wind breaking. Who knew golf could get so feisty in a sleepy, coastal town? If you have as much pleasure in reading this book as I had in writing it then we'll both be happy, either way two exceptional charities in the RNLI and Rotary will benefit from the proceeds.

The book is available in paperback directly from Stonehaven Golf Club, Jenny Macs or RBS in Stoney, via Amazon Kindle or by dropping me a line at naffgolfer@gmail.com. The suggested price is £7 (£8.50 with postage & packing) but with all proceeds going to charity feel free to sneak a little more into the pot should you see fit!

Thank you very much for your support.
Severiano Russon

Return Of The Hack

I played my first round of golf in three months today, the lengthy layoff induced by a worsening back injury having carried Keith Douglas through the winter league. A respectable return to the game it was too, 75 blows not too shabby for a forty something dosed up on enough ibuprofen to neutralise a buffalo. I played with a couple of newish members from Aberdeen on a warm and occasionally showery morning, the views as terrific as ever, a tranquil sea stretching for miles and Dunnottar Castle clearly visible along the coastline. 

Lowlights of the round included a hooked tee shot onto the practice green when attempting to drive the last hole and a chunked approach on the 16th which moved the fairway a foot closer to the clubhouse. One of the other guys produced a spectacular shank on the 8th which disappeared into the North Sea and the guy ahead of us played his second shot on the 3rd from a position twenty yards behind the tee, he'd ricocheted his drive off the yellow tee box in front of him, quite a feat.

Highlights of the round were my consummate birdie on 17 and the quality of the boiled eggs I consumed on the 12th fairway. This gluten free diet means I've had to swap crisps for eggs and chips for fruit, it was no fun to begin with but I'm getting used to it now, although my guffs are emptying the clubhouse in ten seconds flat. Todays score gives me the encouragement to play again next week, perhaps I'll aim for the double whammy of shooting 74 and pickling the eggs this time to improve my clubhouse clearing personal best time from ten seconds to five.

Finito

Well that's the book finished. It's taken eight months to write and the release date is estimated for September. 80% of it's about Stonehaven Golf Club, in particular the winter league, the rest being snippets about this, that and the other. I've been as fair as I can to the main characters but expect Keith Douglas to find certain parts uncomfortable, I've sent him the manuscript so he can ratify it's publication first, but he'll probably need someone to read it to him. Without giving away the ending, I can confirm that one of us comes out smelling of roses and the other of horsesh*t. All will be revealed.

As for my golf, well it's non existent since the winter league. My three slipped discs don't lend themselves to quality golf, I've only played once in eight weeks and that was an eight hole fiasco. All being well I'll be fit again by the time next season's winter league takes shape, I might give the Singles a whirl this time unless Douglas pays me appearance money for partnering him again.

Ten weeks to glory.

My assault on this year’s scratch championship isn't getting off to a great start. I’ve got the talent, no question, and the mental fortitude to deal with high pressure situations, it’s just my health. I hobbled off Royal Aberdeen after 14 holes recently and finished my round at Forfar crawling on my hands and knees, I’ve not played since. It’s my back. I had an MRI scan and get the results in a week, that’s  if the radiographer hasn’t reported me for exposure. It wasn’t my fault the gown fell open to reveal my furniture, she didn’t tell me I could leave my Y-fronts on.

Meantime, I’m continuing a rehabilitation process recommended by my physio, she wangled me a free four week membership at the Nuffield, a posh gym in town. I’m not exercising to lose three stone and clinch a modelling contract, I’m there to keep my back supple and create a sense of overall mental wellbeing ahead of the championship, nevertheless, it’s chastening to enter a changing room littered with firm muscles and tanned skin when you’ve got a physique like Christopher Biggins. I carry fifteen stones of blubber, a wobbly blancmange of midriff beneath an unsightly moob mountain, I couldn't get my gear on quick enough in the changing rooms for fear of anyone seeing me naked, I then took the lift up to the gymnasium, after I’d evacuated my bowels.

I spent a half hour on the cross trainer before visiting the stretching area to do ‘the plank’, a static stretch in the press up position aimed at strengthening the base of your spine. Trouble is my back is so weak that I was shuddering like a sh#tting puppy so I had to pack that stretch in sharpish, I went back on the cardio for a few more minutes then called this first session quits. Returning to the changing rooms, l caught a glimpse of my naked self in the mirror. My word am I out of shape, a grotesque wobble fest of palid lard, a sobering sight indeed . I wrapped a towel around my girth to conceal my glory but did it too tightly, my moobs now even more prominent, hanging forlornly above the towel band.  I know I’m not built like a brick outhouse or likely to be nominated as the next Bond, but the rolls of flab crowning my hips and puffy man breasts covering my ribs were a horrific sight indeed.

So it’s now dawned on me that a diet of pies, chips and puddings will not benefit my bid to win the championship. Strapping myself in every teatime for mammoth belch inducing, bowel busting festivals of food will no longer do. This visit to the gym has fortified my resolve to get in shape, a sensible diet alongside a ten week fitness regime will have me turning up on the first tee for the championship looking like a Greek God. Lack of practice isn’t an issue, class is permanent and I’ll turn on the birdies like a tap, I just need to ensure my fitness is such that I can complete the 72 holes. I start tomorrow (after I’ve watched the football and polished off tonight’s takeaway leftovers). Look out Stoney, there’s a new sheriff coming to town.

Back pain

My physiotherapist has given up on me and my ailing back but doesn’t have the courage to admit it. Instead she piles up the goose chases, the latest of which is the suggestion of cognitive therapy, my back pain might be in my head she says, messages my brain sends to my lower back, or vice versa, can’t remember which, apparently magnify any perceived pain. I’ve trained my mind to expect pain, it looks out for it and when it appears my brain catastrophises it, telling me it’s more intense than is the actuality, says she. It’s all very interesting and a video presentation by an Australian professor by the name of Lorimer describes in detail the relationship between brain signals and nerve endings, apparently we choose to select a voracity of pain depending on the situation we’re in. Stubbing your toe, for example, as you enter the house after a rotten day at work is more painful than stubbing it on the steps as you embark on a flight to your jollies in Torremolinos. You dwell on the pain caused by the former but brush off the inconvenience brought on by the latter.

Fair point, so I decided to take this concept onto the golf course. It didn’t work, although I’m not sure I was fully committed. I had a word with myself as I addressed my golf ball. Usually my lower back pain goes through phases as I swing the club, it starts with a dull ache, graduates to a sharp twinge in the backswing and reaches a crescendo of minor agonies upon impact, the follow through being equally traumatic . Today though I silently repeated a mantra to convince myself that this would not hurt, this would not hurt, this would not hurt. I’m not sure my heart was in it to be frank but repeating the phrase was at least some sort of concession to my physio and Professor Lorimer, after all, I’d tried everything else without any consequent signs of improvement. I was imploring my brain not to sense any pain and my lower back not to send any signals to that effect either although I was still confused as to which part of my body was sending signals and which part was deciphering them but this was immaterial quite frankly. With hope rather than expectation I took the club back, brought it down and before finishing my swing, cramped up in a convulsion of bloody agony. Believe me, mantra chanting is not all it’s cracked up to be, I couldn’t even look up to see where the ball went it was so blinking painful. I tried a couple of times more but there was no improvement, Lorimer could do one, back to the drawing board.

Or should I say back to the physio. I returned to see her the following week to share my experience. I’d not given it long she claimed, fair enough I suppose, but another element now needed to be brought in from a psychological perspective according to her, in an effort to distract my mind from a) the pain and b) the overemphasis I’d been placing on golf in my life. Her attitude was that I’d set myself up for a fall in that I’d convinced myself that I couldn’t cope without golf in my life, it’s exclusion would decimate my week, I had nothing else to focus on, I’d built it up as some sort of idol in my life. I needed to reduce the importance I put on golf and turn my attention to other endeavours she suggested, cooking or jigsaws for example. If I told my brain golf wasn’t critical, it would take attention off my back pain because my back pain was telling me I couldn’t play golf. Or something like that.  So, always one to embrace new initiatives, I made the family a beef cobbler the following day and started a thousand piece puzzle of a Mediterranean bay. That night I still went to bed with a sore back, at 2am after a marathon jigsaw session, and the following morning the family took a dose of the squits because I’d not cooked the meat through. Back once again to the drawing board.

She’s probably right about golf being too high a priority in my life but that’s the way it is I’m afraid. I’m too old for football, too out of shape for running and not interested in much else. It’s a good walk in the fresh air at the very least, even if you’re playing like a camel, and when you’re playing acceptably it’s tremendously rewarding. No, golf would remain in itself rightful place at the summit of my extra curricular activity list and nothing was gonna stop me. My physio and doctor would just have to persevere, do what they were paid to do and find a remedy. Stretches and exercises hadn’t worked, nor had manipulation, acupuncture, painkillers or an anal investigation to establish whether I was carrying something more sinister. Cognotive therapy, cooking and jigsaw puzzles had accomplished diddly so I fixed yet another appointment with the quack and he booked me in for an MRI scan to see if there was anything wrong with me structurally. It’s set for three weeks hence, enough time to complete my jigsaw and recover from beef cobbler induced trots.

Club Championship challenge starts here

With the Winter League triumph duly accomplished (following McGilvary & Dempster’s disqualification) it’s time now for a fresh challenge. Too many people revel in former glories and pass up the opportunity to create new adventures, achieve further success. Not I. While autograph hunters congratulate me on my latest accomplishment, my mind turns to the next challenge, I now set my sights on the Stonehaven Club Championship, it would be a fitting accolade on the thirtieth anniversary of my Junior Championship victory in 1986. Back then I brushed the field aside before defeating Frank McCarron in an eighteen hole playoff, this time I will not prolong the agony, I’ll have the tournament done and dusted within four rounds, no messing.

Regrettably the committee have been putting me under undue duress to ‘fix’ a playoff scenario whereby I tie the lead after 72 holes and return for an 18 hole playoff, their argument being that the inevitable crowds of spectators would generate significant income in clubhouse bar sales. It was a rather grubby arrangement but I kinda understood where they were coming from, however I declined their tawdry initiative once they bolted on a clause waiving my right to an appearance fee. I’m a proud member of Stonehaven Golf Club and don’t want it’s good name dragged down by shady deals such as this, perhaps instead they can pressurise fellow members to up their game sufficiently to provide me with a bit of competition instead.

You have to earn the club championship, no-one gifts it to you, and to this end I have already commenced my preparations for the 2016 Championship. By the way, I’m not mucking around with the handicap division either, I’m talking the Scratch Championship, no handicaps, no excuses, just full on barefoot golf. I welcome all-comers; former champions, the current champion, young bucks who think they’re Billy Bigtime, anyone brave enough to have a go if they think they’re hard enough. And those of you buckling at the knees with this announcement can thank Craig McKechnie. I was quite content nominating the RBS Pairs title as my next target but our entry to the competition wasn’t accepted, McKechnie turned up to put our names on the board but got piss#d in the bar instead and forgot. By the time I'd clocked on to his oversight we’d missed the deadline.

So I now have the club championship in my sights instead. My approach will be to cultivate my game upon various courses in the region rather than prepare with the mindless pounding of balls on a driving range. Preparation is key, my agent has arranged tee-times at Forfar, Meldrum House, Muirfield and Auchenblae, and that’s just for starters. I’ll also be participating in minor Stonehaven GC competitions to stir my competitive juices ahead of July’s main event (eg. Texas Scramble, 2 Clubs & A Putter, ‘Lads On The Lash’ outing to Camperdown) but I shan’t overdo it.

Round 1 of my preparatory regime was undertaken yesterday at Forfar Golf Club alongside a couple of business associates (one of whom signed me in for twelve quid, pretty good deal that). I provide a copy of my scorecard above. You’ll notice a slightly shaky start as I open up with the number of the beast, double bogeying each of the first three holes to card 6,6,6. (I’d had a large lunch in Aberdeen and got stuck in traffic so sprinted onto the first tee which was not ideal preparation. A quick handshake, how do you do and wallop, away we went, my mind was still on the A90). Leaving aside the front nine, and okay the tenth hole too, I ripped the last eight holes apart to end with a creditable 84 including a glorious birdie on 11. Agreed, there’s room for improvement, but my 84 on a still, dry day off the yellows at a benign Forfar Golf Club can only strike fear into the hearts of pretenders to this year’s Stoney crown. Next stop Auchenblae on Tuesday night where I will of course, ahem, pay my dues in the honesty box by the unmanned starter’s hut. 

Speith I isn't

Watching the Masters on telly is a dangerous business for the amateur golfer, you sit in the comfort of your armchair and start to get ideas above your station. Next day you pitch up at the club thinking you can replicate what you have witnessed and worse, you reckon that because you're playing Stonehaven not Augusta, a course two thousand yards shorter and with flat greens not upturned saucers, that you'll make mincemeat of it. But there's an elephant in the room; you'll be using the same swing that took eighty five blows last week and not the purring machine which is Jordan Speith's action.

This weekend I fell foul of this very folly, convincing myself I was rather better than I am. Speith's majestic 66 still fresh in my mind, I turned up at Stoney with plans to marmalize the course record, instead I slapped and duffed my way to a sorrowful 79 in nigh on perfect conditions. What an anticlimax. I opened with a double bogey, closed with another and threw in a triple on the 7th for good measure. I'll spare you a blow by blow account, suffice to say Speith can sleep easy.

My playing partners, Bruce and Craig, performed well, particularly Bruce. His effortless 69 oozed confidence and Craig's improvement from last week was marked. It was squelchy underfoot and pitchmarks were deep, not though as deep as my displeasure at signing for a birdieless 79, the only saving grace being the avoidance of a snowman on my scorecard. I'll now take a fortnight's break to gather myself. Or take up snooker.

Innes Medal

Saturday's Innes Medal was our first comp of the season, I choked as if I had a chicken bone stuck in my throat, four putting the 17th. From twelve feet. There I was trying to protect a good score and instead I shat myself, my first putt charging a yard past the hole, the next muffed (didn't know you could hook putts) then I yipped my tap in to walk off with a triple bogey. I finished up two shots behind the winner when I should have been preparing the winner's speech. What a tosser. Hey ho, we go again next Saturday.

The law is an ASS

The law is an ass. I’ll say that again, the law is an ASS. How in heaven’s name I lost my court case against Keith Douglas today I will never ever know. I now face financial ruin. I rue the day I agreed to partner that pillock in the winter league, if I had my time again I’d tell him to sling his bleedin’ hook, instead I’ve to pay him £76,000 in damages for deformation of character and loss of reputation in the community. Loss of reputation? What bloody reputation? Everyone within a hundred miles knows the bloke’s a tosser, the judge must be on crack. 

Who’s idea was it to let a non-golfing judge preside over the case anyway?  He hadn’t a clue. I’m being charged for grossly defaming Douglas’s golf yet my video evidence of Douglas failing to reach the humps, twice, didn’t register with him at all. My brief then played footage of my own golf swing to show how it’s meant to be done and the judge laughed out loud. What would he know? Take a look at the video yourself (below), does that look like the swing of a duffer? The answer is no and to prove it you’ll notice an autograph hunter approaching me at the end of the clip. He got five grand for that autograph on EBay recently.

Seventy six thousand pounds. I haven’t got that kind of money. Worse, I’ve to pay the cretin’s legal fees too, that’s another forty grand. I’ll have to go bankrupt, I’ve got no choice, this means homelessness not just for me, but my wife and three kids too. She’ll leave me now, she’ll move in with her mother down south and take the kids with her. 

I hope you can look yourself in the mirror Douglas. There was no need for legal action, if you were a real man you’d have sorted it out away from the courts, we'd have had a scrap, but you knew you’d get a good hiding didn’t you? You bottled it you weakling. I’d have knocked your teeth so far down your throat you’d be flossing through your arsehole. I won’t forget this sunshine, you’ll get yours don’t worry. I can be patient, I don’t mind waiting, meantime make sure you look over your shoulder every corner you turn, you never know who might be behind you.  You will pay for this Douglas and that is a promise. 

See you in court Douglas

Now the winter league is over I no longer have to tolerate the insufferable cretin that is Keith Douglas. Not only am I free of this blithering idiot but I can concentrate on our forthcoming court case (he's trying to sue me for libel).

To this end I was gathering various pieces of evidence ahead of an appointment with my solicitor and stumbled across the following Facebook exchange. Perhaps this will give you an insight into the abuse I've had to suffer since making the mistake of accepting Douglas's plea for me to take part in the winter league.

This picture shows us in happier times. Never again.

Keith Douglas Your a Clown Russon!!!!!!

Like · Reply · 1 · 8 February at 17:02

Alex Russon See you in court Douglas

Like · Reply · 1 · 8 February at 18:42

Keith Douglas You will that!!!!!!!

Like · Reply · 1 · 8 February at 18:43

Alex Russon You'll need a better brief than you have a tailor you scruffbag

Like · Reply · 1 · 8 February at 18:49

Keith Douglas Another insult!!!! Keep it up!!!!!!

Like · Reply · 1 · 8 February at 19:13

Alex Russon Well since you insist, your feet stink.

Like · Reply · 1 · 8 February at 19:44

Barry Mcgillivray Superb.havnt laughed so much in ages

Like · Reply · 1 · 8 February at 20:31

Keith Douglas Away and throw s""the at yourself you p""ck

Like · Reply · 8 February at 21:50

Keith Douglas All gone quite Russon! Not like it back at you????

Like · Reply · 9 February at 20:39

Alex Russon I thought you were addressing Barry?

Like · Reply · 9 February at 21:10

Keith Douglas Don't have a problem with him!

Like · Reply · 9 February at 21:38

Alex Russon Are you startin' like?

Keith Douglas I'll finish it!!!!!!

Like · Reply · 9 February at 23:42

Alex Russon You reckon?You're hard as my first sh#te and that was a skitter.

Like · Reply · 10 February at 06:54

Keith Douglas You are just one big skitter!

Like · Reply · 10 February at 12:11

Alex Russon One big skitter who can put a 3 wood 30 yards past your driver any day of the week.

Like · Reply · 10 February at 17:59

Keith Douglas Aye and walk off with a double bogey you tit! Can't pitch or put to save your sad life!

Like · Reply · 10 February at 18:35

Alex Russon my A game comes in the summer, don't waste it in the winter. You'll see Douglas.

Like · Reply · 10 February at 18:40

Keith Douglas You'll be lucky if you see the summer! Especially at SGC

Like · Reply · 10 February at 18:41

Alex Russon Summer = my dazzling birdie blitz time. Buy some sunglasses.

Like · Reply · 10 February at 19:33

Keith Douglas Buy some lessons you idiot!

Like · Reply · 10 February at 19:41

Alex Russon No need. Form is temporary, class is permanent.

Like · Reply · 10 February at 19:43

Keith Douglas Lol clown

Alex Russon taks een tae ken een min

Like · Reply · 10 February at 20:04

Keith Douglas And stop speaking like that! You plank

Like · Reply · 10 February at 20:10

Alex Russon me a plank? if your brains were dynamite you couldn't blow your hat off Douglas.

Like · Reply · 10 February at 21:04

Keith Douglas Least I have a brain!

Like · Reply · 1 · 10 February at 21:14

Alex Russon try using it then you gormless oaf

Like · Reply · 1 · 10 February at 21:15

Keith Douglas I will when I choose a real partner next year!

Like · Reply · 10 February at 21:40

Alex Russon some other mug to replace flagsticks and listen to your guff all the way round, feel free

Like · Reply · 10 February at 21:41

Keith Douglas You've put 3 flags in in 6 rounds and marked the card twice! Which I suppose is more than the total holes you contribute per round you hacking muppet!!!!!

Alex Russon Up yours. I weigh in plenty.

Like · Reply · 10 February at 21:57

Keith Douglas Yeah you need go on a diet you fat f**k!!!!

Like · Reply · 10 February at 22:08

Alex Russon You call me fat! You're carrying more timber than the forestry commission you grotesque porker.

Like · Reply · 11 February at 09:54 · Edited

Keith Douglas Keep going Russon! You'll be getting sent back to where you come from at this rate! And THEY DONT WANT YOU EITHER! P"""k!!!!!!

Like · Reply · 11 February at 13:18

Alex Russon Not before I've given you a good hiding Douglas. Just been up the club and seen WL scores, we're trailing in other folk's wake thanks to your ineptitude.

Like · Reply · 11 February at 15:31

Keith Douglas Russon you've done F""k all so far so shut your F""king face before I knock you into next week! What a TIT!!!!

Like · Reply · 11 February at 15:38

Alex Russon You appear to be overlooking my barrage of birdies in round 3 while you were trying to work out which end of the club to use.

Like · Reply · 11 February at 17:14

Keith Douglas Lol! The only barrage you've had is a barrage of abuse towards me! Closest you've been to a birdie was when you almost hit a seagull floating in the North Sea!

Alex Russon At least I can make it past the humps you donkey.

Like · Reply · 11 February at 18:09

Keith Douglas Least I'm SCOTTISH!!!!!!!!!!!! Get it right UP YA!!!!! B

Like · Reply · 11 February at 18:22

Alex Russon What's your nationality got to do with the price of cheese? You could be Swahili for all I care but you still couldn't make it past the humps.

Like · Reply · 11 February at 18:32

Keith DouglasConstruction Think you'll find I wasn't short of the humps you clown! As for you hitting 3 trains last week! Your a joke min!!!!!!