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.