2021:1

It's been a funny old year. Again. You might have noticed that I can be mistaken for a creature of certainties - this is deceiving, I am rather a creature noisy only in my uncertainties. I am a catholic convert who is also a Unionist and sympathetic to the ministry of women. These are hardly the signatures of the adamantine. And 2021 has been a year that has seen my core prejudices shift under the pressure of events. I didn't want this to happen, Damn you 2021. Or should that be thank you?

I thought it might be interesting (for me really - this is my selfish space after all, that anyone else ever reads it is a constant source of joy and wonder)  to look back on the twelve months of this challenging year and to pick apart one event per month. This approach does not pretend science but might just cast some light on the shifting sands of my psyche.

On January 6 2001, an outgoing President of the United States repeated the lie that an election had been stolen from him. He did so knowing full well his own mendacity and desiring nothing more worthy than  to shore up his monstrous self-esteem. The results of his speech probably surprised him as much as they delighted the scumbag. An insurrection followed and people died in the human mess that Trump stirred up. The United States of America had surrendered its right to be the beacon of the free West. That great and sadly diminished country has replaced the megalomaniac Donald with a decent geriatric who cannot control his own idiotic left wing. As the Washington Post trumpets - democracy dies in darkness. 

As I write this the sclerotic state of American politics persists. The party of (as we are tiresomely reminded) Abraham Lincoln remains in thrall to a bouffoned kleptocrat and lacks the morality to call him what he is. Meanwhile the party of JFK spews the idiot identity politics that pass for intellectualism in diminished circles. Meanwhile we are invited to take comfort in the knowledge that if anything happens to the dotard Biden, Kamala Harris will take over. This does not help.

 

 

Twelve Films At Christmas - 10, 11 & 12

A mixed bag today but that rather fits the bill for a modern Christmas, that provocative mixture of God and Mammon. On the train to a sparsely attended (the majority of ticket holders presumably scared away by the dread Covid) but magnificent Maddy Prior/Carnival Band concert I observed less than sanguinely the painful and foul outpourings of the unmasked. I have no scientific standing to support or condemn the wearing of masks but once a duly elected authority has recommended donning the wretched things, it seems to me to be the decent thing to put up with it. And don't fuck about on trains - it's ill-mannered. But any discontent was dispelled by the talent on display on stage and the sheer decency of the company we kept that night. A man is blessed who has such friends.

Anyway, those films. A very worthy movie to kick us off. Worth asks the supremely difficult question - what is a life worth? I won't spoil it for you but I will simply say this - this wizened old lawyer was sufficiently moved to feel that all young lawyers should be made to watch this film. If they did they might  better understand the importance of doing their job with humility. 73/100. 

Next a supremely silly film but one that wears its silliness well. Unlike the similarly plotted but earnest Olympus Has Fallen, White House Down metaphorically winks at its audience even as deadlier and deadlier weapons are unleashed by the military-industrial complex. It's pointedly daft but nicely done. James Woods chews the scenery to good effect as the sort of security chief you are grateful was not around on January 6 when a whole slab of America got divorced from its senses. It is directed by Roland Emmerich and it goes some (but decidedly not all) of the way towards making up for his delivery of the specious pile of crap that is Anonymous. White House Down - despite myself I enjoyed it. 60/100.  

Finally, another Aardman Animation (we have already had Arthur Christmas), in fact their first feature-length effort. It's not Toy Story but then very little is. Chicken Run, a plasticine pastiche of The Great Escape (a joke which will of course have been lost on its target child audience but which will bring them back to the film in later life - quite likely at Christmas) is charming and funny. I didn't set out to watch it when it screened earlier this week but caught the beginning and found myself staying to the end - I have seen it before but the humour remains winning. 70/100.    

Advent 24

On 12th October 1974 (Founder's Day therefore no school) a gaggle of us hired clubs and played our first game of golf. The venue was Pype Hayes, reputed to be the busiest course in the country. In those days it was a municipal facility, complete with pro shop (where the avuncular Phil Rudge held sway) and cafe. The City of Birmingham has long since handed the course (and its other municipal cousins) to the tender mercies of MyTime Active but the policy of access to all has been maintained. There is no resident pro any longer but there is a rather more plush clubhouse with a bar, function room and a lavish gym upstairs. It is a symbol of inclusivity in a game that can struggle on that front.

Our two pictures show the shell of the old clubhouse after arson a decade ago, and the current structure that replaced it. We have now come full circle, because to date my first and last games of golf have been played on the same course. That will change but it has a nice circularity about it for now.

My favourite hole on this course is proof that things do not have to be left unchanged to be good. When I played that first round, the 13th was a decent enough par 4. It has now been remodelled as a devilish par 5. It curves from left to right and all the way from tee to green it tempts you to play too safely right. It may lack the class and conditioning of all the other holes assembled in this calendar but it is a real tester for this inveterate left-handed slicer and it feels like a spiritual home.

As I say every year, Happy Christmas and may your god go with you.

Advent 23

I have already nominated the 1st at Waterford as the most fearsome opener that I have encountered. But this is my list and so I have to qualify/change that opinion.

The Berkshire is a very plush golf club - its two brilliant courses inseparable in merit, hence their egalitarian names - simply the Red and the Blue. The Red is perhaps marginally more noted because of its unusual distribution of holes - six par 3s, six 4s, six 5s. It is however the 1st hole on the Blue that makes my list. The drama of this 210 yard par 3 unfolds before the window of the palatial clubhouse. The mind's eye is captured by the sea of heather and the cavernous bunker on the right. Intimidating.

I got to play both Red and Blue thanks to the generosity of WJRM. We played the Blue in the morning and then enjoyed a sumptuous carvery for lunch. I'm honestly not making this up - the locker-room attendant comes round during lunch and cleans your golf shoes.  They don't do that at the Royal Pype Hayes.

Twelve Films At Christmas - 9

Harry Lime is dead - or is he? Harry Lime is a good man - or is he? Joseph Cotten's naive writer must find out the truth about his friend, played memorably by that most charismatic of men, Orson Welles. The unravelling of these questions is the canvas for a truly great film. You can bandy around enthusiastic opinions on film, but sometimes, just sometimes, superlatives have to be unleashed. And, oh, that zither music.

Vienna is a city still off-kilter in the aftermath of war - Carol Reed's camera angles emphasise the lack of balance. Cotten is pitch perfect in the lead and Welles steals scenes with easy larceny. Underpinning it all is Graham Greene's acid script. Cinema can ascend to high art - this is an example. The Third Man. 95/100. The greatest British movie ever made?

Advent 22

I have already lauded this hole earlier this year when I played it in the company of the Dunmore lads. It is the 4th on the Dukes at Woburn. Only 375 yards but a feast for the eyes.

You have just completed the scenic descent to the green of the justly renowned 3rd hole and you now turn your attention to the flawless tree-lined 4th. You feel alone with your playing companions, the forest secluding you from other golfers. Stunning.

Advent 21

'If you could only play one course for the rest of your life, which would it be?' This hoary old question is a bar room favourite but I have my answer ready and waiting. It would be Sutton Coldfield. I had the privilege of being a member there but eventually resigned because I quite simply was not playing enough golf.

It is another Mackenzie course, running through the common land of Sutton Park. It has that springy heathland turf that invites a good strike. On the front nine there is the unusual feature of three consecutive par 5s and I choose the middle of these, the 6th, for today's entry. It curves its way up towards the Jamboree Stone car park so there is often the added piquancy of a few spectators/dog walkers to make the golfer feel self-conscious. 520 yards of fun. 

Advent 20

You won't need telling that I am a fan of golf (nay life) in Ireland. Of the courses we played in our sadly now discontinued excursions to the Dunmore Classic (tempus fugit and we couldn't carry on at that pace) the best of them was the Old Course at Tramore. The 'Old' is important because the golf club (like many in that great island) found themselves fleetingly awash with money and built an extra nine holes which are too modern in idiom and threaten to ruin the atmosphere of the original course. Oh well.

I have reproduced the card of the Old Course (the distances are in metres, lest you mistake it for a pushover) so that you can judge what a well-balanced challenge it, notwithstanding some dubious architectural interventions, remains.

The 17th may not be long but it is an exquisite piece of design. It turns, late in its course, sharply to the left such that your driving area is deceptively confined - you have to go counter-intuitively wide right. The green itself is a work of art, very wide but shallow. All framed by mature trees. 

Twelve Films At Christmas - 7 & 8

Today a Korean couplet telling of, because I like a bit of alliteration, the perfidy of politics.

The original version of The Manchurian Candidate (1962) must be distinguished from its slick but less noteworthy 2004 remake. The original film is a brilliantly conceived and intricately plotted voyage through the paranoia of the Cold War, with the Korean War as its stepping-off point. There are no easily identified villains, not, at least, until the latish denouement and even then you are left on an uneven moral keel. In amongst all of this is a brilliant supporting performance from Angela Lansbury. A great film. 87/100.  

The Spy Gone North is a South Korean film that pulls no punches in exposing the cynicism of its own political class, even as it lacerates the tragic stupidity of the regime in the North. It may take a while to get going but this is a genuinely intriguing movie, touching even. 74/100.

Both films can be found on iPlayer.

Advent 19

The best course I have played this year? Royal St. David's at Harlech. Stroke Index 1 at Royal St. David's? The 10th, a 400 plus yard par 4 to which I hit a career three wood and made my par. Thus the hole gets into this list because sometimes, just sometimes, a plan comes together and keeps you coming back for more punishment. Mind you I didn't feel many good vibes at Telford yesterday - not until my approach shot to the final hole - a six iron that was at least well-struck if a little misdirected. Ain't that just the way it is?

Advent 18

I only played Mulranny in County Mayo because there was a competition on at Westport that prevented me getting on there. Initial impressions were not favourable. There were only nine holes; there was no clubhouse, just a derelict caravan and an honesty box; I appeared to be playing behind a nine-ball of children sharing three sets of clubs; there were sheep all over the course. I need not have feared: built (though that is the wrong word - courses like this happen rather than being built) on a matchless piece of coastal land, nine holes were plenty - I went round three times; the nine-ballers scampered about and played at a pace that would put your average television-influenced adult four-ball to shame; rudimentary fences kept the sheep off the greens.

To be honest I could nominate any hole at Mulranny - the only requirement is to be at the place. I believe they have a clubhouse these days - that might almost spoil it for me. Anyway, I pick the 6th/15th (177/193 yards) because it is blissfully close to that fabulous beach.

Just in case anyone is paying attention to these things, I am late posting today because I had an enjoyable jaunt to Telford to play very muddy golf with WJR. My form was abject, his marginally less so. He beat me two up. At least I took it to the 18th.  

Advent 17

 I'm not generally a fan of opening holes. This is entirely down to my own inadequacy. I'm a comically slow starter - this is not confined to golf, I was the same on the rugby field. My imagination goes into overdrive and all I can conceive is disaster.

All of which creates a dilemma when it comes to consideration of 1st holes. Do I like an easy start? Well, in theory yes but all that an easy opener does is to exaggerate my uselessness when I struggle. So we can delete from consideration the openers at, say, Faithlegg or at Pype Hayes, both of which are seemingly generous appetisers. No, instead I go for what for me has proved the most testing (technically and intestinally) 1st hole in my narrow experience. 

I have only ever played Waterford Golf Club in competition and thus from the back tees - twenty years of tournament suffering. Always with a hangover. The 1st presents you with an uphill drive, the practice ground to your left (OB naturally), the car park to your right (OB naturally). In truth there is plenty of room but you try it with the world (well a few other competitors) and his dog looking on. I think that the scruffy low hook that I kept in bounds on my first ever visit may still be one of the best golf shots I have ever hit - now that was a hangover.

Once you have crested the hill you topple down to the green through a tunnel of gorse and trees. 420 yards. This is a prelude to a course cunningly crammed into what feels a small site. Having started with that belter, the round finishes at the comically difficult 18th. If nothing else, by that time your hangover will have abated. Nice clubhouse. Good Guinness.

Advent 16

Hopeman Golf Club is an unpretentious links course - short but sporting. It does however have one hole that has started to attract wider attention - its 12th is another of those downhill par 3s that so entrance me. The hole recently featured in the Today's Golfer Top 100 holes in the UK. It has Paul Lawrie as one of its champions.

It is 137 yards long, that's all. There's a tee, a green and a beach, that's all. 

Twelve Films At Christmas - 5 & 6

 I'm in danger of watching these films too soon - may have to adjust the title of the entries.

A black and white fest this time. Two very different classics in fact. First up was the original 1947 version of Miracle on 34th Street. I am a sucker for the 1994 reboot of this movie as well, but the original has a skilful brevity on its side and if you have cockles in your heart then they will be warmed. In both versions (there is actually a 1973 remake as well but the less said about that the better) the juvenile lead is crucial - Natalie Wood in 1947, Mara Wilson in 1994. The early edition gets 71/100.

Six years on and a very different stamp of a film but a very good one. Film noir does not come much darker than The Big Heat. It tells you much that despite the passage of time and our increased appetite for violence, this still goes out on Sky under a 15 certificate. The violence is not graphic but its unapologetic vigour remains telling. I love the atmosphere of good noir. I love the hats, the suits, the lighting, even the constant smoking is part of the aesthetic. Directed without missing a beat by Fritz Lang the cast are uniformly excellent but particular praise should go to Gloria Grahame's moll. Cinematic gold. 86/100.

Advent 15

Today's course is definitely not too corporate, not too damned long, not forbidding in any way. Cavendish Golf Club in Buxton is a fun place to play golf. Thery are justly proud of their Alastair Mackenzie designed course.

There are memorable holes by the sackful: the pretty 4th (another of those downhill par 3s); the 6th with its panoramic view from the tee; the 11th; the 14th (a proper par 5 with its small green); the 15th (an almost ludicrous short hole); the 18th. I could go on but pride of place goes to the hardest hole on the course, the 422 yards of the 10th. There is a massive gorge in fronty of the green and, certainly for gentlemen of a certain age, the sage advice is too lay up short in two. I never do this, at least not on purpose. I go for it - and fail.

Advent 14

Having said that Dunmore East is the weakest of the five courses on the Dunmore Classic rota, I would have to say that today's course is the least congenial. That little bit too corporate and, a bugbear of mine, some long walks between greens and tees. That said, Faithleeg is an impressive piece of golfing landscape. The 17th stands out as a devilishly difficult 430 yard par 4. With the 17th at Bull Bay and the 10th at Little Aston already in my list, a pattern of admiration is emerging for the slight double dog-leg. This one goes left-right, right-left with mature trees guarding both sides of the hole. As if that were not enough, anything straying left of the green is menaced by a pond.

A shaming confession - the first time I played this course, so bad was my mood that I managed to smash my wedge. But I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now. 

Advent 13

Dunmore East, by a margin the least impressive of the five courses on the rota for the Dunmore Classic, is an uneven course - too many prosaic holes running back and forth to no great effect. But when you get to the clifftop holes you are in for a visual treat.

I have already alerted you to my predilection for downhill par 3s and today's is that with bells on. The 14th at Dunmore falls energetically down to the cliffs. All you can see is the green and the Irish Sea. Being coastal there is invariably a wind, either straight into you or pushing you down to the green. Neither is easy - there is out of bounds at the back of the green and if you are playing in a following wind you are not going to hold the green with a full shot. That said, this 200 yard tester really comes into its own when the strong wind is in your face. Sometimes driver isn't enough. I once hit the most comically deviant left-handed double-cross off this tee. It dived right and disappeared from view, supposed by all to have buried itself in the rubbish. It transpired to be even worse that that. I found the ball sitting insolently on the eighteenth tee later in the round. It must have been a hundred yards off line. Bloody lucky I didn't kill someone.

Friendly clubhouse. Good Guiness. Naturally. 

OG's Reluctant And Sophisticated Political Commentary

Advent 12

 Dunstanburgh Castle Golf Club in Embleton, Northumberland is where I fell in love with links golf. Summer 1975 and my brother and I had only recently taken up golf. This was the last family summer holiday that Bill and I went on together - other commitments and activities took us off on our own adventures thereafter. The course had no clubhous in those days, just a shed with an honesty box for green fees. It may be a false, rose-tinted memory but I seem to recall that our junior week tickets cost 50p.

I have been back several times since and it does now have a clubhouse although that serves as a tea-room for the nearby Embleton Beach as much as for the needs of golfers. The course is a superb strip of land behind and between dunes, rarely more than two holes in width. Classic, beautiful and eminently affordable. This is my kind of golf.

I could have chosen the 13th for its sheer beauty - a par three sitting under the lee of the castle and played over a ravine - a public footpath wending its way past the hole so that you often make a fool of yourself before an audience of passers-by. However that hole is a mere 100 yards long and so I select the 6th, a delicious par 4 played from an elevated tee that gives a commanding view of the bay, the fairway curving left beneath you. The photograph shows the hole running from bottom to top of the frame. The right of the picture shows the adjoining 1st hole. Simply breathtaking. 

Bill and I later found our golf subservient to team sports - cricket for him, rugby for me. However golf is now our shared enthusiasm. We played yesterday at Pype Hayes. I played like a clown. He won. There's always a next time.

Advent 11

Little Aston Golf Club seems to me to have long cultivated a rather forbidding attitude to visitors. Certainly it is the most exclusive club in the West Midlands and the members can be forgiven for wanting to preserve that atmosphere. And undeniably it has the course to back-up the conceit. It is a stunning parkland test with greens that are the best on which I have ever putted.

The 10th is a formidable hole. 440 yards of tight, tree-lined fairway meandering slightly uphill in a double dog-leg. I am fortunate to have played the course quite often and I'm pretty sure I've never parred this hole. I can hit the ball right to left and I can hit the ball left to right, but not on demand. 

Advent 10

We're a long way from the seaside today, in amongst the towering trees of Woburn, home club of my friend MB. Lucky boy - well, not lucky actually - you make your own luck in this life.

Woburn has three excellent courses, all of them rather beautiful and always presented in perfect condition. I should think so too at those subscription levels.

Today's choice is a hole I have actually blogged about before - the 9th on the Marquess, the newest of the three layouts. The first time I played this full-blooded (441 yards) par 4 I hit one of those rare approach shots that stay with you - a feeling of easy, controlled power. It was a 3 rescue and I did the decent thing and holed the putt for birdie. Some days it all comes together, albeit briefly. 

The hole dares you to take on the depression in front of the green and if you err too far to the left off the tee you are blocked out by an intruding tree - an oak I think but don't quote me on that. If you really want to know, that 3 rescue of mine had to be cut around the tree after a dodgy drive. Would I remember it so well had I not holed the putt? Doubtful, but this is my list.

Twelve Films At Christmas - 4

This is the best of the lot thus far. Aardman Animations are responsible for Arthur Christmas and it is driven by a nice line in irony. It seems to have been an international success but it nicely betrays its British roots. The voice talents are mostly British - Bill Nighy on particularly good form with the caustic cynicism of Grandpa Christmas, Hugh Laurie excellent as Steve Christmas the modernising heir apparent to the Santa empire. Steve gets his comeuppance at the end (of course he does) but he handles this with a new-found humility that fits with the seasonal cheer. An upper echelon Christmas offering. 71/100. 

Advent 9

A few days ago I said that County Sligo sometimes gets my vote as the best course I have played. Today we have what is the other main contender for that accolade - Southerness, a daunting links overlooking (indeed almost touching) the Solway Firth. Yes, on balance, Southerness is the best I have played - for today at least.

The 12th is a 421 yard par 4 that doglegs its way down to the sea. A pond protects the left of the green, bunkers the right. The Firth boils in the background and there is out of bounds at the back of the green. The photograph shows the hole on a quiet day. When I played it with my dear late lamented mate Rod Meere and my stalwart golfing companion Big Willy, it was blowing a gale. Rod (who had a good few years on the two of us) sensibly repaired to the bar after eighteen but Willy and I were so entranced by the place that we went out again in the storm. We managed sixteen holes before taking our bedraggled selves back to clubhouse. An isolated and magical place. 

Tomorrow we move inland to another championship test.

Advent 8

Bamburgh Castle Golf Club might very well be the most scenic course in Britain, hell the world even. I haven't played enough international golf to be so bold as to make that claim but, on balance (and, of course, I always strive for balance), it's definitely the best situated of any that I have played.

Not a long course, Bamburgh opens with two tough par 3s and then continues the idiosyncracy with two par 5s. It is the first of those 5s that I select today although, if I'm being honest (and, unlike our Prime Minister, I always strive for honesty) I could have picked any one of half a dozen holes on this course for inclusion. Anyway, after those two testing par 3s, you launch yourself towards Budle Bay and the promise of what is to come. When you play Bamburgh, I defy you not to feel good about the world.

Advent 7

Rather grandly I trumpeted today's entry as the best finishing hole in golf. That was a bit over the top but please bear in mind that I have to have played the hole in question, which rather puts paid to Carnoustie (though if anyone out there wants to invite me to Carnoustie, I'm in). The rules (self-imposed but it is my blog after all) also dictate that no club can have more than one entry and that stricture eliminates certain courses that have impressive culminations. Finally (and if I didn't say this, well, you should have guessed) I have to have enjoyed the hole in question.

All of which self-justification is a long-winded way of explaining why the famous 18th on the Brabazon at the Belfry doesn't get into this very personal list. I have played it and its final hole is justly well-known but, here's the truth, I don't much like the course - too big, too corporate, too impersonal. Which leaves me with the 18th at The Anglesey - a true links that can be played for less than thirty quid and which has fun written all over it. As for the 18th (par 4, 375 yards), well water on the right, OB on the left, and then that bloody water again, sneaking its way across the approach to the green. Oh, and I should have said - the course has a railway line running through it - don't know why but that's a clincher for me.

It's par 5 time again tomorrow.

     

Advent 6

Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink. The 12th hole at Fulford Heath is, if you break it down logically, an easy enough golf hole. What you have to do is put out of your mind the River Cole which meanders through the hole such that it it manages at various times to be in front of, to the left of, and to the right of the target. That mental mission accomplished, all you need do is thread successive five irons through the needle of the fairway. After all the whole thing is only 321 yards. Easy. Not. Charming to look at and play. Definitely.

Tomorrow I will introduce you to the best finishing hole in golf.

Twelve Films At Christmas - 2 & 3

Holiday Inn is best known for two factors - on the positive side it gave the world the song White Christmas, rather less creditworthily, it has a blackface minstrel sequence which offends modern sensibilities. I won't get involved in any controversy (how unlike me) but will simply say that you should put your politics to one side and enjoy the Irving Berlin musical numbers and the silly plot. Crosby croons tellingly and Astaire dances brilliantly. Good Christmas fare. 63/100. 

Another pleasant diversion is the film version of All Creatures Great and Small. This predates both television adaptations and is largely faithful to the Herriott novels. If you want a film to coddle you rather than challege you, this is recommended. A youngish Anthony Hopkins has fun with the gift of a role that is Siegfried Farnon. 61/100.

Advent 5

Depending on my mood, County Sligo at Rosses Point can be the best course I have ever played. The hole I have chosen from this magnificent links is not the hardest of the eighteen, indeed as I read the course website I realise that the hole I played does not exist any more. After two relatively benign holes the third launches itself from the top of a dune - when the Pig played it, it was a short par five. I learn that the powers that be have built a new green some one hundred yards further down the hole in order to make it more of a challenge. That's as maybe, but I will choose to recall the four iron I hit from the fairway to about six feet. I missed the putt for eagle. Of course.

No picture available of the hole as I played it, instead I have chosen a photo that communicates just how fabulous a course this is. A thing of beauty.

Advent 4

There is a class of golf hole that deserves a special mention - holes that are par 5s off the white tees but 4s off the yellows. In a bizarre manner this makes them seem far harder off the yellows. This is a trick of the mind but I am menatlly weak, particularly on a golf course.

Now such a hole is the 5th at Handsworth. Estimable but I choose instead the 10th at Holyhead. 433 yards from the forward tees.

You drive over a brow and then, Heaven be praised, there is a bell to be rung before playing down to a distant green with gorse beckoning on all sides.

Did I mention that I won the Dunmore Shield this year?

It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Yesterday was beer and lunch with the Dunmore crew of ViperJoihn, Big Willy, and the Boy Bacon. And today the tree is going up.

Advent 3

Today we're back on the downhill track. There are several downhill par threes that come to my mind as among my favourites, not least the almost impossibly scenic 4th on the Duke's at Woburn, however I choose for inclusion today the 17th at the less exalted Rufford Park. 169 yards across water. What tips the balance in favour of this hole is the company in which I played it and also the fact that the Duke's will get a mention elsewhere. It was the second day of QMT Tour 2020. I worked a five rescue onto the green and three putted from fifteen feet. That just about sums up golf Pig style.

I'm out for lunch with the Ireland tour boys in Brum today and in tribute to their company tomorrow will feature a fearsome hole we played on our own little expedition to play for the Dunmore Shield this year. Modesty prevents me from saying who won.

Advent 2

I have written before about Bull Bay Golf Club on Anglesey, the course that was the traditional aperitif to our annual expeditions to Ireland. For the most part I have always played this course after a hearty liquid lunch, buoyed by the thought of the fun and games to come after the ferry trip the next day. This preliminary status does the course a severe disservice - it is better than any of the courses we used to play in South East Ireland. 

There is an abundance of good holes and views aplenty but I choose the 17th as the hardest of the lot. 425 yards of double dog-leg par 4, first left to right, then right to left. Don't take too safe a line off the tee however because you will run into the left gorse. Too daring and you will plummet into the right gorse. Take a fairway wood perhaps - fine but you'll have a mile to go to the green, slightly, but meaningfully uphill. 

The entire course at Bull Bay is up there with my absolute favourites and the 17th only marginally gets the vote over, say, the 7th, the 10th and the 18th. 

Probably a good time to comment on my new winter golf boots - the only good thing about my golf in the cold and rain of yesterday at Pype Hayes was that my feet were dry.

Advent 1

Back in my days as a minor corporate something I was entertained at Bowood Golf and Country Club annually - it had to do with where we deposited client monies. This was arguably the best freebie of the year.

The course wends its way around Capability Brown grounds and is modern in its idiom - off the back pegs it stretches to almost seven and a half thousand yards. The Dave Thomas design has hosted the Europro Tour. Lengthy modern courses aren't usually my thing but this is done with taste and skill. To start our imaginary twenty-four hole round, I choose the 2nd, a mere bagatelle at 340 yards off the yellows.

As this list progresses you will learn that I favour raised tees - they give a feeling of possibility no matter how daunting the set-up. This one starts high up and dives down before turning sharply right. Driver is usually too much club, instead you carry to the corner - cutting the corner is not on, too many trees.

No raised tee tomorrow. Things get harder.

Advent 2021

Big Fat Pig has been playing quite a bit more golf in the last couple of years. Bad golf in good company. Bad golf on some good courses. Bad golf on some decidedly mediocre courses. Only the good company has been a constant.

All of which got me thinking. What are my favourite golf holes? Not necessarily the best holes but those that stand in the memory. Now sometimes those holes achieve their status because they are well-designed; sometimes because they suit my eye; sometimes because I have played them well. So this year we have twenty-four of the best. No course is allowed more than one entry in the list. To my surprise not one of the three courses on which I have broken eighty merits an entry on the list. On reflection this last fact is not so remarkable and I will say it before you do - any course on which BFP can score that well must be crap.

We will start tomorrow with a par 4 of modest length on a course of immodest scale. 

Twelve Films At Christmas - 1

Here at Casa Piggy the snow lies all around, deep and crisp and even, disturbed only by the trail of paw prints from the local fox. Thus I find myself starting the usual cinematic Christmas thread a few days early. But don't worry, we haven't put the decorations up yet. Anything before December is terribly infra dig.

Christmas films. They have been showing the crappy schmaltzy ones for the best part of a month now. However I am pleased to report a rather more elevated addition to the Christmas canon. A Boy Called Christmas is a Sky/Netflix co-production, thus part of the conspiracy to take over the world. It has a cinematic release but is available on Sky at the same time. Do you know what - it's rather good. A cast of very good British thesps including the compulsory Maggie Smith. A plot that completely ignores the religious side of Christmas (but hey ho) and I think I even detected an anti-Brexit tinge (but hey ho). The effects are very good and there's a sassy talking mouse, voiced by Stephen Merchant. Pleasingly in amongst the saccharine (it is Christmas after all) there is some jeopardy and a bit of unleavened tragedy. A good start to this year's festive dozen. 69/100. 

Brave New World That Has Such People In It. Or Quite Possibly Not.

Casa Piggy is located in what could justifiably be described as a leafy suburb. One would have to confess that this locale is a safe haven for the urban affluent. It sits in a constituency with an unchallengeable Tory majority. But we do now have a Lidl and we are soon to have an Aldi - both much to the disgust of some reactionary residents, who are still mourning the closure of our Waitrose. Well, you won't find Big Fat Pig complaining. No Siree Bob. This is because the Pig yesterday found that Lidl stock a perfectly acceptable Barolo at £11.99 a bottle. Brave new world indeed.

But away from these (the Pig has to concede) trifling triumphs of the middle classes, things do not look so good. I read a good and pertinent line a couple of weeks ago to the effect that Boris Johnson doesn't care what direction the bus is going, just as long as he is driving. Tragically this is true. We are led by political pygmies and those pygmies are opposed by even shorter nonentities. To push that bus analogy to its limits - none of them can see over the bloody steering wheel. Still, at least I am not going to run out of Barolo this side of Christmas.

Regular readers (a small but loyal band) will be agog to know the subject of this year's OG Advent Calendar. You'll have to wait just a little longer. I'm afraid it's a bit parochial this year but it's given me some fun.

It's A Hard Job But Someone's Got To Do It

Just for your benefit (you can thank me later) I have watched  a lot of international rugby over the past few weeks. The coverage on Amazon was well up to scratch and Channel 4 did a respectable job with the matches they carried. Meanwhile the poor old BBC had to content themselves with the women's internationals in which England's professionals trounced a succession of part-timers, including the normally formidable New Zealanders. I will concentrate on the men's matches.

Having said that the Amazon coverage was fine, I do just have to wonder about the marketing wisdom of playing to such a limited televisual crowd. That's modernity for you.

These are (Italy excepted) exciting times for the Six Nations. Scotland are a slick and professional outfit even if it must be frustrating to play with a player as gifted and yet daft as Finn Russell. He is taken from the mould out of which they cast his coach, Gregor Townsend. I am a fan of both. Just.

Wales have an injury list as long as a lock's arm but come out of the month just about even - they got ripped apart by the All Blacks but were otherwise creditable. Their depth in the back-row is admirable.

Ireland, like Wales, have four professional provincial teams but the Irish versions are a force to be reckoned with whereas Welsh domestic rugby manages to lurch from self-inflicted wound to internecine pig-headedness. The Irish game against New Zealnd was a magnificent test match. Ireland pummelled The All Blacks  remorselessly and yet still the All Blacks stayed in the game. Andy Farrell may just be the best English coach currently operating - Ireland's gain.

simply a great game

France ought to be grateful to the Irish for softening up New Zealand but let us take nothing away from the French victory - a massive psycholgical boost in the continued growth of this French side. I have been saying for two years that France are the value bet for the next RWC. Well, the value has all gone now. However check out the 12/1 available on Ireland in some places. Certainly better value than England at a skinny 4/1.

generational talent - a flanker

Which leaves us with England. England, bloody England. There's no requirement for me to redeploy my anti-Jones opinions. They remain valid but, praise where praise is due, his players demonstrated Herculean resolve to oulast South Africa. Let us bask in the glory whilst we try to forget the eviscerated scrums and the almost suicidal penalty count. A win is a win. In Steward England have unearthed a coin of rare value. Magnificent. Marcus Smith kicked every goal offered to him on Saturday, potentially answering my own reservations about ditching Owen Farrell altogether. Now for some name-dropping. Jeff Probyn once said to me (I've only met him once) that for all but the very greatest, you don't retire from international rugby, it retires you. It's called test rugby for a reason - it's not supposed to be easy.

So, England have much promise and enviable resources. But one last (and I accept repeated) question - if you have a generational player like Tom Curry, why would you play him out of position?

A Good Day On The Island

Mon being the island in question, Plas Piggy being the country residence of course. Today new flooring has been fitted in the front bedroom. Top notch. I have been here for three days waiting for the work to be done - there was a hitch with delivery of the materials but all's well etc.

I have watched three films today and abandoned a fourth because it gave every indication of being rather crap. In the gap left by the abandonment I rewatched an episode of the excellent BBC Watergate. You couldn't make it up.

First up was Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Martial arts films are not really my bag but I enjoyed this. The fighting is hypnotically balletic and the plot has a tidy confection of love, honour and destiny. I could see what all the fuss was about. 76/100.

Rather different but also well worth the effort is the small but beautifully put together 1932 adaptation of A Farewell to Arms. Assiduous readers will recall that I recently reviewed the source novel in these pages. This movie takes considerable liberties with the plot but still manages to cram the romance and sardonic horror of conflict into its seventy-five minutes of drama. 72/100.  

The third and, by a small margin, best of these films was Munich, Steven Spielberg's worthy rumination on the state of Israel. The peg on which the picture hangs its questions is the massacre at the 1972 Olympics and a ruthless and clandestine Israeli response to it. It is a violent tale, of course it is, but the violence is never gratuitous and the overall effect is one of beneficial provocation. 80/100.

The crap film? I'm afraid that was The Eiger Sanction. I'm generally an admirer of Clint Eastwood but this is not his finest hour. No mark awarded.

 

Silence Is Golden

But not so golden when you are a blogger.Writers Write.

I am ever grateful for the company of good men. Winter golf can be a tad disspiriting, apart from all else, it gets your precious white shoes dirty - I have to wear white shoes. Not sure why but have almost invariably done so. To counter this desecration of my summer shoes, I have taken to wearing my old shoes - these look fine (also white) but my sodden feet remind me why I replaced them earlier this year - there'a substantial hole. No part of this small personal drama dims the lustrous company of BH, JRS, CL, MS and RW at Royal Pype Hayes. 

More good company: the Aston Old Edwardian Reunion Dinner at School on Saturday, an event which seemed to have been crawling to a sad oblivion, transpired as a resurgent iteration. This was the first time that our new Head had heard the School Song being sung. Silly but brilliant. Long live the good old schoolboys, God bless the brave old school. 

The T20 World Cup has come and gone. Good riddance. Australia winning anything is a little tiresome but this is, after all, only pub cricket. The height of the tournament was the ignominious exit of India - the nation who have stolen the soul of first class cricket. Ha ha.

You may recall me concluding some months ago that Eddie Jones has outstayed his welcome as England rugby coach. I stand by this. Apart from the fact of his fondness for acting the charmless nerk, forgivable when winning perhaps, he just does plain stupid things - he plays his best player (Tom Curry) out of position in a specialist position for example. I could go on. But won't. 

Royal St. David's

Some, possibly most, golf courses can seem an affront to nature - they are imposed on the landscape. However the very best courses foster the illusion that they just happened. Such a course is Royal St. David's in Harlech which I had the great pleasure of playing last week with one of its newest members, my mate Big Willy, latterly of Cavendish Golf Club (another, though lesser, gem) though now beginning a new life in North Wales.

A golf course overlooked by a castle, flanked by a railway, sitting amongst rumpled dune land. Beautiful. Oh and thanks to the miracle of the handicap system, I actually won our match with an improbable par from the bunker on the eighteenth. Wainwright's Bitter in the clubhouse.

What The Old Know But The Young Do Not Guess

Let me do something unusual - I will defer to my betters. The Groupie and I watched the Life and Death of Colonel Blimp at the weekend - you can find it on iPlayer. This is a genuinely great film, all the more admirable for having been produced in the middle of World War II. As great a man as Winston Churchill objected to its premiss. Churchill was wrong. It laments the passing of chivalry. I won't spoil it by divulging the plot but will quote Roger Ebert (that better I was referring to) whose eloquence nails it:

It is said that the child is father to the man. 'Colonel Blimp' makes poetry out of what the old know but the young do not guess. The man contains both the father, and the child.

93/100. Nuff said. And now for something completely different. Ron Howard is a proficient director who would have made a tidy living and earned repute back in the old studio days. If you want to see his handiwork at its best, take Apollo 13, a movie that communicates tension even though we cannot but know the happy ending. But consider also his Inferno - the third instalment of the Dan Brown toshathon. The plot is absurd to the nth degree, just as its precursors, The Da Vinci Code, and Angels and Demons. In Inferno, Howard again has the services of the master actor, Tom Hanks. What they together fashion is a diverting piece of hokum, well-suited to a Sunday afternoon when you don't want to tax the old grey matter too much. It is product rather than art. 59/100.

The Two Funniest Scenes Of All Time

Don't say I never spoil you. I have mentioned both scenes before but I was put in mind of the topic last weekend when the Groupie and I revisited that glorious comedy The Philadelphia Story. To po-faced moderns the sexual politics of this film are no doubt unacceptable, but those with broader minds will see this for what it is - a truly great movie. And the scene from it that I cherish above all others? Virginia Weidler, of course, as the juvenile Dinah Lord plonking herself at the grand piano and singing Lydia the Tattoed Lady - 'On her back is the Battle of Waterloo / Beside it the wreck of the Hesperus too'. Priceless. As for the film itself - 95/100.

'The other scene', I hear you cry. Well it comes from a far coarser age but is equally sde-splitting. It is of course the 'dead box' scene from the first series of Green Wing. Also priceless. 

The Washing Of Dirty Linen

I seem to recall raising this point before, I think in the context of the Robert Redford movie, The Candidate. A good film but one most memorable to me because I have a teenage memory of having watched it with my Dad. My father (an exceptional and wise man) commented that he admired the American ability to wash its national dirty linen in public. Well, the two films under consideration today are about two lots of dirty societal linen, one primarily Irish (though it has wider implications), the other American.

Philomena is, on one level, an unlikely buddy movie - Judi Dench's warm-hearted and genuine Irishwoman and Steve Coogan's cynical and world-weary journalist turned disgraced spin doctor. But at its best, it is so much more than a mixture of sound leading performances and a skilfully tear-jerking script. It is an airing of the catholic church's scandalously dirty linen. I won't spoil the plot for you because I want you to see this film. Suffice to say that for anyone who cannot help getting misty-eyed about Irish catholicism (and I, a convert to that faith, stand guilty on that count) this is essential viewing. 79/100.  

My go-to source of cinematic critical wisdom is the Ebert website which continues the work of the great and now deceased Roger Ebert. In a bizarre twist it can be reassuring on the rare occasions when I find myself disagreeing with the Ebert view. This provides a small measure of validation - I am something more than a purveyor of second-hand postures. Which brings me to a movie that the good people at Ebert find 'dull'. The Report may be dry and highly verbose but it is vital stuff, conveying measured outrage at the shaming use by the CIA of torture. It is held together by a compelling leading performance from Adam Driver, As the posters said, 'Truth Matters'. Though not quite of the same supreme quality as All the President's Men, nevertheless The Report desreves to be mentioned in the same context. 82/100.