The Pig is back from QMT Golf Tour, definitely safe and largely sound. Mind you, I'm still sleeping like a baby and fighting a sense of senile knackerdom. It was a boisterous three days of carousing with twenty-two generous souls. All in all we did well to survive the broiling weather and your correspondent was the only man never to take to a golf buggy for any part of the sixty-three hole marathon. Indeed the Pig was the only player who carried his clubs throughout. This last is, on reflection, probably a sign of senile obstinacy - it was, in technical terms, bloody hot. Very bloody hot. As for the golf - quite good at Droitwich, bad, good, passable, by turns at Cleobury Mortimer. I didn't win.
Droitwich Golf Club was, for the Pig, a known quantity, having played there once before. First impressions had been very favourable, second even better. Not a long course but plenty of twists, turns and changes of elevation to keep you honest. Great greens. The back of the twelfth even has a look of Gleneagles about it. Recommended.
Cleobury Mortimer is a village of some three thousand souls which boasts a twenty-seven hole golf club and just about enough pubs and curry houses to satisfy even the demands of ageing ex-rugby players. The golf course has accommodation on site (we took all of it, with some overspilling to the village itself) and is incredibly competitively priced. Quite how the economics of this all works I wouldn't know but it is mighty impressive - a lot of challenging holes and, again, good greens - certainly good enough to catch out the denizens of Royal Pype Hayes. Quite brilliant, even if we did drink them out of the best bitter. Chapeau to RJW and JRS who put the tour together. My next golf trip will be to the rather more exalted Woburn in a couple of weeks but it will struggle to live up to last week. Mind you we'll give it a bloody good go.
And now it is raining. Hard. Apres nous, le deluge.
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