I sat last Friday in the bar at Royal St. David's Golf Club, Harlech, nursing (not very tenderly I would have to confess) a pint of Guinness and conversing with my great friend Big Will Macfarlane. We had just played eighteen holes in decent weather (a bit of breeze and a tad on the cold side but mercifully rain-free) on the magnificent links. I've raved about the course before but it's worth reiterating - bloody brilliant.
Anyway the point is this - from my vantage point in the bar, the door framed a view of the eighteenth green with the huge dunes in the background. I permitted myself a grin of self-satisfaction and thought, 'Days of Heaven - life's been good to me so far'.
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| Not a bad back-drop |
Which rather brings me round to last night as I enjoyed the bar-room joviality at Pype Hayes with my mates. We are growing old together with as little dignity as decorum permits. I had played passably well at Harlech, which fact made my dismal efforts yesterday all the harder to bear. I had felt thunderously angry towards myself but as I glanced around those jovial faces, known to me for decades from rugby and cricket fields, I thought to myself, 'Days of Thunder - life's been good to me so far'.
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