This is a tale of Cambria and two Englishmen called William who have moved there. Both have appeared in these pages before - they are my brother WJR and my dear friend Big Willy Mac. Over the past two days I have enjoyed a game of golf with each in turn. The weather has been kind but with a wind that made the game gratifyingly difficult. First up was a chastening defeat at WJR's hands at Welshpool Golf Club. I actually started competently but two lost balls on the ninth presaged a collapse in morale on an epic scale. This has happened before and, as night follows day, will happen again.
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| At the high point of Welshpool Golf Club |
I urge anyone who has a feel for truly rugged golf to go to Welshpool, a James Braid course that improbably climbs up and down hills and is a test of imagination and stamina. There is not a single sand bunker on the course - it doesn't need them. A snip at less than thirty quid. Next time I'm going to play better.
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| Golf as God intended - Harlech |
From Welshpool I drove on to Ynys Mon and Plas Piggy. Slept like a log and then undertook the drive to Harlech where Big Willy (who has transplanted his life to Criccieth) is a member of the truly wondrous Royal St. David's Golf Club. This is golf on an epic scale. Amongst a plethora of great holes, perhaps best is the fiendish 15th that takes you up a narrow gully between the dunes. I played a little better than at Welshpool but could not better Big Willy's nous and local knowledge.
Feeling a little foot-sore today and will recuperate with an impertinent Argentinian red whilst watching the Open from Royal Troon. I've said it before - when I grow up I want to be me.
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