Resistance is futile... I will dress like a pimp from a blaxploitation movie
Why...
Do certain pastimes creep up on me as I get older? Golf is a great example. Forty years ago the whole clubby, cliquey, smug aroma of joining a club and spending eons smacking a little white ball around manicured lawns represented everything the young urchin in me hated. I refused ever to pick up a golf club, wanting the world to know I was kicking against the pricks in every sense of the word. I would rather have entered Richard Nixon than a golf club. Then a few years ago a virus struck down many of my friends who suddenly started not only playing the game but wearing tartan V neck sweaters and trousers, accompanied by white flat caps and checkered leather shoes that Cab Calloway would have been proud of. They even started drinking gin. Fortunately around that time I met my beloved wife. In an earlier life she had dated a professional golfer and it had put her off the game for life. I was safe. However a dear friend and his wife came to visit recently and both are avid golfers. As I listened to them ramble on about such arcane terms such as nibblets, bogies and my particular favourite an Adolf Hitler; (two shots in a bunker), I suddenly said: "That sounds great." Time stood still. You can't unring that bell. My wife instead of getting up and looking for a rolling pin to shuffle my teeth added: "There is only one course here in Malta!"
