A hot day again. Tristan and I decided to have an extended brodown.

I let him drive to the pitch and putt as part of an extended driving lesson. This involved a few main roads, oh God.

He seemed to be having a lovely time. We didn’t crash, nor did we explode. I won’t say I didn’t wish I had passenger pedals, but I never once had to pull the handbrake and I kept my breakfast down. Having been driving for so long it’s an interesting discipline to narrate it. “Ok so you need to be moving across to the right lane now, so check your mirrors before you signal and then wait for an opportunity to pull across” etc etc. I could probably do it for cash, if I hadn’t picked up the points. I’ve thought of it before but then I looked into it with one of the big companies and the initial investment was too much if I wasn’t going to do it full time, and it would always be a second third or fourth string. Good to have lots of strings though, as this pandemic has made so clear.

Then we went to the pitch and putt.


A sand wedge, a putter, two balls and scrubland. 9 holes at par three. Not a walk you’d think of as good enough to spoil in the first place under the blazing sunshine. Hitting things was fun though – more than anything because the two of us are almost laughably incompetent at it. With a handicap of 28 we might have been close to par. Although the first thing I did was chop one of my two balls into a hedge to be lost forever. I was wearing my uncle Peter’s immaculate golfing shoes for luck and fun, but it didn’t stop Tristan from winning. Traditionally that means drinks are on me. But neither of us are drinking. So we went to the fishmonger.

Tristan and I should avoid going to places where you can buy consumables, particular after golf. A few years ago we drove from Morecambe Bay to Carmarthenshire after a horrible experience managing catering at a golf tournament. We stopped at a butcher and a little seaside shop in Aberaeron, and arrived at his mother’s house with three prime Rib-eyes and three live lobsters. Today we just went to the fishmonger to get a mackerel. We left with razor clams, king scallops and oysters. And no mackerel. That’s in the place of a bottle of wine.

Now we are in the garden. He’s prepping food, I’m writing this, and we are both very tensely listening to the last few overs of the first Pakistan test on Test Match Special. There’s only 25 runs left to get with 5 wickets in hand but as long time fans of the England test cricket squad it is still a tense experience. It really could all go to shit in seconds. It’s happened before too often.

What a lovely lazy hot day doing boy things. Oh hell, and there goes Buttler lbw. Right. I’m going to sit on the edge of my seat for the rest of this… 21 runs to get … Eek

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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