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As usual, Sean gets it just right. I like the way he is able to see greatness in lesser courses. I'm happy that he enjoyed Welshpool, some posts ago - even if he went without me. I would like him to make a foray to North Wales and to Holywell in particular. It's not a great course and there are one or two also rans, but there is a terrific stretch of moorland golf of the highest quality for a minimum green fee. I think he'd appreciate the sheep roaming the course.
Made me sentimental, this thread did -- remembering what's special about golf. That the game and its fields of play can encompass/ express both the Minhinhamptons of the world and the Augustas, the Painswicks and the Pine Valleys, makes it unique, and lovely.And smack dab in the middle (give or take): the Cleeve Clouds and Sherwood Forests and Notts. Something very sane and healthy about such courses; it's not a surprise that someone like Sean gravitates towards them. If a man loves even one thing, just for itself, and cares not a whit about what anyone else thinks of it, he's thereby armed against most of the devil's snares. Peter
All the usual Minch charms were on show. Before we'd even reached the 1st green, Sean had baptised his Ecco's with a moist cow pat. The 3rd green was colonised by a full herd of cattle, one of whom, as Sean later put it, had "lost its guts" spectacularly across the putting surface.
All the usual Minch charms were on show. Before we'd even reached the 1st green, Sean had baptised his Ecco's with a moist cow pat. The 3rd green was colonised by a full herd of cattle, one of whom, as Sean later put it, had "lost its guts" spectacularly across the putting surface. The electric fences around the greens were just a tad too high to hurdle comfortably. Alarmingly close to the old wedding tackle. We teed off on the 6th over an assortment of cows, bullocks, calves, horses and even a donkey. Tom thought it a good time to hit a 3 wood off a low tee. I couldn't tee mine high enough, with the inevitable skyer ensuing. The ice cream van was there. The roads through the course were packed. Tom hit an approach shot to the 11th underneath a van, which was parked...some...way..to the left of the hole! It rained for a couple of seconds, causing the Tin Man much distress and between us we nobbled it around quite effectively, with Tom striping it down the wafer thin fairways and putting like a God on bumpy, slow and somewhat organically supplemented greens. The heavens opened as we walked off the course, which always feels like you've managed to put one over on the Big Man upstairs. .