" Here I stand with a donut for a brain !" (Ian Dury )

The season is now over. So its back to you...both my readers.
Hi ! Always ? Good. So whats the problem ? It has been an awful
year weather wise.....it feels like it has rained all the time. I have
developed webbed feet ....an evolutionary thing I suppose...or it
could be a recurring attack of swamp foot. I have increased my
regular clientele by one. Still as they say ....Tout est bien. It would be all good
if I thought my new billy had any potential as a golfer. Alas it seems
he doesnt know his arse from his elbow. No matter.
It is that time of year when one has to appear a little forlorn to the
regular hackers as it is Xmas bonus time. My scheme of 2006 of adopting
a caddie for the winter was sadly very under subscribed .....so I have
to fall back on old favourites such as my ailing mothers life saving
operation......or my little nephews faces when they finally receive a present
of Uncle Dave. My cynical regulars who get a full blast of these stories
every year have become rather deaf to my urgent begging requests but I
am not discouraged . Im sure I can come up with a story that would make
the most experienced samaritan sob uncontrollably. Well see.
The lack of regular work at this time of year is a drag but the upside is that
it enables the regular rats ( caddies ) to draw breath and soak our battered feet
after another season of 1000 miles or so . Easy it aint. I have now become totally
enraptured in You Tube when I am at home.....so at least I have stopped the usual
journey from the golf course to the nearest pub. This is a good thing.
The bar " Shittes " is now becoming a distant hazy memory and thank feck
for that . I leave you calm and very very very sober. Skin up
At ease

We dont need no education ...( Pink Floyd )

Bush refutes the comparision of Iraq and
Vietnam. " Those were gooks and these are
Arabs....." he allegedly glibbly answered.
JASUS !....dont want to end up in some bay in
uniform..! For sure the FBI and CIA will be
checking out my credentials as we speak...and
this brings me rather neatly to the essence of who
reads the stuff ? Certainly I dont.
But clearly a few people do . And this is why the
libel laws are being tested as we speak. Imagine being
regarded as subversive at my ripe old age. Its rather
exciting. And I really dont care for censorship per se.
But come on ....we are being led into more problems
by these world leaders...do we really want this ? You
may ask.....
Bush refutes the comparision of Iraq with The
Hundred Years War. And anyway his boys werent
involved. ( Ironic Times )
Well I think thats all for now....stay cool , wont you ?

Everybodys making it big but me ! (Dr Hook )

Even though an exaggerated estimate of my
readership may be about 10 computer souls, I
have been gagged. Apparently some of the golfing
clientele will not be much pleased to be featured on
this harmless waffle. Someone even said the other day
that I should be compared to Nigel Dempster. A little
overreaction there I feel. But since this is designed to
be whimsical amusement a la Jerome K Jerome , I
have succumbed to their wishes and will no longer
feature some of the main characters.
No matter.
It was a busy enough Easter weekend, I suppose..
and I was caught in an exciting moment when Sabbatinni
was leading the Masters as I had money on him at 150-1.
It soon passed. He made a bad shot at the 16th hole ....and the
rest is history. Zack won and thats that. God bless him.
We are now back to normal here at chez hippies and the
season looms before us..... next weekend is " The Founders
Singles "....the first of the Dale Majors. Who I will be caddying for
...I dont know yet but lets hope we have an easy run to the
final ....upward and onward to glory.
Stay cool wont you ?

Up against the wall Redneck Mother ( JJ Walker )

M is for the mudflaps she bought me for my
pick up truck.....O is for the oil I put on my hair.
Yes quite
Plainly it is true that one gets more like ones parents
as one gets older. But there are features you try to fight.
And one feature of my sadly absent folks is a imposition
that I will fight with venom. The tendency to understand
and start to be a fan of country music.
One day I was making my rounds in my company car,
and I thought I would drop in to see the folks....well they
did feed me for a number of years....it only seemed fair to
drop in and say how-do. Imagine my astonishment when
my father answered the front door dressed as Roy Rodgers,
and his subsequent greeting of YIHHHHAAAAAA ! altered
the shape of my barnet.
" What the feck you doing Dad ...." I enquired " Does
Mum know about this ...? "
" Your Mother got me into it .....she loves the whole
country and western , son...." he answered
" Yeh but Dad .....other people dont know do they..? "
I quivered.
My father dressed up like a cowboy at his age. Did he
want me to die of embarassment ? I had to sit down , and have
a beer just to settle me nerves. What was I to tell people ? My
grandfather had volunteered for the Alamo ? My Aunty Dilly
was part Cherokee ? There must be a story in here somewhere.
" Wheres Mum then ....? " I needed her reassurance that the
old fellah hadnt gone barmy.
" Shes upstairs getting ready herself....were going out.! "
he answered
" Please tell me you are not going to Safeways dressed like
that....Dad....come on mate get a grip.....you might bump into
an outlaw or a horse rustler.....and the fastest draw in Walton-on-Thames
.....you are putting a large overcoat on....eh....eh ? " I insisted.
" Wait til you see your Mother ...." he threatened
" Mums dressing up as well ...! ! ! ......This is almost too much..."
I quibbled.
" Were going to a country and western convention at Wembley
conference centre for the weekend.......there is nothing to be alarmed
about...." he reassured
When Mum came down the stairs dressed as Trigger I nearly shit
meself. They cantered off together into the setting sun and no more was
said about it . Just one of the many traumas I had in growing up. Im
glad I shared it with you .
Stay cool, wont you ?
( This whole anecdote is dedicated to Jerry Jeff Walker )

NEXT ! ( The Sensational Alex Harvey Band )

I was reflecting on the idea of memory loss
today to prepare myself for Alzeihmers disease,
when I remembered the animal with the shortest
memory. Its a goldfish which has a memory of 3
seconds only and constantly says to itself " A BOWL !
Ive never swum round a bowl before ! " This is of
course one of the joys of memory loss....everything
becomes new, stays fresh and one is constantly surprised.
But up til now I have had no real signs that my memory
is flagging. And I have diaries for the last 15 years which can
pinpoint events to the nearest week at least. They are a real
pleasure and I pat myself on the shoulder for having the
determination and discipline to maintain them. I was reminding
my old Paddy mate Biffo about some of our exploits in
Copenhagen when he accused me of looking back more than I
am looking forward. He may well be right. But at what point is
one allowed the luxury of reflection , contemplation, and even
consolidation. Most of my most valued contemporaries.. Lord
Snooty and Pugwash dont have the time for such decadent
nostalgia.....they are actively involved with their rug rats . Biffo
has no children but he is still actively ducking and diving....I just
duck threatening golf balls and dive into the shack to avoid the
feckin blizzards.
It makes you think though doesnt it.....if you have the time.
Speaking of time....What do you say to a man with no arms or legs
if you want to know the time ?.......Have you got the time on ya cock ?
Stay cool, wont you ?

Did I already do my deja vu joke ? Weird......

I amuse myself these days on rare days off by
exploring the delights of Youtube.com. I may have
mentioned this before. Today I made a number of
visual discoveries. Here they are- a group of great songs.
Hard Livin by Jerry Jeff Walker ; Riddim I like by Asian
Dub Foundation ; and I heard a wonderful track on the
Phil Jupitus show by Jake Thackeray called On Again
On Again.....a very funny , beautifully written ditty on a
par with anything Noel coward ever did. Try to get hold
of it if you can and enjoy.
Alas , apparently Phil Jupitus ' show will only be on the
air for a few more days. Sad, its a brilliant show on Radio 6.
Im not quite sure why he is wrapping it up but I suspect that
he is bored after a 5 year stint and wants to move on. A big
old boy who actually should move a bit more as he needs to lose some
weight......" Too much pork life mate....need some exercise ! "
(Blur ).
This week has been one of those weeks when I also have
had thoughts of moving. The weather was so brutal on Tuesday ...
a snow blizzard.. that it was almost impossible to see, hold the bag,
and certainly very hard to enjoy the whole walking working trip.
But another day brings new optimism and Im sure I will enjoy the walk
on the morrow. At the weekend I shall not be caddying for the great
Diamond Dandy, Theodore Phunnell, wit raconteur and shot inventor
as he is off to the Big Apple to enjoy Elton Johns birthday party and
concert. I said he should send my regards and he said he will. Didnt
buy a present but what do you give a man who has everything.....
youre right.....penicillin .
Thank you playmates
Stay cool , wont you ?

Paddys day ya bollix ya ( Beckett )

I was just being a bit maudlin and lamenting
my lost yoot as it struck me like a smakeroo
blurdey from the heavenly bode that I had not
had a wild paddys day for an awful long time. I
lingered in the shitehole that is " Shatts " and lo and
behold a friendly face appeared . No less than the
Director of Golf from the London club bearing gifts
from his lock up.....darn east. The boy what done good
after his apprenticeship at the Dale ....yes Ali " Baby strap "
Robertson. Two lovely ladies were on his arms so I
thought I would listen to his extensive range of 007
impersonations. Might get a swallie out of it I thought.
Yes shamefully I imbibed on Paddys day ! After 72
dry miserable days I thought I would treat myself to a pint
of mud. Apart from the lovely ladies and Alis jolly company
Wales were beating England and I was becoming very vocal.
I even gave it a blast of " Bread of Heaven " which woke up the
deaf bloke in the corner. I left with as much dignity as one can
muster from a kneeling position.....and made my way in Army
fashion to my local bar in B-right-on. The Firm were in their
usual corner plotting the movement of commodities and insisted
that I try some. They also dispersed fairly quickly when the Welsh
song interlude kicked in again. They never want too much attention .
I ended the evening by holding firmly onto the bar , and rotating
my head very slowly from one side to another so as not to cause too
much dizziness. I ended up talking to a very nice gent about amateur
dramatics and it turns out he is a local high court judge.
Respectability restored and a reminder that I am too old to have
such wild nights.
SLAINTE

When its Spring again Ill sing again.......cool grass from Amsterdam

Well what do you know....Ive been promised two
days work in a row back at the Dale. And there was I
getting all angsted up about not being needed anymore.
Lets hope its a great season....and the great Theodore
Phunnel , wit, raconteur makes some impression in the
major competitions at the Dale. Last weekend he shot
6 over and he actually complimented me on a good
selection of clubs and good lines. Even a blind squirrel
,as they say sometimes finds a nut.
Im sure the course is in a bit of a state because of all
the rain this week..so it will be playing long. Target golf.
In many ways easier for the caddies to select the right club.
But harder in other ways as the ball doesnt take the normal
breaks on the green. It will just be great to be out there
again after about 3 weeks of no income and no activity.
It sometimes feels like its a feast or a famine. But I have
a good feeling about this season , and Im sure a lot of the
overseas members will be over in droves since the security
scares seemed to have abated . One of my favourite overseas
members is Tracy Ullmans husband who is a splendid fellow,
and normally plays at the Riviera club in Los Angeles. Not a
bad knocker either.
The first major competition of the year is the Foursomes
where lesser pros try to get their game in shape before they
get back out there on the tour. 2 years ago I got Chris Rodgers
through to the final....and he is now back playing well on the main
tour. I have not seen the list of entries for this year but its always
a buzz to see what big names want to get finely tuned at the Dale.
And the next really big one is the Battle of Stynchcombe Hill...
early May.....more of that later.
Stay cool, wont you ?
FORE !

St.DAVIDS DAY !

Through the wonderful internet, namely
" Friends Reunited " web site I have got
back in touch with a number of old school
friends. This has encouraged me to revisit
old memories of my short stay down there.
They were pretty formative years though,
aged 15-18. Covered in adolescent boils, I
really did not expect to be a success with the
ladies...well girls. But because I was a novel
out-of-towner I was a hoot to all the straw
sucking , busty country wenches...and I must
say it left its mark in so many ways. I still am
a bit of a succour for a voluptuously farm clad
gel. Large jumper and wellies for me....if thats
not too revealing.
My first love down there was Freda Smedley,
a dark , petit, delicious creature who let me carry
her satchel home and often invited me in for a cup
of tea. I think she blew me out because of my lack
of interest in tea. Then Linda Rowland, Gillian
Wlosovicz , ( good Welsh name ), Lorraine Howe,
Sian Jenkins, and the moody but magnificent
Jeanette James...the butchers daughter ...meaty
gel...prime cut. All these lovely teenage distractions
have married , produced children of their own and no
doubt have found some sort of happiness without me.
But getting in touch again reminds you of that
lovely carefree innocent time when your biggest worry
was when the next big zit would surface.
All this motivated me to revisit the beauty that is
Pembrokeshire. Unbelievable. Inspirational. Magnificent.
A place I would gladly retire to. The wild glaciated coastline
facing the atlantic and the Irish sea has to be walked. I am
still touting for volunteers to join me.
Thats what Wales means to me......my undoubted roots,
and the gentle and sexual loss of innocence. Marvellous.
Over by there !

Everyday is someones birthday....

An occasional feature of this blog will be a tribute
to someones birthday. A reminder to us all that as
we pull ourselves out of another long winter, on any
given day there is some reason to celebrate. Today
76 years ago Peter Alliss was born. A godfather
among commentators. A man who truly does have the
common touch.
Its a shame that a lot of commentary teams seem to
be just old boys clubs. There are some astonishing dull
and uninteresting individuals who claim to be pundits.
This area of sports presentation is so important in the
continued popularity that it deserves more care. Id love
to see some of these guys sent out to sell anything. They
would starve. I will not mention their names but we all
know who they are. Peter Alliss stood head and shoulders
above any of them. He was funny, laid back, interesting,
and smooth.
Once when he was commentating on a competition
in Florida, the camera moved to an alligator that was on the
course. He said that it reminded him of his accountant. He
wasnt always kind about caddies though....he once said that
the Dale caddies used to throw a brick through a jewellers
window so that they had somewhere warm to stay for the
winter. He was obviously talking about the old stylie caddies
like Billy the hat and Micky the moocher. Not us guys.
One of the things I like very much about his commentating
is his constant referance to clubs all round the country which
reminds the viewer that without these less famous clubs there
would not be such a richness of golf talent in this country. He is
a master at his craft and a phenomenal salesman for the game.
Happy birthday Peter old boy.......come and have a knock
round the Dale soon.
Stay cool , wont you..

slaves to some bogus sense of progress that is driving us all mad (H.S. Thompson )

How do you gauge ones progress ? I have a method
available to me that most people dont have. I have
kept diaries for years. It is always fun to look up a
day , lets say 15 years ago and check out what you
were doing on that day. I did that today....I looked
up 27th of February 1992.
On that day I was living on someones couch having
just been turfed out of my girlfriends flat. I was a very
busy squash coach then. One week I remember I gave
42 lessons. I was desperately trying to keep it together,
even though I was heartbroken and skint. The shelter
from the storm was provided by two old gin queens who
I knew very well. Christine, a frumpy Norwegian , an ex
playboy model , and Anna , an Acton girl with serious
paddy alcoholic roots. They were great fun to begin with
as clearly I needed a roof. But it soon turned into an
unfortunate communal experiment. There were 96 tears.
It did though inspire an idea for a short story called
" Coma, Slug and Slob "......never finished.....too slobby.
The entry that I made in my diary 15 years ago
reads as follows-------
" Felt weak and sick today ...Legs hurting . A few
lessons and training with John . Felt a lot better. John,
Margit, Jerome, and Christine et al went out together to play
some pool . A good time was had by all. Nice vibrations all round
! John cops out early------"
I was 39 at the time so it seems OK, looking back to have
such a rich social life, and to be so physically active. 15 years on
I dont have to sleep on a sofa....I have my own house....but a
less exciting social life. Thats perhaps how things should be,
but is it real progress.......more comparisions have to be made.
Hunter S. was a hedonist to the end........

Freedom tastes of reality ( the Who )

The old memsahibs going away for a couple of
days. HURRAH ! Sounds terrible doesnt it . Shes
OK. Its just the whole couple thing is getting on me
tits. Initially I thought it was crabs but in fact its
the seven year itch. A bit of strategic separation may
well be the answer. Last year a precedent was set in
taking separate holidays ...and fecking why not.
I remember asking an old boy who had been
married for over 40 years what the secret was ...and
he told me that you should spend as little time together
as possible . It makes sense. Why I was interested in that
question ...I do not know. Sometimes I like the idea of a
companion in my old age.....and other times I think I
would rather like to be a kind of Father Jack
figure, popping viagras , and behaving badly. It would
seem a fitting end before I am called up to explain myself.
I can get my train set out tomorrow , eat beans, fart
willy nilly, hang out at the Cannon ogling barmaids, have
some putting practice in the living room, wear a bobble
hat , and pick my toenails on the couch. Oooooh I can
feel the ghost of old Jack creeping up on me.
Marvellous.
Stay cool, wont you ?

Your boots no longer lie about the cold around your feet (Alan Hull)

Yes I exhausted myself working the whole
weekend....so its back to the drawing couch.
It was a thoroughly nice weekend with very nice
golfers but my temple told me that perhaps my
return to the track was premature. The sixth
tee of the New course is the real test. You can see
5 counties from there. When the North wind blows
through there I start to hallucinate...I imagine large
ugly birds to be circling. It is a humbling experience.
I normally dont start the season full on until
St. Davids day....it seems strangely appropriate. I
may well do the same thing again this year. I dont
think the winter has finished with us just yet. So I
am being intelligently cautious ....oh yes. You will
not be catching this fellow without his long -johns
on.
" Never cast a clout til May is out.."...my wise old
mother used to say . She also used to say " See where
the crowd is going , and go the other way..". Thats why I
have never seen a professional football game right from
the start. She was clearly barmy but its odd how one
bigs up ones parents as you get older. Dont start me on
my father....even the bigged up version is less than
complimentary.
But I didnt get where I am today without having
a clear map , clear succinct instructions as to how to behave,
good guidelines. My therapist says I have an overdeveloped
sense of revenge.
Well see about that.

Fare thee well John Wayne theres nothing more to say (The Pogues )

Well...back to the grindstone. I am booked
to caddy for the great Theodore Phunnell, wit,
raconteur and shot inventor on the morrow. It
has been about two weeks now since I skipped
round the Dale. Quite looking forward to it. By all
accounts he is in good form as he shot 76 last time
out so thats only 6 over par. He always seems to
shoot a good round when I am not there. An
unfortunate and puzzling coincidence !
Last time I caddied for him I asked him for a raise.
His subsequent wobbly mentioned Xmas and birthday
bonuses, and a new pair of golf shoes imminent. Ill leave
it a couple of weeks before I ask him again. Dont want
to irritate his combustible blood pressure. It doesnt
take a lot to get his gander up. He has been under a lot
of pressure at work as I understand it.
He once described me in an interview in the Telegraph
as his most unjustifiable expense. I was just happy to get
my name in the Telegraph. Simple things.
Whatever happens it is always thoroughly entertaining
especially if he is in story telling mode. I have rarely heard
funnier stories....and his wit is frighteningly bright. The fact
that I get blamed for every bad shot out there is of no
consequence.....water off a ducks back. But often the craic
out there is largely determined by his playing partners. Lets
hope we get the right ones tomorrow. I love Mungo Gruntos
company but he hates fourballs.
Que sera....sera...
Back on track......FORE!

Irritable vowel syndrome....it socks !

Good Moaning ! Clearly one of the temptations
in writing a blog is to put forward your point
of view. But it would be deadly dull if it just
became a political diatribe...a canvassing tract.
The other temptation at times is to use it as a
means of attacking people one doesnt like. Also
cheap shots at people who probably dont even
read it. Whats the point ? I dont get that excited
about negative feelings anymore. Being angry is
just so exhausting. Im much more tolerant than I
was.
Occasionally though recently I have been saddened
by the news that they may be closing Christiania down
for redevelopement. For those of you not familiar with
the name , let me explain. Christiania is a piece of prime
land in the middle of Copenhagen that was developed
by a bunch of idealistic hippies about 30 years ago. It
became known as the Free State of Christiania. It was
made up of mainly old unused army barracks . It was
a kind of shanty town in an otherwise very up and
coming area. No class A or B drugs were allowed in the
gates but hash was sold freely and tiny cafes sprung up
to cater for the visiting freaks. On a sunny summers evening
sitting outside the " Moonfiske " bar it was idyllic.
People built their own houses on the land by the lake,
arts and crafts shops began, and a real 1000 strong community
sprung up. If you want to see some great pictures of it you should
log into YOUTUBE.COM and feast your eyes on the sheer beauty
of it. Just tap in Christiania. It became very much part of the
whole Copenhagen experience at one time especially in the late
70's and 80's. Danes were proud that they allowed such a commune
to exist. As the Danes became more conservative towards the end of
the last century so the authorities became less tolerant of this
social experiment. It was such a shame.
I had so many good times there. In fact I used to go there
as often as I could. I used to go there in between giving squash
lessons at a nearby luxury hotel. It was gas ! I once took two
friends there that were visiting from London and I had to drag
them away screaming. They loved it. It was one of the few things
I missed about Copenhagen when I finally came home to blighty
after 15 years.
We are already seeing that the way we have lived in the
last 100 years or so may well be our undoing . There has to be
alternatives. Christiania was a super example of how communal
living worked. Now it may well be destroyed.
FRI HASH......FRI CHRISTIANIA...
ps...Dont worry its back to docter jokes tomorrow !

Im not changing those sheets again Mr Wilkins ( Derek and Clive ).

When, as a younger man , I read that docters
are one of the worst professions when it comes
to drinking...this caused some consternation. I
have always been a bit averse to the medical
profession ....good men that they are. This should
be a preamble to a series of docters jokes...but
wait.
I became a sick and nervous child when my
rocking horse died and this manifested itself in
hay fever. My darling mother became fed up of
me sneezing and decided to try to find a cure.
The local docter was a sweet man but had an
unnerving twitch a la Jack Douglas ( eh! eh !....
...has he gone ..! ) . The idea of him giving me a
series of injections preyed on my mind...but it
all passed without too much bloodshed. This early
medical trauma scarred....pass me a tissue.
Later on in my medical history I came across
a docter who used to want me to hold his bollocks
while I coughed......I only went in to talk to him
about some ringing in my ears....he told me not to
answer it. I fear he may well have been a queer fella
before they became PC.
I suppose I have been very lucky healthwise..
but certainly as you knock on a bit you worry more.
Every little ache or pain has to be diagnosed quickly.
Since I havent bothered them much over the years...
I thought I might get a good docter at one of my last
pit stops. My present docters are Mr. Stalker and Mr.
Mockett ( Im not making this up !) . I got tired of making
tea for the former after he had followed me home , so I
mainly see Mr Mockett. A jolly man but he has an
unfortunate habit of inviting the waiting room into
his office to laugh at my ailments . Mockett by name.
As I walk for a living most of my trouble comes from
my feet. I took them to see the chiropodist the other day.
Either my feet are bad or he has got Tourettes Syndrome.
" Docter everytime I talk to people they tend to ignore
me and walk away......whats the story there ..? "
" NEXT ! "

Revenge is sweet...a bit of jingoism

Although I could be described as a hybernaphile.
That is someone who generally likes Celts. I was
glad Ireland lost. After beating Wales last week
at rugby I was hopping mad and hoped with every
fibre that the frogs would stick it to them. And indeed
they did....although they left it a bit late.
The next time I see Keith Woods ( Festa ) I shall
only speak french to him. That should get on his nerves.
He normally clumps me every time he sees me anyway.
So I might as well do something that deserves a clump.
He looked very deflated after the game on the old goggle
box. Ah...the goggle box....Im glad you brought that up !
Sick of it . I have now found something to replace the old
box-------YOUTUBE.COM.
An incredible thing. If you have ever had the time
to sit down and think something like....I wonder what ever
happened to Dennis Leary ? I often used to have that
thought. Well now you can solve those kind of problems !
Just type the name of your favourite comedian into the
search bar on this website....and hey presto.....
and heres a few to enjoy;
Dennis Leary-----Im an asshole
The Pogues-------Body of an American
The basement Jaxx---Bingo Bango
Rowan atkinson ----No one called Jones
Remember you heard it first on the hippieheights blog.
Must get back to the website to listen to Suggs sing an
Ian Dury song....
Check it.....LATER

EEEEh....if ever a man suffered...

Well its been 38 days since I last had a
drink and apart from the daily suicidal
feelings I feel great. Id like to say that it has
been a great experience but I would be lying.
It has been tough. I used to soak up Guiness
like a sponge.
Its not only the alcohol that one gives up but
almost a whole culture. Standing in the corner
of the Cannon drinking coffee while the " Firm "
are all getting rat-arsed is a leprous feeling. Even
the rather smug comfort of knowing that they are
poisoning themselves , diminishes after your sixth
cup of coffee. I got so hyper the other week that
the bald headed fat bloke who laughingly calls
himself the landlord , insisted I drink water to
compensate the effects of the caffeine.
The mad repetitive conversations that the piss
heads have no longer interest me . To watch the
Mulatto kid , half Barbadian half scots ( loves to
Calypso but only when hes flush ) , collapse into
guffaws at the slightest provocation, makes him
less of a sage in my clear eyes.
But having spent a lifetime being a barfly , I
do honestly feel that I should vacate the front line
stool to a younger bar maid puller. That, alas, is a
mature recognition of whats what , and why ....and
why not ?
I shall be mooching down to the day centre soon
for a cup of rosie and a game of draughts......
Retirement cant come soon enough for me !

Welshman think so much about their ladies, they put one on their flag, over by there

I was wondering what brought about my
piece on celtic bestiality the other day when
it suddenly struck me like a smackeroo
blurdee from the heavenly bode...deep joy.
Its that time again when my old Welsh blood
starts to bubble towards the surface and flush
my normally immaculate, sophisticated, European
complexion. I feel like singing from the rooftops over
by there, or down by here. I feel like rubbing myself
all over with daffodils, putting leaks into everything.
Yes. Its that time of year when its considered healthy
to hate the English and other neighbours.....the Six
Nations Rugby trophy.
I am old enough to remember when the Welsh
were invincible. The days of " God Olmighty" Edwards,
" Jinking Jenius" Williams , " Jet Propelled Rhino ",
Williams and the rest of the boys bach. I recall
standing in the stand with my Northern mate...
Atkinson Grimshaw...when a Scotsman fell out of the
upper stand on top of us still holding his pint glass. He
then challenged us to a fight....we managed to calm him
down with promises of more alcohol . I blame Thatcher
for closing the mines , and the advent of light industries
in the vallies. Thats where it all went wrong. They are
not the men they used to be.
But we will find the strength again. We will rise
and take our rightful place at the top.
" Feed me til I want no more
Feed me til I want no more........."
We just have to beat those perishing paddies...isnt it ?
Come on Wales.
Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel.....
Come on Wales

Sharks will only attack you when you are wet( Sean Lock )

During the general idleness that has been the last
3 weeks I have of course watched a lot of nature
programmes and its amazing what you learn. I
have also begun to think or imagine what it is like now
in Africa with a vast convoy of landrovers and film
crews. Its no wonder a lot of the animals seem so
tame. There must be more film crews than animals
out there right now. Imagine every European country
having a couple of channel schedules to fill , and sending
out competing crews to get some good shots of the
wild life. Youll have animals soon acting out their
favourite dramatic scenes . They dont want to be seen as
dull or uneducated.
I then have begun to fantasise about doing a bit
of exploring myself...nothing to difficult you understand
to start off with. I dug up an old idea about doing the
Pembrokeshire coastal walk. Its a 15 day trek through
the wilds of West Wales....and apart from atrocious weather,
marauding male voice choirs , and the occasional drunk
rugby player its quite safe. I dont really want to do it on
my own so I am appealing to you all to volunteer. I shall
of course be expedition leader ( otherwise Im not coming !).
And then I thought we could climb a small mountain every
year until we keel over, frothing at the mouth. We are reaching
that difficult stage where we will be affected by some lurgy or
another. Personally I would rather have Parkinsons disease
than Alzseimers ( sp?) . Id rather spill my pint than forget
where the f+ckin thing is. So what do you say brothers
and sisters. Lets rage against the dying of the light.....
any volunteers ?
" Rucksacks turn into hunchbacks
Muscle men turn into mice....
In a painless panorama
Of perpendicular might....."( John Cooper Clarke )
Cheerio

..." and those Korean meatballs really were the dogs bollocks ."(Naive food critic )

Well I have just been informed by the raconteur,
the diamond dandy Theodore Funnell that none
of my favourite golfers did any good in Barbados.
So my promised 10% amounts to nothing ...so its
hi-ho and back to work I go . Tomorrow I shall
have to be up with the lark , and back to the
lovely Dale. I havent worked for about three weeks
so the walk will probably do me good and the
weather seems nice.
It will be nice to catch up with some of the
shack gossip. Is Nigel " Plans " aka " Plants " still
numero uno ? Has " Narky " Larkys mood improved ?
Have " Twiglet " or " Baby Staines " found proper jobs
yet ? Has Chilli cast off his surly and dishevelled former
self , and started to act like a normal human being ? Did
" Waynetta " get laid in Los angeles ? All exciting stuff.
What kind of mood will my top client Theodore be
in. Bearing in mind that it is a full moon tonight...its odds
on that his mood may be a bit changeable. He is also
playing golf back in blighty and not on the luxuriant shores
of Barbados. Will we be in the company of the wonderful
Mungo Grunto, matinee idol ? All these questions will be
answered in the morning. Cant wait.
I should really get back into work mode and go in
to hustle for work every day but this will sadly interfere
with my meditation schedule .....and just when I had left
Babylon and was floating towards Zion. Yeh ! No -one
remember old Marcus Garvey.....
Well, cheerio.....and stay cool wont you ?

I stuck my finger up a woodpeckers hole , and the woodpecker said God Bless my soul ...( a perverted poacher )

Now I am here to strongly suggest that
you avoid any sexual contact with animals..
it is in fact illegal. Although if you cant help
yourself the best animal to have illicit sex with
has got to be a giraffe...at least she can warn you
if the police are coming. My favourite animal sex
joke is:
" Why did the pervert cross the road ? "
" Cos he couldnt get his cock out of the chicken ! "
I am only bringing up this subject because I am a taffy,
and all the valley boys have to put up with a barrage
of jokes about Welshman and sheep, when we move to this
godforsaken country. It is very irritating and tiresome.
Im more of a pig man myself but only if there is lashings
of apple sauce and the right vegetables.
But why bring this rather sordid subject up in the first
place I hear you asking ? Well I am fed up of these racial
stereotypes especially when I am the victim, and I am
fiercely campaigning against a law that is still on the
statute books. Apparently on a certain Sunday you can
still shoot a Welshman in Herefordshire . This cant be
right ! I was also appalled on my little jaunt to Cornwall
last year that the Cornish people arent that keen on the
Welsh. Something about the taffies coming over to work
the tin mines during the depression. I mean lets all try
to think about what Wales has bought you ...Harry
Secombe, Dylan Thomas, Shirley Bassey, Paul
Whitehouse, and Amen Corner. Not a piss head or sheep
shagger amongst them. Come on mates ....muckers...
lets give the sweaties and paddies some stick.....
marvellous.....

Constipation...understanding Elvis ?

How can such a sex symbol end up such a
lardie ? 13 cheeseburgers a day can be unlucky.
His favourite dish was a huge plateful of mashed
potato covered in bacon and crisp bacon fat. Just
like his Mom used to make for him when he was a
nipper. His exaggerated and immense love for his
Mom could have been a cause of his gluttony ?
Discuss ?
One of my favourite stories of his possible oedipal
problems was after his Mom died. He was terribly
fond of his Mom and if he got upset about anything
his Mom would play with his toes to calm him down
and amuse him. A kind of little piggie thing. When
his Mom died she was lying in state in some Memphis
church and Elvis climbed into her coffin and started playing
with her toes as if this would somehow bring her back to
life. Weird , eh ?
Perhaps because he was a surviving member of twins,
he felt somehow he had to eat for two. All this amusing info
on the "king " I gleaned from a monster book on him by a
bloke called Albert Goldman. Marvellous writer on a par
with Kitty Kelly who wrote that controversial book on
Sinatra. Whats all this got to do with caddying , or indeed
constipation you may ask ? Why are you asking such
awkward questions ? Well if he had taken up golf it could
have saved his life....look at Alice Cooper ....and its an odd
man who doesnt like sport...think on.
You are less likely to attract attention to yourself if you
wear blue suede shoes on a golf course. I think thats enough
of a connection.
Fore !

Chillin on a shilling.....lazy days

I cant even use the excuse anymore that
my lazy days are to be blamed on my crazy
nights. I am teetotal and in hibernation mode
right now. I was just contemplating a form of
celebration , because I had broken my previous
record on the couch ( 7 hours 13 minutes ), when
another mind bending thought struck me.....are
Artic Monkeys a result of Global Warming? This
kind of delayed my proposed celebratory move.
I had planned to raise one of my arms off the sofa
with a clenched fist and rotate it . Procrastination...
well I dont know about that. Couldnt be arsed. I had
reached once again a state of nearly total immobility,
my whole body had pins and needles , and I just allowed
myself a decadent smug smile. Not only have I got a pink
belt in origami but now I could award myself a black belt
in Idilism. How many belts does a slender man need ?
The memsahib had left me a helpful list of things to
do.... !. Get up
2. Move around a bit
3. Phone your boss
4. Buy some milk
I had ignored her wishes thereby reestablishing my
status as king of my own castle ....I could feel , and indeed
prove that even from the warm clutches of the couch one
could have a thoroughly positive day. Im sure that once
properly explained she too would be proud of me.
I flicked the remote control.....and saw something
that really moved me on the TV. A group of hippoes
doing some synchronised swimming. I didnt know
Hippoes were even trainable. Somebody should get a
belt for that.
Mind over Mammals. Marvellous

Edumacation ..thats the name of the game.....

Joining any long term revered institution is
never easy . I remember years ago when I
put my name forward for the Hells Angels ,
they wanted me to wear some jeans that were
covered in the other gang members excrement.
They also encouraged me to have sex with some
fright who was always rolling joints in the clubhouse.
I hardly knew the gel. It didnt really work out but I
was told later these are called initiation rights...or
rituals. Very important.
Now of course the Dale is a long established , and
most famous institution. And there are a group of chaps
there that have to go through some tough training before
they can call themselves ....Dale Dudes. This unfortunate
group are called the assistant pros. They are employed by
the immaculate and upstanding head pro....and caddieshack
supervisor...the one and only Hamish Mixwell . He wont
have any scallywags or raggamuffins working on his team.
They have to be well turned out , ship shape, punctual,
and well versed in dealing with top toffs. At the moment
his team consists of Justin, Mark , and David. A laudable
group of young naive trainees. They arrive at the Dale
knowing that just the mention of the Dale will brighten
their CV's....naively unaware of the trials to follow.
Lurking menacingly 10 yards from the pro shop lies
the caddie shack....the latin quarter of the Dale. During their
first week the young pros will park their cars away from the
main clubhouse and walk past the shack....but as time goes
on it is noticeable that they park nearer and nearer the
clubhouse just to avoid any abuse . It is part of the training
to be abused by caddies.....on or off the course.
The first thing the caddies do is to think of an appropriate
nick name for the new boys until we find one that really irks.
Justins nom -de-plumes have included " Time "...." Case "...
or even Barnsley which is an extension of his surname. Marks
was easy and immediately irritating for someone who takes such a
pride in his appearance....it was " Skid ". For us lowly caddies to infer
that his underpants were anything but pristine was a deep insult
immediately. David....our newest victim was a bit more difficult,
but his surname is Waters.....so now we call him " Running "....
a Red Indian referance. These nick names are not final and go
on developing.
Clearly its every assistant pros dream to get a client who
believes that they are inspired teachers a la Butch Harmon, and
their excited rich client will run off and tell his mates over dinner
at Whites , or Ascot, or Hendon boat regatta....or even Pontins.
But to lead their prospective ticket out of abject poverty down to
the range they have to pass the caddie shack. Its not easy.....
and one day I will tell you why......
......to be continued

Every time I open my gob I put my foot in it.( John Reid )

During my winter personal developement period
its a job to know what to do. I occasionally sidle up
to strangers and whisper " Youve got 126 yards to go
just choke down on an eight iron....by the way winds
hurting off the right...! " And now that I have beaten the
Devil ( dont drink ) , my job in the Golden Cannon , as
pub buffoon is under threat . So how can I contribute to
our ailing civilisation . Plenty of walks and fresh air...thats
the ticket.
On one of my promenades towards the sea front I was
struck by how many beggars there were. Guilty that I did
not have enough dosh to alleviate their suffering I decided
a good idea would be to tell them a joke . Cheer them up a
bit. If you can help somebody along the way...and all that.
The first beggar I came across looked like he had a skinful,
but I didnt let this put me off....
" Knock , knock ...." I ventured
" Whose feckin there ? " he responded
" Avon, the bells f+cked ...." I punchlined.
I was a bit disappointed with his response but he had
clearly had too much to drink....so I wasnt discouraged. I
wandered forth still convinced that this was a christian
pastime. Not long passed before I encountered another
chap in need of cheering up.
" Knock , knock ...." I began
" What ?! Whose feckin there.....? "
" Isa ..."
" Isa feckin who....? "
" Is a bell on a bike essential...." I quipped.
Again a weirdly aggressive response this time...in fact
I had to calm him down. Hed obviously heard it before.
I decided to take a coffee break to think about this whole
idea. And blow me I bumped into the Mulatto kid ( half
Scottish and half Barbadian ......loves cricket but hates to
pay for it ), a local sage, and he interestingly put forward
the idea that perhaps homeless people dont appreciate
knock, knock jokes . I took his advice and decided that
I should change the theme of the jokes. I would dig deep
into another area. Yes...thats what I will do.
Off I set again in search of someone to cheer up. I
didnt have to go far.....here was a forlorn looking chap...
" I say there ......how many dyslexics does it take to
change a light blub......." I enquired......
" how the feck should I know....have you got any change
you w+nker...." he replied......
I am reviewing the whole situation.

Gimme that harp boy it aint no fat mans toy ( Captain Beefheart )

Picture the scene. Its a cold but bright Monday.
Its mid morning and there is no sign of work. The
car park at the Dale is empty. The office spies have
come back to the shack sayting there is not a name in the
book. Things look bleak . There is a game of cards going
on in the shack but no money on the table . All the money
earnt at the weekend has been drunk or gambled. There
must be some work today ! Surely.
A big cadillac draws up in the car park. There is a
huge scramble from the shack . Half the caddies try to
hide in their own lockers and the other half leg it into
the Caddiemasters office claiming that they have to go
early because their mothers are being buried today. They
had sadly forgotten. Yes Mr. Cower had arrived.
Mr. Cower is a large man who has spent most of his life
trying to perfect his golf swing. He has spent a fortune on the
best coaches, the best clubs, the best playing partners, hypnotism,
and possibly even plastic surgery. Nothing worked. He is still
a crap golfer. Perhaps nobody had the guts to tell him to lose weight
or try to get fitter. He is constantly on the verge of a super rage
bordering on a heart attack. It is impossible to caddie for him
without a severe bollocking . It is a very unpleasant experience.
He has remained top of the caddies blacklist for many years
despite stiff competition . If he were to wear a monocle he
would resemble a Nazi tank commander.
If you are in trouble with the caddiemaster you are quite likely
to be sent out with Mr. Cower. Saves the caddiemaster giving you
a bollocking .
He is all smiles on the first tee....but you know that as soon as
he addresses the ball to start the game.....there is a possible 5 hours
of torture ahead. Nobody avoids his bile. From the first tee you can
see greenkeepers climbing trees or throwing themselves into ponds.
The unlucky caddie that is assigned to him on any given day should
initially just give him plenty of space. Even giving him the driver on the
first hole of the Old course ( Par 5 ) is a risky choice ; that may be the
only right club you give him all day apart from the putter ! He views
caddies as loathsome creatures that must be rebuked at every
oppurtunity . In his eyes caddies are evil creatures that have to broken
down to be built up again by somebody else.
If you are unlucky enough to be in his company it is of no
importance if you are caddying for him or one of his guests ....you are
still going to get it in the neck. If your stomach is rumbling slightly or
you have a slight wheeze stand well away from him ...otherwise
hell have your bollocks for earings. It would not be so bad if the
rage stopped out there on the course......but he is quite likely to
kick down the door of the Caddiemasters office , continue his
complaints and then write a letter to the commitee about your
audacity and incompetence when you gave him a wrong line
on the pond hole.
Thankfully even his closest and oldest friends have tired of
his behaviour ..so he plays less and less these days. And after all
a golf club should be a relaxing environment ...it usually is....
until his next visit.....until the next shout of
Lookout lads....COWER ATTACK !

How much is that doggie on the telly ..the one with the sting in her tail ?

Whats the difference between Essex men and Essex
women ? Essex women have a bigger sperm count .
Now Im sure this doesnt apply to Jo from Big Brother,
or Phil Jupitus for that matter. In fact I dont think Jo
could attract men if she was covered in red lights and
had a welcome mat tattoed on her forehead. What a
shocking character.....a mean nasty piece of work. I hope
Andrew Lloyd Webber follows up his new musical idea ,
and opens his new musical called " Dogs " ....its the only
real chance she will get any work.
Normally I would be embarassed to admit that I watch
this reality dross.....but this one right from the off has got
everything . Racism , bullying, sexism, moronism....the lot.
I really think that they must rethink their whole approach.
The organisers should try to establish the sanity of its
contestants before letting them lose . This one could have
ended in a huge brawl. Its going to be so entertaining to see
the fallout when they are finally released.
Jackyie the one armed mum will take up swimming and
go round in circles. Jade will realise that overt " racialism "
does not win friends and influence people. She will discover
that East Angular is not in America and move there. Danielle
will be packed off back to Liverpool where she will tell third
generation paddies to f+ck off home. Cleo will be prosecuted
for dashing into newsagents and ripping up the soft porn mags.
Dork will move further into the mountains of Montana and
become more of a recluse. Jermwarfare one of the original
Jacksons will have another complete skin graft to make sure
that none of the white trash has infected him. And goody lover
Jack Weedy will study for 6 months and still not pass a literary
test. And the beautiful Sherpa will become Mayoress of Mumbai,
but never find true love.
You aint nothing but a hound dog ....crying all the time...
SIT ! I SAID SIT.....YOU STUPID DOG.

Im gonna dive down in the easy chair (B.Dylan )

This is what winters are normally like for me.
Busy doing nothing. I normally insist on at least
3 months off during the winter months for
personal developement. I will be doing the same
next winter. Its damn hard out there at the moment,
cold damp dull and demoralising.
Last weekend the memsahib obviously thought I
had slipped into a coma on the sofa. She insisted that we
walk to Hove ( actually ) , which is fecking miles away.
I said to her....now look here I walk for a living ...I dont
want to walk on my days off. She ignored my weak
protest and off we went. The sow-westerly was strong.
Nearly blew my socks off. It was at least a 3 club wind.
It was exhausting.
On the way back I managed to lose her and sneak into
the Cannon. A wonderful smoke filled room ....my natural
habitat. I ignored the landlords welcoming cry of " Get out
youre barred unless you go back on the pop...you divvie ! "
Under his brash fat bald headed exterior the landlord is a
jolly fellow trying to get out. He loves me really ....I remember
him saying so after hed overdosed on E's. At last a resting place,
shelter from the storm, and a chance to rest my legs. The main
topic of conversation was the big match between the Gooners
and Manchester United F.C. Where to watch it ? I decided to
return to the couch and try to reach Nirvana by keeping as
still as possible . A state I have perfected after many years of
practice . I may pass this transcendental skill on ....I dont know.
I shall shortly be returning there ( the couch I mean ), to
see if Dork makes any progress with Sherpa....an almost
sure road to a comatose state.
" You can tell everybody down in old Frisco
That Tiny Montgomery says HELLO ..."
( Bob Dylan )

Tomorrows the day my brides gonna come ( Dylan )

Ive been married. To a Dane. It was a very
difficult experience. I had to divorce her though
...very childish woman...kept coming in the bathroom
and sinking my boats. To be fair I did have a tendency
to put her under a pedestal. She had a lazy eye ..
spent all my married life believing that there was
somebody behind me....very unnerving. As they say
you cant be happy all your life you have to get married
sometime.
But now I am back in old blighty , happily divorced I
should be able to relax but my ten years of married
purgatory have left me convinced that there is someone
behind me. And I should lead them somewhere interesting.
Follow me cocker and youll have a good time !
In the last week I have taken a few days off ...and
because I havent taken a holiday in two years I have
found it hard to unwind especially as I am off the pop. So
I lie on the couch wondering what to do. And then I saw
something that really moved me on the box....Big Brother
Celebrity House. There was this woman , with a pigs mask
on bullying an Asian woman...I think her name was Jade.
Her mother was one armed and her boyfriend a mute. Her
bullying cohorts were a scouser called Danielle who you
wouldnt trust with your car, and an Essex girl called Jo
who laughs in an evil way every time this Jade threatens
the Asian with her pigs mask. There is also a yank called
Dork, and a voluptuous sort called Cleo , and one of
the Jackson 5. They just kind of stand around a lot ,
whingeing and bitching and accusing each other of stealing
Oxo cubes. I watched it for an hour the other day and I
sware my head got pins and needles. Oh yes , there is a
gay Welshman as well who wanders round bare chested
and flicking his hair .....presumably to give the whole thing
a surreal feel.
Dork the yank looks very confused as the last time
he was in good old England he was lucky enough not to have
bumped into these types . In fact the last time he was in
Europe homosexuality was illegal in Wales and sheep were
compulsory. In this Pc world ....is there such a thing as
Moronism ? Or Pig Ignorantism ? When one cant call a
spade a shovel ......so we are all creeping around guarding our
loose mouths ( I know I am ) . If somebody doesnt tell you
you are a moron ...how are you supposed to know ..and improve
accordingly . Jack Weedy.....youre a moron....there..Ive done it..
Im from the old school...thank God.
Its a sad and beautiful world ( Roberto Bennini )

A friend in need is a friend in debt....I dont wanna be nice..( J.Cooper Clarke )

Its not only on the golf course my advice is
needed. I am a mature man with a certain reputation
with the fillies. I often find that old friends ask my
opinions on their various relationships, and I am
happy to share my knowledge with friends. I dont
have trouble with my memsahib as I dont
feel the need to go into the sound proofed attic
that much.
Alas , last week , my old friend from Copenhagen
contacted me whingeing about the fact that his wife had
left him. Now , Chunky Pimpson , and I had bonded quite
well over the years. Why I remember buying him a drink once.
I made a note of it in my accounts book . A very nice chap,
even though he was from the north. I had taught him the
rudiments of squash and he had from time to time lent me
money ( soundproofing doesnt come cheap ! ) and we got
on splendidly. So how was I to help him in his latest dilemna ?
I determined to lay out a plan to help chaps that lose their
better halves. Here is what I came up with ....I hope it will
help you all. It is a five point plan .
!. Spank the monkey until you have problems focusing .
2. Once you emerge from the masterbatory area...or
public library whatever you want to call it , go directly
to a local bar.
3. Pretend you have just landed after a long sea trip,
and drink copious amounts . Dont call the bouncer
a shirtlifter as he throws you out.
4. Go round to your ex-partners best friends house
and demand sexual gratification . Dont call her a
frigid bitch when she throws you out. You dont want
to offend anybody.
5. Make a mental note to only get involved with women in
the future that have easy friends.
Repeat this procedure every fortnight until the memory of
your lost love fades. Time is a great healer and remember there
are plenty more dogs in the paddock who smell of fish ( if Im not
getting my similes mixed up.....HA ! ).
Happy to help.....dont hesitate in asking.

So I got that going for me anyway...( Caddieshack 1).

When I arrive at the pearly gates with my letters
of introduction , and a scrappy guiness stained Cv,
I will emphasise that I have caddied for Jesus or
the man who portrayed him on earth - Robert
Powell. Im sure this will rub out any minor blemishes
that may have accidently occurred on my bumpy
journey. He was also married to one of Pans People
( think on ! ) .
He had all the right gear but his practice swing
indicated that he may have no idea. It was a lovely
summers day and I was happy to be working unaware
of what was about to happen. I wished him luck and
handed him his driver. We were on the Old course
which is a much easier walk than the new , and I was
looking forward to testing him with some tricky
philosophical questions that had been worrying me for
some time.
He took an almighty lash at the ball and the ball
went flying into the woods right , hitting one of the pines
and balloning upwards , back towards the fairway. Before
it had landed a freak gust of wind propelled it further
down the fairway and as it was coming in to land a
kestrel swooped down and grabbed it flying first class
towards the green . As it flew over the green the bird
seemed to have some sort of seizure , releasing the ball
and the ball dropped in the hole . Hole in one.
We all stood open mouthed at this incredible
sequence of events . His opponent rather wittily said...
" So I got this for the half ....! " We all chuckled nervously.
As we all approached the green 10 minutes later the clouds
parted and a big booming voice said
" Leave it out son....its only a bleeding game ....! "
Hes not a great tipper but its not often you feel so close
to nature. A memorable day.

Its the poor what gets the blame

While I am preparing a suitable outfit for
tomorrows storms ; greasing up my wet suit,
and warming up my wellies I get an email from
Barbados from some of the toffs. Gadget-Stephens
and Theodore Funnell are swanning about the
Green monkey course in Barbados no doubt guests
of Dermot Desmond. They are probably wearing
garish short sleeve shirts and tailored shorts ,
chasing lovely mulatto gels, and sipping cocktails
by the pool. ( Who shite by the poool , like ? ).
As once again I was not invited this year, I
feel a bitter tumor growing in my gut. Why was I born
with a plastic spoon in my mouth ? Why has the Diamond
Dandy once again left me high and wet at the Dale. Heads
will roll......shite will hit the fan ....or will it ?
As I sit down , staring at the memsahib over the
dinner table eating my gruel my mind drifts to the white
sands caressed and bathed by the silky warm waters of
the Caribbean.
" Its the rich what gets the pleasure
Its the poor what gets the blame
And its all a f+cking shame....."
Pass the bottle will ya, Mick

Donald , wheres your trooosers ( Old Tom Morris )

" Let the wind blow high
Let the wind blow low
Down the streets in my kilt Ill go
And all the lassies say hello....
And Donald wheres your trooosers....!"
Wonderful Celtic song that I always hum when I
come across ( not literally ) Hamish Mixwell the
caddie shack inspector. He paid us a surprise visit
today ( raid ) to inform us that from July there will
be a strictly adhered to ban on smoking anywhere
in the shack. He shouted this to us through a veritable
fog of lovely smoke. He then accused me of being a
purveyor of class C substances and left forthwith.
My good character blackened by a few choice
sentences by a fellow Celt. Besmirched and slandered
I sloped off towards the seaside to gulp in some fresh
sea air. Another unproductive day .
We have also been informed that tomorrow we are
to expect gale force winds accompanied by lashings of
horizontal rain. So I got that to look forward to. I dont
think I shall be putting my name down for another
Winter shift. It may well be however that the present
ennui has been caused by the fact I have been dry for
the last 15 days. Why I put myself through this torture
I do not know ? But hey look on the bright side...only
another 6 weeks to St. Davids Day....and its nearly
Spring again and I shall be singing " Tulips from
Amsterdam...."
and down the streets in my kilt Ill go......
Pass the bottle will you , Mick

A ball in the hand is worth two in the bush ( H.Vardon ).....Cliches

The whole point of leisure time , presumably, is
to relax and chill with your mates. Away from the
office and home you would think that guards would
come down and the sound of laughter would emanate
from the course. No way , Jose ! The male toff finds the
art of communication even more awkward than his lower
class equivalent. Often the whole round is a structured
pattern of cliches. It normally starts with a short chat
with the caddies, to show their Etonian pals that over the
years they have found the common touch , and sometimes
the caddie will be quite an amusing oink.
" I say Caddie.....what.....what....do you think its going to rain
today....? "
Personally I always look to the heavens in a kind of
red indian knowledgeable way and say " Its going to piss
down with a good chance of lightning , Mr. Windebottom
...." thinking if I could predict the weather I wouldnt be
carrying your bag you dick-head.
" Oh do call me R.C........all my pals do ....oh dear ..not
good news from the caddie Rupert ....still press on ...what ? "
And off we go. R.C. , addresses the ball and tops it
but it scurries and bounces towards the fairway....
" Sorry bit of a Sally Gunnell ....ugly but a good runner ...
...what ...! " That particular joke I have heard so many times
it actually makes me feel quite nauseous. Rupert steps up to
the tee , and his practice swing doesnt bode well. It looks like
a one-armed man trying to kill a snake in a phone box. He
wildly lashes at the ball and hits the turf 2 foot in front of the
ball ......it only reaches the ladys tee....
" Crikey bit of a Dawn French....short and fat.....what ..?
Still havent played since yesterday....bit rusty....what...."
You can see the tears welling up in the caddies eyes. He
is dreading four hours of cliches......he prays for rain .
The first hole seems to take forever but R.C. wins with a
12 ( par 4 ) and strides confidently and rather arrogantly
towards the second tee.
" That puts me one up Rupert ...I believe....what are we
playing for ....? Lets go barmy and play for 50 pence corners !"
" Make it a pound....Ill be bound...I just dont care..."
R. C. replies.
Now the second hole on the new course is a Par 3 slightly
uphill with quite a narrow approach . Easy enough you might
think.
" And how many yards do we have here Caddie ? " R. C.
inquires.
" Give it a swipe with that Mr. Windebottom ...that
should do it...."
" Oh well done ...."
R.C. steps up ....takes an enormous lash ...and comes right
underneath the ball and instead of going forward it goes straight
upwards in the air ......
" Where did that go , caddie ? "
" Bit of an elephants arse Mr. Windebottom ...."
" Elephants arse caddie ....? "
" Yes....its high and it stinks ......went up and be careful...its
coming down now...."
" Oh very funny .....oh there it is....well done...."
And so it goes ....every hole is an oppurtunity to display
ones expertise in golf cliches not ones expertise in golf. The
cliche ridden round is so exhausting that this particular piece
will have to be presented in a number of parts. Otherwise
it will run like a sailors cock.Look out for the next instalment
also called cliches......

The Count Basie Orchestra on triangle ( Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band )

Fired up by the news that Morrissey may be doing
a song for the Eurovision song contest I suggested to
the chaps at the Caddies AGM that we should endeavour
to form a band , write a song , to while away the long gaps
between jobs in the winter months. Songs along the lines
of Rivoes ( the Ace ) winter lament " God bless the dear
old caddies when the leaves fall from the trees..." - a real
tear jerker.
Nobody except the shop steward should take centre
stage ( ME....ME.....ME ! ) and the chaps ( gawd bless em )
should each do a solo on their individual instruments. Chilli
aka Ghengis Carne suggested he would like to play with his organ
...we all laughed. But this is how I see it.
" Narky " Larky on banjo ( it might cheer him up )
Nigel " Plans " on piano ( difficult to eat )
John Wiltshire " Devon " on double bass ( difficult to sneak
out the club gates ) !
" Twiglet " on the triangle ( easy to lift )
" Baby Staines " on the stomach pump ( in joke )
" Le Hipster " on anything ( dying for a drink )
These are only initial suggestions and will be finalised
at the next AGM. We have started a provisionsal song....
which bears a fearful resemblance to an old rugby song .
" You say FORE !
I say FORE !
We all say FORE ! Together
Well be alright in the middle of the night
Shouting FORE! together......."
We are all very excited and hope to impress the
Norwegian judges.
HURRAH !

Caddy school .....part one...intro/outro

Normally you have just taken the lead in the
game of 9 card brag when the call comes....
" Hipster youre on ......youre with a bit fat
sceptic tank called Mr. Weinberger ...hes over
by the putting green with the orange and green
checked strides.....behave yourself out there and try
not to lose too many balls...! " snaps the caddiemaster.
...." Oh and yeh remember you owe me an apple core..
leave it in the office....." he adds cruelly.
Now from my sales training days I know how important
it is to make a good first impression. You never get a second
chance to make a first impression. I extinguish my cigarette,
check my nose isnt running , check my flies are done up ( dont
want to frighten him with my winkle ! ) and mooch confidently
towards the putting green ignoring the shouts of " RARE ! " ,
from the other caddies. Smiling with the few teeth I have left
I introduce myself....
" Morning Mr. Winkleberger....nice day for it ....Im hippie
Dave ..your caddie for the day ....! "
" Hi there....my name s Weinberger ...not Winkle berger...
have you got a cock fixation ? Hey guys we got a goddamn hippie
looking after us.....the first time he mentions Vietnam kick him in
the nuts.....I hope you are good at finding balls ...hippie shit....! "
Not really the start I was looking for there but...hey I have
another four hours to win them over. The name thing has
become a bit of a hurdle over the years . - Lord Brisbee I
called Mr. Frisbee which seemed to annoy him ......Mr. Enever
I call Mr. Enema.....and I know that one of these days I shall
call a Mr. Cox ....Mr. Winkle....its only a matter of time. Names
are important.....its good to remember....yes Im talking to you
whats your name...!
" Well actually Mr. Weinberger the other splendid chaps
that I work with say I couldnt find a hippo in a bath.....but Im sure
your ball will not be any problem...even though there are parts of the
course that are like Vietnam.......oooops....! "
" Kick his goddamn hippie arse Bob....."
This short piece , may I say , is not meant to be an attack on
our wonderful American cousins . I am not implying that they are
aggressive in any way or rude to caddies. Why only the other week
I caddied for a charming Yankee-doodle dandy who gave me a buck
and a half for my troubles. Marvellous people....salt of the earth.

You cant polish a turd or Educating Chilli

When you have a mate that you are very fond of,
but you realise that perhaps he lacks certain social
skills , clearly you try to improve him. You suggest
that perhaps it wouldnt be a good idea if he put his
false teeth on the bar , while flicking his tongue
suggestively at the barmaid. No subtlety there.
Fat Ted was a mate of Chillis and he wanted
Chilli to get out of the daily grind of work, fruit
machine, betting shop, and back to the caddiemasters
for a sub....so he suggested a day out. The local bar
had also decided to spread its wings and had arranged
to join a golf /pub league. Soon they were going to play
their first game. They wanted to make a good impression.
Fat Ted suggested to Chilli that he should play for the pub
team but he had to be on his best behaviour and he wasnt
to get his enormous meat and two veg out, and he should
curb his language. They were due to play a pub from North
London which was frequented by a number of our fine
Metropolitan police.
The big day arrived and off they went. Big Ted looked
a bit concerned when he say that Chilli had bought a six pack
livener for the journey. Chilli and Big Ted were to play their
match against two coppers. Indeed the whole of the opposing
team were policemen. Chilli seemed in spitting good form...
he then looked down at his borrowed clubs and said
" Look at the fu*cking shit on these clubs ..." and he
then got out his mighty weapon to piss the dirt of the blades.
Poor Ted held his head in his hands . After the understandable
shocked reaction they all nervously laughed and hit off. Things
were going well and it seemed like it would be a jolly enough game
and so Ted started to relax a bit....perhaps a mistake ? As they
neared another match out there on the course...one of the
opposition shouted across to their game
" Whats the score in your match ...?
" Mind your own business you fat c*unt ...! " Chilli replied
Fat Ted found it very hard to relax after that and the
caddies pub never really got going in that league...shame
really...nothing like a day out.

Her majestys a pretty nice girl but she doesnt have a lot to say (The beatles )

Alas caddies over the years have had a bad press.
But heres a little story that might endear us to the
republican readers. Two young golfers had won a
number of competitions and their prize was a round
with Prince Andrew at the Dale. A date was arranged,
and his royal personage had decided to have one of his
security wallahs carry his bag. First big mistake. Not
taking a local rat !
Milky was assigned one of the young golfers, and
Big Mac ( loves fast food ) was given the other to carry for.
They all assembled on the first tee...and pleasanteries were
exchanged although it was noted that neither of the caddies
curtseyed. The young prize winners both drove their balls
straight down the fairway, but the royal hooked his ball into
woods left. They all left the tee and walked on down the fairway
and the royals security posse made their way to the trees on
the left. Not being able to find the ball easily as its like Vietnam
in there one of the security wallahs shouted across..
" I say....wont one of you local caddies give us a hand in finding
the royal ball....what...what ..?
" F*ck the royal ball ...! " came the glib reply
Milky now spends most of his time in Thailand as he finds it
easier to get on with people who dont speak English properly.

I saw Noah building an arc in the woods.....

Were all doomed ! The scourge of the winter....
the weather. And there was I thinking that due
to the greenhouse effect and global warming we
were due for a tropical climate during the winters
now. What do I know ...Im no Michael Fish. Where
is " soppy bollocks " Nigel when you need him ?
" Soppy bollocks " was one of the shack regulars
years ago and every morning he used to give us his
run down of imminent south westerly storms . He
was a bundle of laughs. If he was to win the lottery
he would find something to whinge about.....ie " I
have to go and pick up the money myself man and I
know for a fact that on the Ascot -Waterloo line there
are delays on Tuesday........"
He was 37 and he still lived in his mums house.
She used to go on holiday a lot. After four hours with
Nigel as your caddie you felt like phoning the Samaritans.
But at least you knew that your clubs would be clean. He
was meticulous about a golfers clubs. Hed have them
shining . He even got a bit narky if you wanted to use one
of them , as hed have to clean them again.
His girlfriend was Stella ( Artois ), and although he
should not have drunk as he was diabetic and epileptic, he
did. Many a time I had to pour him into a cab....only to
find he had fallen out the other door. He would have
been useful on a wet day like today. We could have stuck
him in a puddle and done our washing.....
The old jokes are the best.....and believe me

Golf used to be a rich mans game....now there are millions of poor players

No work for me again today...too many caddies
chasing too few jobs. Its the winter doldrums.
Shevchenko turned up to play ..I believe he is
a Wentworth member. Someone told me that
when Pinochet was staying in a house on the
Wentworth estate he applied to be a member...
but they turned him down as they thought he was
too much of a liberal. They also said that they only
like to accept people who can do something in under
a hundred shots. Golf committees eh ?
Posh golf clubs such as the Dale obviously are
hard to get into. To be a member of such a club is
regarded as a dandyish feather to have in ones cap.
The members especially some of the old school are
notoriously difficult. I heard a story the other day about
one of the old members complaining to one of the
committee that he was angry that his dog had to eat
a sausage at the half way hut that was not warm enough !
What can one do or say ? Any insolence in the ranks is
severely frowned upon.
Visitors to the Dale are often shocked that members
are allowed to take their hounds out there with them . I
always say that they are allowed to do so just in case one
of the caddies escapes. However it is precisely this type
of hierachy and tradition that separates the great clubs
from the up-starts. No matter how great a golf course
or how affluent or exclusive their members are, nobody
can take away the history of some of these old classics.
They will always hold their place.
Even if the aristocratic membership is diluted..
( I believe the Dale is now accepting double barrelled
names rather than treble barrelled..! ) the course stays
the same.
Tomorrow I am due to caddie for the head honcho
from the European tour. I shall of course watch my P's
and Q's and even the ball on occasion. Hes a good man
...should be a gentle amble.
FORE !

Sorry HAPPY NEW YEAR....playmates !

What a start to the year we have had down here.
We have spent most of the day helping people off
the beach ....mostly victims of hypothermia and
drug abuse. Fat Boys litter. We had a doorman on
our local yesterday to discourage those weird out-
of-towners. Its a local pub for local people.
I went down to have a gander but the breeze off
the sea made me think of the polar ice caps and the
polar bears diving for coke bottles. I came home and had
a lie down . Too much exercise obviously....the old
endolphins were jumping about.
The mulatto kid...a mate of mine whose half Barbadian
and half Scottish ( loves to limbo but hates to pay for it ),
had back stage passes but we couldnt move from the Cannon.
The landlord had thought up a new game to amuse us all .He
had dropped his troosers and was encouraging people to try
to throw ice cubes into his underpants. Some bloke got
overexcited and tried to land his pint glass in there. Theres
always one isnt there ? Were just wild and crazy guys .
Did Fat Boy drop his troosers ? Did he ballroom dance with his
missus ? I doubt it.
Thats what it was all about ! Eureka ! The landlord was
playing a clever mime on us.....he was encouraging us to think
ballroom...inspired obviously by the recent TV programme
" strictly come dancing " . Hes not as daft as he looks.
This year I shall mostly be going commando.

Scratch , my arse !

Now Im not encouraging anyone to trespass. The
title of this small lament is just an expression of
regret as to how little golfers handicaps really reflect
their ability. In the course of a season we work for
many types of golfer with very varying abilities. To
play at a lovely course like the Dale one is supposed to
have an 18 handicap or under. Often on the big
corperate days we witness floggers who couldnt hit
Dawn French on the arse with a lacrosse bat. It is
astonishing and alarming. We could argue under the
new stringent health and safety laws we should be
supplied with crash helmets and protective clothing.
Ill bring it up at the next Caddie shack debating society !
Scratch, of course means that the golfer you are
helping should shoot par or under. Even at the top end of
the scale golfers tend to exaggerate their abilities. I
wonder honestly where these golfers get their handicaps
from....a catalogue ? Or they pick numbers out of a hat ?
It is such a shame as the handicap system is designed
so that golfers of differing abilities can have a reasonable
game. In most other golf developed countries they have
a national system where courses are even graded....so
handicaps can be adjusted accordingly . But over here we
cannot be arsed. Its so loose and amateurish.
The most common bleat that we have to listen to is
" Ive never played this badly in years......" they whine
As if we as regular caddies cant recognise a good swing
when we see one.......or suss out a chancer. The saddest ones
are the ones who turn on their caddies and shout.." You are the
worst caddie in the world...."
That would be too much of a coincidence.
The ones you really have to watch are the ones who claim to
play off 18 and they are nearer 10.....they are the real
slime bags especially if they ever win competitions. There is
a great scene in the film " Bad Golf My way " with Leslie Neilsen
when you see the Pope on the Tv making a fire and brimstone
speech and underneath the subtitles say
.....Its always the caddies fault.......
If only that were true....we would try harder to improve.
Scratch, my arse !