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 !