GOLF WASHOUT

Well it now seems like a million years ago, but it was in actual fact just a couple of weeks.

As you can see from the photo, it was hardly 100 degrees in the shade.

I am not in the meteorological industry, but if i was asked to explain the majority of the weather over the weekend I would have to say, for the most part.....It pissed down......constantly.

I do not think I have ever seen clouds quite as black as the ones we saw driving down to Morfa Nefyn.

I'm sure at one point I saw a hoofed winged beast ride across the saturated skyline.

However, a fabulous golf course, even in the very dodgy weather. The winner on the day was Matty Lane and his very close friend Matty Lane. They both played out of their skins and shot 35 points if my memory serves me correctly.

I on the other hand shot a poultry 24 points and lost somewhere in the region of 750 golf balls in the effort.

I'm not saying that the winter conditions had too much of an effect on the course, but two of the holes had actually washed away when the sea roared over the peninsula.

Errrrmmmmm.....makes you think about equality. I got three days in a Welsh monsoon, and my much loved and cossetted fiance is getting a week in a luxury villa in Majorca......

And yes, you would be right in thinking the same as me on this photo.......Is that a golf course or is it a particularly gruelling hike in the south American Andes? Quite possibly the later.

Not so favourable if you portray a slight hook in your game I would suggest.

There was however one small highlight that kept us all entertained from even before leaving the Wirral. This was of course the green and bilious face of my best man, Mr Dave Campbell. He was in a condition that can only be best described as suffering of the highest order.

It unravelled that he had not agreed with the Indian meal selection he had made the previous evening. Apparently it was nothing to do with the vast amounts of Smirnoff Mr Campbell had thrown down his neck like a man with three pairs of arms, but more to do with an off onion.

He did not look very well at the breakfast table, even refusing his bacon butty. Ouch!

The next day and behold.....a glimpse of sunshine. In Wales? Incredible. Pennant Park was the venue, and what I believe to be the highlight of the golfing weekend.

The entire golfing fraternity was well rested and prepared for the days golf. There was definitely no late night karaoke, and the creation of a sweaty, drunken Mosh Pit in the living room. Oh yes there was. And, some of us, (Mr DLB Allen) took things a tad too far with the run up for his diving beginning in the kitchen.

Ooooh by the way, that is an extremely nice photograph of Mr Campbell who by now had sobered up somewhat.

It was a splendid new course and one at which I begun to play some golf at. I had a reasonably good front nine, but was being hottly pursued by the small man with a massive club. Pigeon Boy Allen. He was having a storming round, and there was only a single point in it at the turn.

Unfortunately, on about the 14th he received a call from his future wife Ali, and there appeared to be a fracas on the dog and bone over some unauthorised withdrawals from the joint account.

The next series of shots that Mr Allen played could be compared to a blind one handed epileptic weasel trying to hit a marble with a pin. It was not pretty. The poor fellows game collapsed around him.

I would have not blamed his good lady at all......until she hit me in the head this very weekend with a car. And so it was all your fault Cropper.

Unbelievably I managed to blag the win at Pennant Park with 36 points. How very dare you.

Unfortunately things turned drunken again in the late evening.......Poker, wine, crisps, wine, good company, wine, beating Greg Walker, wine, karaoke, wine and more wine resulted in absolute bloody mayhem.

And once again the little fella lost control of any last remaining ounce of sense he had. He tells us every morning that he has no recollection of any of this. And I think that this is possibly the best answer for him.

The remarkable thing is, he thought he had won the final days golf at Muddy Sludge Soaky Toss Golf Club, otherwise known as Pryors Hayes.

I did not take any photographs out on the course on the Sunday, as there was a strong possibility that my camera would have filled with rain water and washed away. There were a couple of moments I was considering building an ark. I thought it was the end of the world. Needless to say, I played like a total wazzack. The two golfers on the day were Matty Lane and Matty Lane and Mr Allen. It was nip and tuck all the way.

It was not until the welcome retreat of the clubhouse was reached that the scores were in.

I will not divulge who might have won on the day, but here are a couple of photographs for you to work it out at home.

Well congratulations Matty and Matty. I would like to say a big thanks to all the guys for the weekend. Had a bloody great laugh. I'm sure we might venture over to Liverpool for a few beers before the wedding. Nice one guys.