“The situation here is exciting, very exciting indeed. Tension is crackling in the air like electricity. The game is finely poised… and here they come now… here come Brown and White determinedly up the fairway. Jings, what a pace they’re maintaining. There’s no love lost between these two, who’ve been slugging it out since the word go, White is first to his ball and he’s wasting no time in hitting it… oh my what a shot! What a brilliant shot! It’s on the green only inches from the hole. Surely it’s all up for Brown, the plucky challenger. But wait… yes, he’s going for it! A flurry of sand thrown up from the bunker and… and... Oh my giddy aunt! It’s on the green! It’s cannoning off White’s ball! IT’S IN THE HOLE! IT’S IN THE HOLE! Extraordinary scenes here at Gleneagles, a complete reversal of fortunes with the last shot of the match! Brown has won! He’s doing a war dance… the crowd are going mad… they’re invading the green. Look, there’s White the defeated champion, his head down… that says it all. Real drama here today…”
No. I’m sorry. I tried. There is just no way golf can be made exciting.
Consuela (my Tejana maid), being much more IT-savvy than I has pointed something disturbing out to me. Our erstwhile lurker-upon-the-hilltop (remember?) is on Twitter. There he has amassed a great army of what I call Twits (those who follow a tweeter… twitterer… whatever), whom he is regaling with moment-by-moment accounts of his daily doings. Really one would have thought no one could have cared less; but no the minutiae of his tedious life have risen to cult status amongst The Great Undiscriminating. Not only that, but he has started a Facebook page calling for supporters in his cause against persecution from me! Sneakily, he has recruited from the Facebook-fans and Twits of “She-who-must-not-etc”, whom you would expect to have a “down” on me anyway.
I shall have the last laugh, however. I already have hand-delivered to the Scrabster Peculiar a petition for in vino non possum. Ha! Let’s see how he likes them apples!
As we say in Scotland – “Wha lauchs last lauchs langest”.
Just for those of you who still yearn for a little more excitement from “a good walk ruined”, here’s Bobby Jones: