I have never enjoyed golf. Oh, I can appreciate the skill involved and I can't deny the appeal of all the different numbered clubs (5 iron. 3 wood. Collect the set...) but my complete lack of aptitude for the sport puts me off. Didn't stop me losing several Dungeons & Dragons Adventure Modules in a game of golf in my youth. But perhaps the bitter memory of that day is what finalised my hatred of it.
Today, no1 son asked if we could play a round of crazy golf.
We were in Porthmadog, having had a ride on the Ffestiniog Railway, the fab narrow gauge steam railway that features on the 'Great Little Trains of Wales' tea towels that do the rounds in this part of the world.
It was an hour or so regular train journey along the Conwy valley to reach the Ffestiniog and on the way I saw the darnedest thing on a path next to the river. It looked like and old woman, a crone, whose black garments rustled in the wind. The figure looked unreal, all hunched over like the witch in disguise in Snow White, that I wasn't sure if it was a scarecrow or some other effigy. She/it wasn't there on the way back so I still don't know who or what it was.
Anyway, we got to Porthmadog by narrow gauge, which was all very quaint but I kept bumping my head leaving the carriage. On the third occasion I almost started crying I was so fed up, much to No1 son's amusement until he realised I wasn't kidding. Didn't stop him talking about it at full volume on the train back to Colwyn Bay though. The whole train knew what a soft lad I was - and what a terrible parent too, as he declaimed to the world the fact that I had put his younger brother's shoes on the wrong feet and only realised at the end of the trip.
That's the sort of day it had been. There's always a point on holiday, not necessarily by the end, where your energy and concentration are at a low and you can be a bit grumpy and off. We've had a lovely day, but after the highs of yesterday it's been a bit of a disappointment to me.
Not to no2 son, who played up a bit but that was probably due to his feet hurting. And not to no1 son, who was made up at the chance to play crazy golf.
With my loathing of the game a given, I wasn't really in the mood for this. I reminded him of the lousy time we'd had the last time we'd had a go at crazy golf in Filey. This didn't deter him and we persevered.
I hated every minute of it.
Didn't stop me winning, though.
More soonliest.
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