I’m back on the blog bus and the first stop is type-up town. I’ve been my usual mixture of lazy, distracted and a bit busy selling Renaults.
This week consisted of my new found love for golf. I’m going on a golf holiday at the end of the month, which I agreed to despite not liking golf or being able to play golf. It’s the equivalent of the Dali Lama going into the middle of Basra armed with a water pistol. The reason I agreed in the first place is because 15 friends were going and I didn’t want to be on my own. That illustrated the level of hatred I have for missing out on things and alone time: spending money on something I don’t like…idiot. I played the other day and was so toilet that I’ve shelled out for lessons. The prospect of playing 3 rounds of gold on foreign soil like an armless potato was harrowing, so I’ve thrown money at the situation. After one lesson, 2 trips to the range, 2 games of pitch and putt (1 on my own, yuk) and 9 holes with my friends, I can now hit a ball in the air.
That week I lived the life of a retired rich man, which is stupid, as I’m a working poor man.
Foooorrrrrrreeeeeeeee!
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