Playing golf in my sleep
I blame Murray for making me start to play golf. So I've been spending some time swinging away, sometimes successfully, sometimes less so. My driver, strangely enough, gives me no great joy: my success with it is just too erratic. When I connect solidly, the ball flies quite a way, when I don't, it doesn't, hobbling away rather akwardly to settle somewhat within range of a good throw with my strong arm. Much more rewarding is my friend the 7-iron. I'm getting the ball up in the air, and more and more it's starting to fly off in the general direction I was aiming at. But I'm in no way confident yet. When I address the ball, I'm starting to get the sneaky suspicion that the ball might eventually settle a long way from where I'm standing, but my last shot on Saturday proved just how fickle the imperfect golf swing can be. Divets can fly an embarrasingly great distance, sometimes outstripping the ball's flight by a large margin... Now Wille