B02: Inclement Weather: The Gordon Identity

When the elements conspire to interrupt your brisk game, be heartened by this uplifting story.

As a last resort from a fierce lightning storm we had taken shelter in a wooden hut. Sitting in the hut I noticed a very spikey bramble that had grown through the overlapping boarding.

Before I could reach for my six iron, Gordy grabbed the bramble with his spike-proof farmer’s hand, and, with the strength of two single figure golfers (or one horse), ripped the offending growth from the wall of the hut!

It was still dangerous outside, but the dilemma was that within the confines of the hut a bramble in the wrong hands could be classed as an offensive weapon.

I politely took control of the prickly shrub, and immediately felt the urge to fashion a crown of thorns. I suppose this was an expression of BritArt. Within seconds I had reached low-level GCE A Level standard with this project, roughly on a par with Damien Hurst.

Luckily I had the skill to create a crown-of-thorns, head size of  six and three-quarters, my personal cap fitting.

I don’t remember any crowning ceremony, although I did propose that my friends call me Jesus of Nafferton,  as I emerged from the hut with a thorn crown on my head.

What’s more, I parred the remaining five holes, complete with crown.

Modestly, I walked into the clubhouse, majestically crowned, leant on the bar, and said to the unamused steward, ‘Played like God today.’