29th
February
2016
The seasons are shifting
Just for the record, I don’t flog. Tried the game/sport a few times, and after a recorded score of 120 on the front nine in Stanhope, I decided to save what remained of my pride. After all, the scorecards aren’t designed for triple digit stroke counts, and the people behind me lose their patience. Part of it comes down to weak eyesight. Searching through acres of underbrush is necessary when people go missing. Tiny, hard spheres? Better to buy a bucket over at the range, and lug it around. Or find another way to ruin a perfectly lovely walk.
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