Roughing It Out

"Golf is a good walk spoiled." ~Mark Twain

Golf must have more quotes relating to it than any other sport. Most famous, as above, is by Mark Twain. Did I agree with him? I had to find out.

Myself and three other upstanding gentlemen unleashed a very special brand of terror on the unsuspecting Strathtyrum Golf Course: 4.50pm on that gorgeous Saturday evening saw the four of us (99% yours truly) slicing balls, hacking rough, breaking tees, and digging holes in sand pits (many apologies, bunkers).

I am no golfer, that much is sure. I need to focus on my technique - I have the most ridiculous swing ever allowed on a golf course and a grip that would make golf tutors worldwide weep. I think it can be summed up best by legendary golfer Sam Snead - "If a lot of people gripped a knife and fork the way they do a golf club, they'd starve to death." I'd probably gore fellow diners while I was at it, I certainly would've been a menace to many a golfer that day had my wise old friend not booked the last tee time possible.

After marching around in the rough for four and a half hours looking for my balls (ho ho - there is no was golf can be written about without leaving openings for innuendo) - the game was more a Where's Waldo (or Wally for the strange Brits) for golf balls - we claimed the 18th hole just before the sun called it a day.

I enjoyed myself - obviously it'd be more fun if I had tried a bit harder to learn - and disagree with Mark Twain. In this day and age it's hard enough to draw some people out of the house, yet alone to tramp for miles with heavy clubs (for those man enough to shoulder their own load) in all weathers. I believe it's an excuse for a walk flavoured with a bit of competition.

Maybe I'll get lessons, play a bit more, perhaps I won't. But I encourage you all not to stick your noses up. You might just have fun...

"Golf is so popular simply because it is the best game in the world at which to be bad." ~A.A. Milne

Tic Tac Toe

The first night, the 'tic' of the title, was the night at McChuills.

Hangover averted, work finished, I went for 'tac' in the form of some birthday pints in honour of my elder brother having survived another year. It was a casual night, and only mentioned here as the pints consumed with my brother topped up the beer and cider my liver was working overtime to banish from my body, a fact that comes into play foe 'toe', the mighty 3-in-a-row.

This came in the form of an annual birthday bash thrown by one of the musketeers of the Physics PGDE 2008 class. Set in England, I'm a relative newcomer to the proceedings, but it's worth every penny to make the effort to show at his shindig. This year was no exception.

I won't go into too much detail as it's not much in the spirit of the blog (the issue addressed in this post drinking three days in a row, but I'm really just posting to provide excuses for not getting out there for something more unusual [please note that such drinking is in no way usual for me - drink responsibly folks]). Let's just say that there were hats, drinking games, home-made cider and beer (that tasted delicious), various fun foods, and much laughter. Let's just say that the head start on blood alcohol didn't help my cause that evening. Plenty of water and a good sleep and I was as good as new. Talk about luck.

I think this post is losing the point, I'd better go. To wrap it up - don't follow my bad example kids. Even if I am wearing a nice shirt and keeping good company. Your liver appreciates the restraint.

One Night At McChuills

The Plan: Arrive home from work, change into some casual clothes, grab a pint in the local, West, with my flatmate and his friend, then off to dinner.

The Reality: On the train home with a bunch of shopping I get a text saying 'Meet in McChuills' with directions. In the spirit of the blog I hopped off the train and made my way to the new venue.

McChuills is a bit further from the flat than west, and looks a bit 'local' at first, but offered pool, cheaper drinks, and live music.

Having arrived to meet the first new face of the evening's proceedings, a primary teacher, I got a round and we claimed seats. Said teacher asked about the loaf of bread which represented the only article from the shop that refused to be put in my work bag. Banter was had.

The friend mentioned in The Plan shows up, a call centre worker, and more pints are had. The pool table clears and team pool commences, I gladly played the handicap to the better players. More new faces pile in - another call centre worker and a journalist. Drinks were drunk, banter was had.

We shifted back to the original table which, folding under the pressure of the occasion, collapsed, sending all the drinks sliding rapidly down the slope to the Australian in our midst. Miraculously he escapes unscathed along with my half-full pint (that's right, I'm a positive guy) and my flatmate's whiskey and coke. We physicists are looked upon kindly by the forces that are the bane of so many drinkers. The bar offers free drinks to replace the ones lost (or just for the hassle of having to shift from my seat to collect my errant pint in my case). An omen, for sure.

The rest of the night blazed by, filled with booze, another new face, banter ranging from the Australian Government's stance on Aboriginal culture to bread (bring a loaf of Weight Watcher's Brown Danish to a pub and you'll talk about it too). Eventually those with more sense made for home so as to be half sensible in work the next day. Time to hit the road.

To be honest though, that time had come long before, I just didn't notice. I had a man's share of booze coursing through my system and no dinner yet, at 12.30am. This was promptly rectified by a delightful kebab (shish, not donner - I wasn't that drunk yet), chips, and a fiery El Paso pizza from The Wishbone. Maybe it was hunger, maybe it was booze, maybe they just make amazing food, whatever the case may be, it was delightful.

And here, our night at McChuills ended. But for those who want closure on the story, here it is: Stagger home, drink water, sleep. I managed to avoid the hangover by some miracle and put in a good day's work the next day, but drinking on a weekday evening is a privilege that should be left to those who have holidays on the go or are students who have to drink on weekdays to take advantage of the deals. Yeah, this story has a moral. Whether or not I have heeded the lesson is left to be seen....

Cruisin' UK

Great news!

Your humble narrator has just passed his UK driving test, turning his green license into a pink one. Free on the roads for a much more reasonable price!

So how does the British test shape up to the American? Pretty damn well.

The American license allows the driver to drive manual or automatic regardless of what car was used in the test, so why bother trying to pass in a manual when you can just use a point-and-shoot car?

The test itself consists of a few questions about the car (Where's the handbrake? How do you turn the lights on? etc) followed by a leisurely drive around the neighbourhood. If you obey the speed limit, take a look around once in a while, drive smooth, and can steer into an oversized parking spot you've got the yellow card that lets you loose on the unsuspecting roads of the USA.

The British test, on the other hand, needed practice. Not only did I have to beat out the bad habits and learn to drive without crossing my hands, but the test was twice as long, involved pulling over and starting off again at random intervals along with the maneuvers, and involved car knowledge.

My first test was in torrential rain and I failed before leaving the car park after failing to do a safety check. The questions were on preparation for a long car journey, the maneuvers were the reverse park and the turn in the road. I got two more majors - one for coming into junctions two fast, the other for pulling out at a roundabout when the traffic was too thick. But if I'd be there still if I hadn't - test driving isn't real driving.

My second test was in glorious sun on the 4th July. The thought of and all-out BBQ in the evening coupled with the warmth of the sun shot my confidence through the roof. I was asked to go under the hood and point out how to check and change the oil, no problem. I was asked how to check the tyre pressure and what pressure the tyres should be - unexpected, but done it enough with friends to know the routine. Maneuvers were the reverse park, the reverse around the corner, and the emergency stop. All done with great aplomb. My minors were mainly for being too courteous on the road (overcompensating after the last test) and a stupid, stupid mistake with the brake and clutch coming into the space a the end of the test. But it's done.

The BBQ was amazing.

Now I just need to get my grubby hands on a car...

The Stand

Howdy, howdy, howdy!

Last night I went with my flatmate to check out The Stand Comedy Club in Glasgow (credit to Henry Hill for the photo - http://www.panoramio.com/user/495439).

£2 entry for the new talent night. £2 well spent.

Granted, Tuesday nights are not ideal for a late night and a few drinks, but at that price you can't really complain. I must admit I thought the standard would be on a par with the price. I was wrong, so wrong.

There were a couple of acts that felt a bit desperate, as is bound to happen, but Frankie Boyle put in a surprise visit to test out some new material and the host was not only the Scottish comedian of the year, but the very same host from the Miss Earth competition (given a bit more free range). The quality of the whole show was very good, and the atmosphere was brilliant, even on a muggy Tuesday.

Check it out.