Trevor rang me today and asked if I should like to take a trip over the river to Hoylake where the British Open is to be fought out. The golfers were all having a practice round today and I agreed it would be interesting to go and look at the course. We arrived to find Hoylake transformed from the pleasant enough if hum-drum coastal town into a mesh off tourists, people sat around outside thriving cafes, new bridges built over the roundabout, a long new ROAD going from the parking areas to the course, and pubs thriving with happy golf fans, sipping lager in the heat. And the tournament doesn't even get underway until tomorrow, so I imagine it will be chaos then.
We had a couple of pints of lager top in a beer garden (I never drink lager, ever, but I have to say - lager top is the best summer pub garden drink, the dash of lemonade really makes a difference) before setting off for the course. Let this be known, Trevor and I know nothing about golf. We didn't even know where the entrance for the course was and so just headed for the club house, which is off the main road, until we were stopped by security and told we could only go in if we were players. It wasn't even worth trying to blag that one, you have to know your blagging limitations. I'd have ended up saying "Yes, my bats are in the car."
We did find the public entrance and, seeing as it was late in the day and most people were leaving, wondered how much it would cost to get in? The security guard was something of a joker, but in the worst way. "How much is it, please?" I asked. He looked over at the other security guard who was talking to someone else and said "He's not looking, in you go!" This was very kind, and we thanked him (although it might have been free all day and he was just trying to look cool) but as we walked through he came over and said "Hey! Did you hear about the zoo with only one small dog in it? It was a Shitzou!"
I found it odd that he should have gone out of his way to tell us this rubbish and inappropriate joke that most people have heard, but he seemed really pleased with himself and so we both mustered a smile, seeing as he'd let us in, and went on our way. It was genuinely exciting to be walking around the parched, brown course and we stood by a sign that indicated the 17th hole with a few other spectators. We could see a white hole in the ground, and took that to be the hole the flag goes in, and therefore the surface to be the green - although it looked a bit rough. We looked at the hole. "I'd fancy my chances from here" I told Trevor, talking nonsense, naturally. Trevor agreed that he could probably hole a ball into it too - it looked quite large. "They look smaller on the TV, don't they?" Then a golfer came up with his caddie, signed a few autographs, and proceeded to tee off from what we thought was the green. It clearly wasn't the green at all. And the 'hole' was in fact a white marker. We are idiots, and I don't think there could possibly have been anyone else there at the time that knew less about golf than us.
But walking around, we fell in love with the sport, although we both decided we wouldn't have the temperament for it. When I've played tennis my racket will frequently be flung into the wire netting around the court, I get too cross if it isn't going my way. And so I imagine I'd be up in another type of court for murder if I ever chose to take up golf. We saw a bar called The Open Arms (nice) and had a pint in there, watching the last of the spectators make their way to the exit, before having a stroll ourselves along the 18th hole to the grandstands. We both agreed we'd pay £50 and come here on Sunday for the final day. It would be ace!
On our way out, the wag security guard was talking to someone (no doubt telling them his joke) so we approached the other one and asked, politely, if we were allowed to bring any alcohol in on Sunday, or did we have to buy it from licensed premises around the course. This idiot was worse than the first. He refused to give us a straight answer, only silly, jokey ones like "you can bring drugs in if you like." My patience was running a bit thin and I finally said something like "Look, can you bring booze in, or can you not?" but he still gave a sort of jokey answer and so we left, shaking our heads, and finally asked the same question of a policeman who kindly gave us the straight answer that no, we could not. That's all we wanted to know. Don't approach the security at Hoylake for help if you happen to go this weekend - they are all wise guy morons.
To The Royal Court tonight for a triple bill of comedy. The first show was the only one I really intended on seeing and that was Richard Herring. I've met Richard before and he's a very nice person, indeed it was through him that I got the idea to start writing this Blog in the first place because he's been writing his own, Warming Up, for about three and a half years now (and like me has autistically not missed a day) and basically I've copied him. His show, an Edinburgh preview, was really really enjoyable and I saw him afterwards to say so. Do go and see Ménage A Un in Edinburgh if you happen to be going.
The second show was something I was curious about, but dubious about in equal measure, and was basically Bill Hicks (the over rated and now dead American comic) coming back to Earth played by an actor, and giving his views on all the stuff that's happened since he snuffed it. Comedians hold Bill Hicks in fantastically high regard and saying you don't like him is like pooing on a crucifix but I don't care what anyone else thinks - I've listened to one Hicks CD and I thought it was alright, nothing more. He has really obsessive fans though and clearly the actor playing him tonight (who wrote the show, and therefore the stand-up material in it) was clearly one. The impression was pinpoint but you really do have to be a Bill Hicks fan. He's self-obsessive, keeps saying the words "Bill Hicks" a lot, which Bill Hicks egotistically did quite a bit on stage and is a sign of madness apparently, but the problem for me was the targets were too soft. George Bush. Yawn. Pro Life protesters. Yawn. But to be fair he'd sold the venue out and the audience were loving it so maybe I'm wrong about the show and Bill Hicks in general. But I didn't hang around to find out and left after about 40 minutes.
I remembered, after getting the Royal Court tickets sorted, that K was doing a preview of his Edinburgh show at The Unity. I'm a rubbish friend for not supporting him. I sent him a guilty text saying 'good luck' instead. I hate being so lax. But then Trevor sent me a text saying he couldn't go to the golf on Sunday so I'm not the only one.
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