August 25 Brandybottle - On par. The place, not me.

We visited Brandybottle on the way up and it was where we got the call from Alex and Tess telling us that they were engaged, making this a special little place for us. We also had a cracker of a night with a group of golfers there for a good time on the weekend. This time, we knew it would be a lot more quiet, but the food was good and I didn’t get a round of golf in last time. With a couple of hours to spare in the arvo, I braved the sun and heat and headed out to the 9 hole course with $5 rented clubs, a bunch of dodgy golf balls and virtually no tees.

I haven’t played a round of golf for around 20 years, excepting maybe an odd visit with friends to a driving range. My last round was in a previous life when I was an international executive, flying around the world in business class. I flew into Thailand for a management conference and a spot of golf. The course was designed by some famous golfer (maybe IBF?) and you were assigned a personal caddy that would drive you around, find your ball and give the shoulders a bit of a rub if needed between shots. There was also a bar every third hole. I was never going to have a round like that again, so I returned my hired clubs and retired to another Singha beer.

I am only assuming, but I don’t think IBF designed this course and they haven’t seen a groundskeeper for a while. One of the greens had fake grass and the teeing off areas were rock hard and almost impossible to put in a tee. On the first hole, I gave the ball a bash with a 4 iron and to my surprise, the ball left the ground and I could see where it landed – a win! Encouraged, I push with some more adventurous shots and start to get into my reserve balls. On the 7th, a longish par 5, I pull out a 3 wood and give it a good old whack. As the ball flies through the air into the distance, the slice starts to take hold and it curves right. This is where the living quarters are for the owners and the ball disappears behind some trees and somewhere near their yard. Thankfully I don’t hear anything breaking, I put the wood away and trudge straight to the 10th hole bar, giving up and retiring with a Carlton Draught.

No mention of it at dinner by the owner. I was the only one playing, so if there was damage, they would know who it was, so we could enjoy the Supreme Parmigiana (like a supreme pizza, but a schnitzel base) and a double beef burger. An enjoyable stopover other than the flies.