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Your support makes all the difference.If you are fretting about what Christmas gift to buy for a winter league golfer who is already kitted out with hip-flasks, hand-warmers, thermal long-johns and fur-lined hats with ear muffs, may I recommend an alarm-clock – preferably one manufactured by the Atomic Energy Authority.
Of all the many atrocities a player can and most probably will commit in golf, over-sleeping is the least forgiveable. We had an instance on the final day of our Snakes and Ladders competition last Sunday that has scandalised the club and is bound to have severe repercussions at the prize-giving supper.
As I wrote last week, the spectre that haunts the 130 who compete in our winter league – subtly called the Snakes and Ladders because each week the winning pairs go up and the losers down – is the wooden spoon.
Since the league is split in two halves, the 10 weeks leading up to Christmas and the 10 weeks before Easter, we have two wooden spoons each five feet long and studded with the names of those wretches who have won it in the past.
Regular readers will not be surprised that my name is on one of these infamous utensils; a fate to be avoided at all costs which is why on the last day of each session there is less interest in the battle at the top than the scramble at the bottom.
Last Sunday, I revealed that the favourites for the spoon in the current session were Charles, steward at the yacht club, and one of his members called Glen, who is giving up sailing to go straight. For Charles, this was an act of typical kindness because Glen is a beginner who is flattered by the maximum handicap of 28. Glen is a gentlemen's hairdresser and for the previous nine Sundays his idea of something for the weekend was a bloody good hiding for him and Charles from whoever they were playing.
Last Sunday was their last chance to rescue themselves from ignominy but their rivals for the wooden spoon were comforted that the pair were up against Steve, a low-handicapper, and the club president neither of whom are known for their compassion and, in any case, were contenders for one of the top spots.
Charles and Glen were shivering more than most in the icy wind as they stood with the president on the appointed tee awaiting the starting flare and scanning the grey sky-line for Steve. He never came.
When this happens, the solitary partner has to play the opposition on his own and give them a crippling number of shots. The president tried hard but in vain and returned furiously to the clubhouse. Even more livid were the other wooden-spoon candidates.
Charles and Glen's unexpected victory means that four pairs are tied for bottom place and the spoon will be awarded at the whim of the Chief Snake who looked bemused as the arguments raged around him in the bar.
Steve, meanwhile, was oblivious to all this because he didn't wake up until 2.45 in the afternoon, seven hours later than he should have. Racked by guilt, he claims never before to have overslept by that margin.
Was he drugged? Has he been promised free beer at the yacht club over Christmas and the New Year? The Chief Snake has much to ponder.
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