The Honourable Divot
Golf Society

Pickit, Flickit and Flopitout

Solicitors retained in perpetuity by Lee Smackit

• Reassured to receive navigational advice from Hake, the human GPS, but disturbed to have to get up at dawn and drive to the other side of the world just to undergo another complete grind;


• Not surprised to learn of dastardly tactics by Sevi - locking the windows to choke Irish & Steads forcing the svelte Adolf to speed at 120mph, and paying a woman with a big moustache and a giant dildo to lay in wait and shock other divoteers;


• Delighted that Cadbury, icon of leadership, had endeavoured to find a top value venue, only to be subjected to the usual stand and deliver cash extraction routine from the Chairman on arrival;


• Staggered to receive new draconian divot rules, whatever next, no trolleys on the tee?


• Stressed by unforgiving early bastard holes followed by a tyrollean mountain goat climb to the tee for hole 5 after a whole load of unnecessary gorsey encounters;


• Not amused by the ball gobbling 17th but entertained by Charlie who almost received another centre parting and proceeded to add a whole new vocabulary to a call through hole;


• Totally put off on 18 by the cackling clamour of Adolf;


• Pleased to have been partnered with the lairy green keeper in the Sunday evening tag team event, only to be confronted by Adolf, posing as Coffee Anan, with a pool cue;

• Disturbed to find Hero, a man in contention, snarge hunting by the pool window in the hermetically sealed dining area at 0600;


• Not convinced that Good Morning Wales was any suitable substitute for Miss Saigon, but delighted in the evening to be shown a short clip featuring nuns and cucumbers;


• Appalled by too much information and graphic detail of Sevi’s cumberland moment, abuse of male fern and health hazard creation scheme on the 13th. The only consolation being that by now the rare Welsh arse beetle will be making hay;


• Sapped of all residual energy thanks to extended cricket and keepy uppy, despite the considerable coaching efforts of Sven Goran Hake;


• Filled with pride to be part of the Alcatraz swim team, braving slippery rocks, frigid temperatures and used chemical containers, supervised by a paddling lifeguard paramedic. The Human Iron, unaccustomed to such pleasures, said that he ‘felt like a fucking cockle picker’.


• Startled at the early evening entrance stage right of Big Lew, who appeared on the clubhouse terrace dressed as a pimp;


• Concerned at ritual staff abuse from our cultural attaché, Charlie, who in between asking for more bread, maintained that the waitresses best side was her inside;


• Encouraged later, however, to think that the Human Iron had developed a rapport with Charlie when the latter inquired whether he was enjoying his soup but then reassured by the subsequent exchange. ‘I am surprised you are concerned about my soup’ claimed Iron. ‘Last night you called me a cunt’. The reply ‘Yes a cunt that likes soup’;


• Floored by the Human Iron’s joke punch line and further entertained by Big Lew and Sniffer attempting to fold the table cloth in 7 (foolishness);


• Pissed off to be given the slowest nob-jockey of a car ever in sega valley;


• Not impressed by the infernal beeping noise in the loo, so gave the whole room a good all-round urine pressure-jet spraying;

• Distressed to find the lairy green keeper on duty first thing in the morning destroying the 18th green with a fire hydrant;


• Most amused to witness Sevi riding Charlie’s buggy like a roman chariot, but less amused when Aunty Steads, having taken charge of the flu from Cadbury, insisted on showering germs from every orifice before coming from behind;


• Grateful for Laura’s advice on the most difficult hole in Wales – drive into the lateral hazard, take a drop, chip and in for a par. But then shafted by his personal interpretation – slash one into the hazard, take a drop, shank another into the hazard, drop again, miss the green, three putt. The only solace being the knowledge that there was a hell of a long way to go (quelle bastardo!);


• Shocked to see Big Lew bobbling one down on the 14th, only to learn later that Dr Hairy, showing even greater ineptitude (2 shots to the ladies tee), had refused to go ‘nob out’ on the grounds that he ‘didn’t fucking well want any more parts of his body sunburnt’;


• Intrigued at the prospect of Divot Wives on the website (and have already mentioned it to Belinda only to receive a severe cuffing – bliss);


• Still recovering from a complete flame grilling but now convinced having seen the state of Laura, Steads and Dr Hairy that global warming is upon us;


• Shocked that Irish who, after detecting a rare fly on the 16th green, calmly dispatched it without ceremony in a putter outburst;


• Impressed by the tenacity of Sniffer, tour photographer, capturing a Sevi cumberland moment for posterity;


• Stunned by the harsh ruling that, despite scoring a truly manful 14 at his nemesis hole, the Human Iron could not be awarded the porno dvd (what the fuck are we supposed to do at work now?);


• Delighted for Hoople, a man on fire, who will now need to build an extension to contain his ever growing drinks cabinet and trophy hoard;


• Indeed most supportive of the awarding to Sevi of the ever popular gnome on the eve of his nuptials (assume the position).

I remain your obedient and submissive leather-dressed servant
Yours etc….. Flopitout