First it was endless 'plink-plonk', now it's 'tippy-tappy-putt-putt'!

A few days ago I was moaning about the endless 'plink-plonk' showing on my TV screen as the entire country came to a halt for Wimbledon.  No sooner was that gone, along with 'grunt-grumble' Murray, than we're now into non-stop 'tippy-tappy-putt-putt' from somewhere north of the border.  I gather this particular location is the premier golf course in the entire world.  Well, I can tell you now, having gazed at it for two days, it has to be the most boring bit of Jock countryside you could ever wish to avoid.  It's as flat as a witch's tit and you can see miles and miles and miles of endlessly boring Jock countryside.  The course itself is covered in a thousand and one little hillocks and is regularly swept by gale-force winds which change direction every hour on the hour. Thus, the result of the game is a total lottery!

Of course, 'back in the day', the golfers indulged their eccentricities by dressing up for pantos, wearing ghastly, loud check-trousers, hideous shirts covered, occasionally, by even more hideous sweaters and that at least provided us all with some good belly laughs as we realised what appalling taste they had.  But today, under the iron grip of their sponsors, they all dress more or less the same in grey/blue/black track suit uniforms of the sort you see chaps wearing down the gym - or in jail!

That's not to say that there hasn't been some amusement to be derived from this eye-stabbingly tedious 'game'.  There has been the sight of the great Tiger Woods being well and truly out-played by amateurs - too, too delicious!  Then there was Sir Nick Faldo - 'Sir'!  What's he ever done to deserve a 'Sir-hood' when a Great Man of the Theatre such as myself who has electrified audiences the length and breadth of, er, well, Twickenham passes unrewarded by Her Maj?  Where was I?  Oh yes, poor old Faldo being driven up and down the course in a little buggy because he'd lost his balls - or something like that!

I realise I may have ruined several old friendships with mates who live and breathe 'tippy-tappy-putt-putt' and I'm sorry but, honestly, there's only so much one can put up with.  Thank God it only lasts four days! 

 

Comments

[backofanenvelope]

Why are you watching it? Surely, there are better things to do up on the Somerset-Dorset borders.

[David Duff]

Because I want something to moan about, it suits my GOM (Grumpy Old Man) persona!

[Uncle Mort]

Never mind, the football season starts next month.

[David Duff]

Yes, thank God, not that I watch that much, either, but I do love to hear them arguing the toss over it all on TOOOOOORKSPOOOOOOOORT!

[jimmy glesga]

David since the mighty Glesga Rangers went financially down the tube it has been pretty calm here in Glasgow the past few years. Far less admissions to casualty and less domestic abuse from men on a downer because their team was beaten. And the polis get a break from the idiots.

[Andra]

You'll have to make up your mind whether you want to be a grumpy old man or a sex symbol of the theatre. I suppose you could be both but it sounds as if it might be a bit tricky for a senior citizen.
Did you ever consider porn? Of course, you'd have to take your long johns off!

[Backofanenvelope]

Andra. Do you mean as a viewer or as a participant?

[David Duff]

Jimmy, someone at sometime should write a book on the recent murky history of Rangers.

Andra, I was approached by several porn magnates, well, they're all over the place in, er, downtown Twickenham but I resolutely refused to remove my Long Johns. They were prepared to accept that, given my fame, but, alas, the, er, leading ladies could not stop giggling. Bitches!

[jimmy glesga]

David you would have to get a neutral person who could maybe attempt to survive death to write a book about Rangers. However in the old days you could follow the team and enjoy football.