It would be a criminal act to spend four and a half months in St Andrews, the Home of Golf, and not pick up a club. Never having played more than just a dozen rounds of miniature golf, beginners lessons was the place to start. So this afternoon, I traipsed through the rain with two of my flatmates to the driving range which is within spitting distance of the Old Course.
Today's lesson was holding the club. Over the next few weeks I'll have a lot to work on, but the instructor said by the end of the semester he would like to see us playing 18 holes (watch out Dad!). I've got a powerful stroke, but my dad's tendency to shank it to the right (the small fleck of light in the upper right hand corner of the photograph is the ball).
After braving the dismal conditions during golf lessons, we decided nothing was better than some warm pub food. Like any grown adult, I ate macaroni and cheese for dinner and added a side of chips and cheese. Which, as far as I am concerned, is the best combination there is!
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