Tomorrow I’m playing golf for the first time in about eighteen years. Not proper golf, though. Not crazy golf, either. No – it’s going to be pitch and putt, the inbetweeny kind that doesn’t feature windmills, castles or volcanoes, but where you do actually have to thwack the ball in the air and indulge in some approach play.

Back in the day, when I used to go up to Ashton Court near Bristol to play a round, I found that I was alright at actually hitting the ball and getting on the greens, but was pretty shocking at putting. My many attempts at mini-golf abroad since then (a holiday obsession) have revealed the same intrinsic weakness in my game, where my nervousness while putting leads to a rather jittery action. Basically, then, I’m not expecting to win. Tiger Woods, I am not.

Emerging victorious isn’t the point, though. This pitch and putt escapade takes place as part of my friend Keith’s stag do, which will also involve drinks, a meal, more drinks, a film, drinks, and probably some drinks. If we actually make the film, it’ll be a miracle. Several of my other friends are going too, and it’s going to be great to spend an entire day in their company rather than just catching the odd evening with one or two of them every few weeks, so I’m really looking forward to it. Hopefully we’ll be able to give Keith a great send-off.

What this means, of course, is that my One A Day entry tomorrow will likely be one of those tippity-tap affairs under the influence of much alcohol. If I get the chance, therefore, I’ll try to write it before I leave for my golfing extravaganza. Otherwise, this is going to get messy.

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