And because we’ve seen some items disappear and reappear like something Paul Daniels is doing to Debbie Magee (how has he not been in this Yewtree business? He was obviously a massive nonce!), I’m trying to track everything classed as a society asset.

I will be missing many items that never get awarded, like the bowling ball, the Portcock and the soup strainer – and things that seem to have gone, like the rubber chicken and our markers – please let me know what needs to go on the table by commenting (and come on, you lazy feckers, help out with this), but here is where I got to on a late Saturday night

This is the Beacon Inn.

This is a pub somewhere in England. It received a visit from a member of the WHV board on Saturday evening. He came in with two empty Stella glasses, and left with two full pints of Fosters, and an empty bladder.

It is at the end of this country lane, a couple of miles off the M5 Northbound.

This is Haresfield. Approximately Two Stellas distant from the Stockwood Vale GC.

Due to paranoia from Rob, we all arrived early for a fictitious tee-off time, so accodingly, we finished a little late. Now, the WD had forewarned fellow travellers that he was getting straight off afterwards as he was likely to be in the Doghouse with the mother of his infant child for just ‘gadding about doing whatever he wants’. Before the round, the TD had asked the WD if it was going to be possible for him to join him in an early trip home as he too was in the Doghouse with the mother of his infant child, this time for doubling up on curry house visits the night before (or something, it has to do with a mixed grill ordered but not consumed and more libations with WHV members whilst guests were at the house).

At the point of departure, the TD popped into the clubhouse to pick up the token for the barrier and came back with a couple of pints. He seemed to be in  relatively good spirits, insisting on playing his Longpigs CD whilst we drove round the Bristol ring road on a Saturday evening with him showing off to parallel cars at roundabouts. “Boy” and “Helluva Boy” (with hand gesture) were seen a couple of times. Apparently Ron had banned the TD’s tunes from his motor on the way down, and they all had a lot of fun playing a game with Ron’s ipod until Bacon ruined it by going for Johnny Cash or something. Anyway, 4 songs (all of them ‘brilliant’) into the CD and the TD was bored and demanded that the WD hook up his ipod so that the TD could compose a DJ set on the fly.

We were now on the M5 and making reasonably good time – should have had him back in Knowle for quarter to nine, not too bad. He was disappointed that I did not have all of the Sis and Roses tunes for him to accurately replay his ‘set’ from Spike’s wedding (thank Christ), but he did then proceed to flick through the thousands of songs on my ipod muttering “I can’t believe you don’t have [rubbish song, mostly by Oasis], you’re killing me here kid”, or “this is the best song they ever did!” – quite forcefully.

He doesn’t like the fact that the ipod automatically plays the next song once the one he’s selected has finished, it annoys him, he’s much happier picking one at a time, apparently. Come on Apple, pull your finger out – portable music should be just like when you lined up a load of 7″ singles on your mum’s music centre. Apparently, his own ‘Best of the Roses’ CD annoys him for chopping Resurrection short – ruining one of the top five tracks ‘EVER’ – luckily I did have the full version and I got 6 or 7 minutes of dancing rather than singing.

Anyway, halfway up the M5 he started gesturing towards exits. Conscious of our Doghouse status and the need to get home ASAP, I ignored this for the Gloucester junction – “you’re killing me here kid, just 5 minutes to a boozer, I need more beer”. So I acquiesced and that’s how we ended up at the Beacon Inn in Haresfield. Looked quite nice. Expensive houses. 10 minutes whilst the slowest service in the world poured him more refreshment and we were heading back to the motorway.

Several rounds of Mondays, Smiths and Supergrass tunes later, and with a full volume rendition of ‘Lucky Man’ by the Verve being bellowed out I was being directed off the M42 into Knowle. The WD has never been to the TD’s house, so my only option was to follow directions, which took me to a car park in the centre of the town – at 9 o’clock, just a single hour later than he’d promised – to deposit the young man, and his clubs, trousers, empties and Longpig CD to whatever laid ahead of him.

I do not know what happened next, but I do know that my ‘Tales of Greggers’ certainly got me right out of trouble when I got home.

At least he kept his clothes on for the whole of the journey.

Click on a question to see the answer

[faq id=”2″]

[faq id=”3″]

[faq id=”4″]

[faq id=”5″]

[faq id=”6″]

[faq-ask-questions]

Have You Seen Something Like This?

WHVgolf.com towers was shocked and saddened, as I imagine other society members were, by this confession, repeated in full here:

Having been a victim of another booze related self-implosion on Saturday evening, I unfortunately realised that the Pedro fiver was no longer in my possession on Sunday.

Being a natural optimist (or being in denial of the level of the losses of my faculties the previous evening) I assumed that I had handed the kitty to one of the Board before my departure on Saturday although, on investigation, this proved not to be the case.

As outlined by the President, I therefore got on the blower to AGM venue, The Lord Clifden, in a frantic search for the Pedro fiver. A very helpful member of the bar staff, Sarah, promised to check their tills and get back to me.

[quote]

Imagine my delight and relief when she said that she had located a Royal Bank of Scotland £5 and that she would hold onto this for me. She seemed slightly confused by my repeated questioning as to whether the note bore the legend ‘The Pedro Fiver’ although I promised to collect the cherished item whilst quickly convincing myself that she had simply overlooked any words being written on it.

Earlier today, I exchanged the note for £10 of my own money, having originally promised Sarah to more than reimburse the face value in my original clamour to retrieve the Pedro, and was gutted to discover that she had indeed been correct about an absence of writing on the note.

Despite the gravity of this position, I truly believe that the spirit of the WHVGS is not to consider this a devastating loss but to consider it as an opportunity – after all, what are the odds of the boozer having an almost identical note in their tills from the weekend ? (The Professor will probably calculate this for the benefit of the society). I have therefore seized the opportunity – namely to create further WHV legend in the prompt christening of ‘The Son of the Pedro Fiver’.

If the human race can evolve and improve from generation to generation then I am sure that the legendary potential of banknotes can also do the same and I shall therefore present to the Society…The Son of the Pedro fiver…

I’ll get my coat on the way out.

The TD

Most fined man in WHV Golf

This prompted the following response, in what I expect will become a trademark ‘cod-sympathetic’ style from our newest board member:

As a new member of the Board I can confirm that I am astonished that another member of the board could possibly lose something that is so cherished within the GS.

[quote2]

Whilst it is indeed uncanny that the boozer would have another Scottish Fiver, it is clearly not the same as the Pedro itself. The other Scottish Fiver is simply a fiver and worth it’s face value – I believe the Pedro Fiver has indeed been referred to as ‘priceless’ in the past.

However I have been appointed as the Players Rep, so will try and do my best for you Mr Gregory!

Finally, the Pres weighed in with a rather tame query as to the serial number of the disappointing ‘Son of the Pedro Fiver’.

Let this be a lesson to all WHVers. Christmas is a dangerous time when you are transporting valuable treasures. Be Smart. Leave Them At Home.

TD caught on camera in a rare moment when he isn't 'tensing'

Good work by the Idiotographer.

And so it came to pass that he faced his greatest challenge – Sunday morning of the Claret Jug, playing his nearest rivals, needing to concentrate on a course none of the players had ever seen, alleged to contain horrors such as temporary greens and many holes favouring the evil Troll Aust, who had cleverly managed to make sure he had one of his mighty sleeps the night before the special day.

But little Noz needn’t have worried, his golf remained solid – as he admitted to his playing partners, he now felt like a proper golfer. Whilst he missed the nostalgic days of getting 4 points for scoring par on a short hole, he was loving his Pro V1X’s and all the adulation from his peers.

Playing alongside a rag tag mob of colleagues and enemies, Noz remained suspiciously quiet. Where was the banter and persecution of his #1 rival, the poor Web Donkey? Where was the non-stop chatter with the ever-mercurial Tour Director? How could he not have Nozzed on for hours about the bizarro performance of the Cracker Fountain Kiss Machine Millers the previous night?

Little Noz didn’t do any of this, he let his golf speak for itself. Having witnessed a similar display of magical dreams coming true for the similarly obsessed President in the final group of the previous Jug, the WD knew his fate was not to win the title, and Noz didn’t begin to believe until, after 5 or 6 pars in a row, he watched his closest rival stuff one in the lake on the challenge that was the nearest the pin. At this point, his quiet dignity began to slip a little and the chirping that had threatened the bonhomie of the group after Noz won the coveted Hulk a few holes previously began in earnest. He had knocked one inside of poor bereft titleless, spot prizeless Bacon and was beginning to believe he would soon be crowned the King of WHV Land for the next year. No matter that the WD knocked his provisional to 2 feet, or that Millers pulled out 2 miraculous birdies on the way in, little Noz was going to win.

The quiet dignity slipped and the old Noz began to appear through the cracks. He was understandably excited, but surely this didn’t allow him to go tramping round the course bellowing at other groups whilst his goodly playing partners were in the address position?

Also, it wasn’t until he’d parred the 16th that we told him that every point he was scoring was cutting his playing handicap for the next year. Lo and behold, little Noz, going for the round of his life, came home 7 and 7, blob and blob. Normal golfers would accept this as a little suspicious, but they were tough holes, Noz had already won by 10 shots and surely the man who persecuted another player from the 12th hole of the Amy Austin under suspicion of nursing his score home 7 and 7 having recorded 35 points on the mighty Nicklaus track would never consider committing the same crime he accuses others of?

I will leave my readers to draw their own conclusions. Suffice to say, Little Noz rode home in his carriage that night to show his Queen that he had indeed won the lot and that the Wedding did not need to be called off. Plus he had an extra £105 in his pocket to go towards the grand ball he would be funding as King of WHV.

The End

PS – As I am shortly heading off to Barcelona for a metering conference, it will not be until Friday that I get much chance to post the cards from the weekend. I will make sure that I get my Amy Austin report out on time, and publish some summaries of the Jug Scores, but I want my WHV Open coverage to be exceptional, and I have some good photos and videos to share. I also hear that the masterclass is fantastic.

Kudos to the President for such a good weekend, well done to Noz for all his glorious winnings and for getting himself down from 26 to somewhere near 15 in a single season (I doubt it will stop him chirruping about other players having false handicaps, but hey, he’s never happy if everything is good and he’s not winning), and well done to Ron – his flurry of birdies may have resulted in a Runners Up spot in the Jug, but that also means he’ll be off +1 for the 2010 tour.

Noobs (or thickos) may wish to consult their ‘introducer’ about the whys and wherefores of the Doily Potting Society.

The first rule of Doily Potting is that you don’t talk about Doily Potting….