Crazy Golf - London Style
And so it was, the day after the Aussies reclaimed the Ashes, the UK Walshes (who coincidentally have just decided that cricket is not a sport) decided to challenge the Aussie Walshes to a game of golf.
The weather was the best it had been in a long time - a balmy 2 degrees Celsius. On the Aussie side was myself, Jono, Patrick and Dad. On theirs, Pete (dad's brother), Tom and Adam (our cousins) and Grandpa.
The game was tense from the start, and the stakes were high. The Aussies got off to a roaring start, with Jono hitting the green first-up, and little Patrick landing the most magnificent chip from 5 metres - straight into the hole! But the Pommies retaliated fast, landing some great shots to close the gap.
And yet at the end of the day, it was the golf course that defeated us all. As we watched the sun drop below the horizon (at 3pm in the afternoon!) our innocent game of family golf was transformed into some-kind of cruel "survival of the fittest" reality show!
The ground frosted over, as did our clubs, our golf balls and our poor poor hands. Pity we didn't bring any gloves.
But my stubborn father, he wouldn't give up. And because he wouldn't give up, nor would my uncle (they have this crazy ego-fest each time they meet up). And so the crazy golf continued well into the night (well, the late afternoon - it's so hard to tell over here!).
By the last hole, only four of us remained - myself, dad, grandpa and Pete. Beaten, bruised and benumbed, we forced our frozen hands to grip our clubs one last time, before climbing the stairs to the clubhouse. But it was all worth it, because... the Aussies had done it again!