Coach, the most amusing Old Course caddie, was in fine form the other morning in our shack. Referring to the job description of caddie as ‘bag carrier’ he regales in his endearing Glaswegian twang ‘what! bag carriers! Councillors, moral supports, shoulders to cry on, swing analysists, shrinks, mind readers and marriage guidance gurus more like’. Yes, Coach puts the point across fairly well as a man obviously feeling the stress at the close of a pretty hectic season. Nevertheless, he does casually add that he has been invited out by a wealthy client for a two week, all expenses paid trip to a luxurious pad in Bermuda. Only problem is that the client is a bloke.
Meanwhile Meroe, our sole female caddie, and I have been out two consecutive days. I say ‘out’ in meaning caddying together. The funniest thing was to see her line up her client’s putt on the 15th green and watch as her motorized trolley took off behind towards the ocean. On alerting her of this fact from some way off, she turned and covered a good twenty metres in truly Olympian fashion.
Mind you, I managed to over turn the said trolley the next day on the 11th in an attempt to lend a helping hand, while her man lined up a putt. Unfortunately going up the incline the bag fell off, the trolley overturned, and both tumbled down the slope with golf balls flying everywhere from an open pocket, the scene being worsened as I let go of my own trolley to try and retrieve the situation. This elicited a ‘Keith what are you doing?’ from calm Tony, a ‘that was a fine cameo performance’ from taciturn Fraser and a rather bad four letter word from myself.