|Location, location, location|
Club A was already ahead in my mind. It was reasonably close to home and had a lovely location with gorgeous views. Generally well managed, with a programme of planned maintenance and improvement the greens were more than fast enough for me. As a visitor I’d always had a friendly reception: next step was to suss out the members.
Enquiring in the pro shop, I expected to be invited to the regular ladies day and was disappointed when it was suggested I come along for tea after the event, which turned out to be an awkward affair. Don’t get me wrong, the ladies were friendly and seemed eager for me to join, but it was hard for me – and possibly them - to relax. Who was sizing up whom? Whatever my official handicap, how could they judge how we might get on together on the course - and how could I? When I was shown the locker room alarm bells started to ring. I have nothing against chintz per se, but the signing up sheets for ladies mornings went up six weeks ahead – six weeks of planning for a friendly roll up? I left without making a decision, disappointed that what had seemed like a no-brainer suddenly didn’t feel quite right.
And so it was on to Course B. Although lacking the rural panoramas, I knew the course was beautifully kept and the clubhouse newly revamped. I’d also been lucky enough to sample the excellent catering.
What could possibly go wrong?