When I arrived at Club B, all the omens were good. Having rung up about membership I’d been treated politely and invited to play a few holes with a committee member. That sounded fine to me. As icing on the cake, the weather was absolutely glorious and the course, newly trimmed, raked and rolled, looked as good as a golf course can on a sunny day.
Okay, I was slightly disconcerted when the committee member turned out to be the club membership secretary – yes, a man. Hmm, mixed golf is fine, just not what I was expecting. But nothing ventured, so off we went down the first.
I have to say because of some slight apprehension, my golf was
So, the course was good, the native friendly. I don’t think I disgraced myself too badly. As I recall bought me a cup of coffee before hurrying off on club business. Membership, I sensed, was on offer.
But where were the ladies?
I’m pretty sure if I’d gone round with a lady that day and we had had some fun, my money would have been on the table. A follow-up phone call from the lady captain might even have done the trick.
So what? I don't suppose they've missed me, and since then I've heard a few things to suggest the ladies section might not have been for me. But the fact remains, if they were looking to recruit a lady player that day, they got the sales pitch wrong.