WHAT with the weather being so nice and my departure from these shores growing ever closer, myself, Coynie, McGoo and The Kiwi decided we'd try something new and take on a round of golf.
Being under the age of 40 and still somewhat able-bodied, it's rare enough that our crew would go on such an excursion. However, through a bit of dumb luck the Kiwi had gotten us a free round at a beautiful course just about three quarters of an hour away from Limerick.
While walking through the city in his flip flops, shorts and T-Shirt (as is a New Zealander's wont on a freezing cold Irish afternoon) The Kiwi was stopped by another native of the Land of the Long White Cloud.
"You know you'd pass for a New Zealander," said the lady. "That's because I am a New Zealander," replied our Kiwi. "O well, if you're looking for work or just a free round of golf then you should come out to XXXXXXX golf course, my boyfriend's the green keeper there," said she. "Alright then I will." said he.
So just like that - in an economic climate where the average Irish person would accept 10 cent an hour for a job taste-testing septic tanks - The Kiwi had managed to get a free round of golf and a feckin' job to boot. As if taking (although sampling is probably a better word) our women wasn't bad enough, now the foreigner had started robbing our jobs and free golf rounds also.
But all was forgiven on Saturday morning when The Kiwi told us he'd booked us all in for a 3.15 tee-off time at the course. Coynie agreed to drive and just as we left our lair, The Kiwi said that we'd to stop at the shop for provisions.
A bottle of water, a few bananas, maybe even some sun cream given the weather. These were the things we expected our resident New Zealander had meant by "provisions". What we didn't realise is that what he actually required was 18 cans of Budweiser which he intended on us drinking as we played.
"Well how do you play it here then?" he asked upon hearing the gasps and seeing our expressions, as he struggled to fit all that canned fun into our golf bags.
But being the sorts that are open to new experiences however, we said we'd give The Kiwi's different, more rock star-ish approach to golf a go. Being the disgruntled designated driver, Coynie didn't speak much on the way out while the three of us got the party started.
Now before you go thinking we made an absolute disgrace of ourselves on the course, hollering abuse at other (paying) golfers, climbing the trees and defecating in the holes, don't worry.
While we may have gotten a few funny looks, adorned as we were in flip-flops, bruff rfc warm up t-shirts and occasionally putting with just one hand because the other was holdin a can of Bud, the feathers at the course remained relatively unruffled.
I'd recommend Kiwi Golf though. It mightn't make you the most accurate or well-mannered player in the world but it certainly livens up the sodding game.