Crouching Tiger...

A few of our chefs go golfing on Mondays when the restaurants are closed.
I have played on and off in the past and so, when I invited myself to join them, one even let me have his old golf set for a few quid.

Yesterday morning at ten, three of them were waiting for me at the local golf course. I hired a pair of shoes and a trolley, bought a bottle of water and off we went. We spent a few minutes practising on the putting green and then we attacked the first hole. Well, it turned out to be elusive. My ball could not find it. A par four turned out to be an 7 over-par. For those who have not yet fallen in love with Tiger Woods, it took me 11 stokes instead of 4 to get the ball down the hole.
At one stage I thought I was about to collapse with pains in my legs and in my right arm and shoulder. It took a bar of Snickers after the 9th hole to stop me throwing the bar towel.

The only reason I persevered to the end was that I did not want to be a wimp in front of these fit twenty-something year-old chefs. If one of them had handed me a frying pan there and then I would have dropped it. The only thing I still had a strong grip of was my honour.

When the last ball went into the 18th hole, I could hardly breathe a sigh of relief. I should have been inside an oxygen tent. Words failed me to congratulate the winner.

At four o'clock, I dragged myself and my trolley back to the car. By then I could barely lift my golf bag.
"How many bloody clubs, balls and tees does one really need!"

Six hours after I left my favourite chair, I got home and collapsed back into it.

Karen suggested I take a bath.
"But the bathroom is bloody upstairs!" I thought.
I prefer showers but Zoe has got me a bit worried. She claims showers make you gain weight.

I mustered a bit of courage and made my way to the first floor. The climb was so painful I felt like planting the Algerian flag on the landing.
I started filling the bath and climbed into it.
I dozed off a few times in the hour I spent in the soothing warm water, lovingly rubbing my painful shoulder and jellyfied calves.
After a few thoughts of encouragement I persuaded myself to get out of the tub. Persuasion is one thing. Action is another.
With the wall to the left of me I had to use my sore arm to lift myself out. I screamed. No one heard. I managed to grit my teeth and clambered out.

Arriving at work this morning, instead of heading straight to my office, I bravely made the excruciating walk to the kitchen. The chefs were already hard at work. I straightened my shoulders and back and waltzed in.

"Next Monday, then, if you're up to it, lads?"