Men down to a tee

It’s a chance to get away from it all for a few days and to recharge batteries flattened by the daily pressures of being responsible men of the world.

For the past decade, Dave and I have played as a team against Phil and Derek. We play 27 holes on each of two days, with a points system deciding who wins the bragging rights for a whole year.

To say it gets competitive is an understatement.

In summary, Dave and I are traditionally very dignified, whereas Phil and Derek get a bit childish.

Dave works as a GP. Phil’s a policeman.

And Derek “works” as a tennis coach. It isn’t really work but he likes to think it is.

Anyway, after day one of intense competition at Ripon Golf Course, we found ourselves putting the world to rights over a few pints in the Royal Oak. The subject turned to women and that led to a question about how on earth Phil had managed to wangle a trip away immediately before his family holiday.

We were due to arrive back from our golf break last Thursday evening and he was due to fly to Menorca at 6am the next morning.

“Can’t believe you’ve got away with that!” said Dave.

“Unbelievable,” I added.

“What about the packing and everything?” asked Derek.

Phil took a sip of his beer, thought for a few seconds, then summed it up succinctly. His wife would do the packing, then moan about being left to do it, knowing full well she wouldn’t have let him anywhere near the suitcases even if he was at home.

“That’s what they’re like, isn’t it?” he said, reflectively. “They don’t really want us to help – but they like to complain about us not helping.”

We all nodded in acknowledgement that he was absolutely right and the conversation moved on to the conclusion that women are simply better suited to packing than men.

“A woman can make anything fit in a suitcase,” mused Phil. “But no matter how many times a bloke folds stuff, the lid of a suitcase just won’t close.” Again, we all nodded in agreement, then went for a curry.

The next morning, we set off for day two at Kirkbymoorside Golf Club and spent half-an-hour trying to make our clubs, trolleys and bags fit into the car. If only we’d had a woman to help.

For the record, the fiercely-fought annual contest came down to the very last stroke.

No one had spoken for the final nine holes, such was the tension, and the fates conspired to leave Phil with two putts from less than two feet for overall victory.

Only a jackdaw in a nearby tree dared make a sound as his first putt hit the edge of the hole and spun ten inches past. Beads of sweat were visible on Phil’s forehead as he settled over his second putt. He tapped it towards the hole – and missed!

Dave immediately launched into a mad dance on the green, then threw himself at me for a bear-hug. Derek fell to his knees with his head in his hands.

Phil picked up his ball, threw it into the trees, hurled his club in the direction of the clubhouse, and stomped off.

Hardly a word was spoken all the way home.

Like I said, it’s good to have the occasional break from the pressures of being responsible, grown up men of the world.

I just hope it hasn’t spoiled Phil’s holiday.

THE THINGS THEY SAY JOSEPH Westcott, aged eight, of Middlesbrough, after dad put money under his bed from the ‘fairies’ when his tooth came out: “Dad, I knew it was you. Who else would leave a load of change under my pillow?”

GREAT Stainton WI president Margaret Cuthbert was staying with friends who had a little boy called Dominic.

Margaret went upstairs to brush her teeth and Dominic followed her.

He was fascinated to see her take out her top dentures.

The next morning he announced: “I’ll come upstairs with you again to help you clean your outside teeth.”

GREAT Stainton WI treasurer Joan Sullivan was teaching at a school in Southend-on-Sea and a little boy had got the rubber off the end of his pencil stuck up his nose.

The hospital was close by and they soon got him sorted out but on the way back to school, the boy looked up at Joan and said: “I’ve got another one in my pocket.”