A 4am start out of Gatwick was my self-imposed punishment for arriving late on the tour. In only a few hours I was bombing down the appalling roads from Cork airport to Waterville in my crappy little Peugeot. And by 11am I had met up with my golfing companions – a motley crew of varying age, golfing handicap and facial hair. The course at Waterville destroyed me, but it was just fantastic to be out there playing on such a great course.
In order that Christian and I didn’t feel out of place as the younger members of the tour, Steve E had thoughtfully booked us into Castlerosse Hotel For Children for the next few nights! Embarassingly, the kids (who seemed to outnumber the adults by about 4:1) seemed capable of staying up much later then us; I’m sure many of them were better golfers too!
Further famous courses were to follow over the proceeding days: Tralee (a beautiful course designed by Arnold Palmer), Ballybunion Old (the course oozed history and nobility, although the clubhouse looked like social housing project from the outside) and Lahinch (without doubt the wettest game of golf I have ever played).
The craic was tremendous throughout the tour. In Killarney, every evening began with a pint or two of the ‘black stuff’ before heading into town to the Smoke House – a fantastic little grill with lovely waitresses and a fantastic arrangement with the next-door pub allowing us to bring our pints through when our table was ready. A shiraz-merlot usually followed the pint - exquisite with steak, and excellent value. Our hotel in Lahinch on my final night served excellent fare, and thus there was no need to leave the premises (fortunate, as the entire town seemed to have closed down for the winter!). On Ken’s suggestion we rounded the meal off with Grand Marniers, a classy end to a classy holiday.
I flew out of Shannon airport on Friday afternoon (a day earlier than the others due to baby daughter duties!). My golf bag was soaking, as were my clothes. As the flight took off, a stream of water poured onto my lap from the door seal (I was in row 1) and I was kindly asked by the stewardess: “well what do you expect me to do about it?!”. My cabbie from Heathrow to my house attempted to rip me off by claiming we had agreed on a price £10 higher than was the case. As I entered my driveway – still soaked, dragging my torn golf bag and suitcase behind me - I longed for the warm honesty of the Munster folk, the ease of their hospitality and the excellent companionship of my five golfing compadres. Then I opened my front door and little Amelia charged towards me and jumped into my arms. And everything in the world was right again.
In order that Christian and I didn’t feel out of place as the younger members of the tour, Steve E had thoughtfully booked us into Castlerosse Hotel For Children for the next few nights! Embarassingly, the kids (who seemed to outnumber the adults by about 4:1) seemed capable of staying up much later then us; I’m sure many of them were better golfers too!
Further famous courses were to follow over the proceeding days: Tralee (a beautiful course designed by Arnold Palmer), Ballybunion Old (the course oozed history and nobility, although the clubhouse looked like social housing project from the outside) and Lahinch (without doubt the wettest game of golf I have ever played).
The craic was tremendous throughout the tour. In Killarney, every evening began with a pint or two of the ‘black stuff’ before heading into town to the Smoke House – a fantastic little grill with lovely waitresses and a fantastic arrangement with the next-door pub allowing us to bring our pints through when our table was ready. A shiraz-merlot usually followed the pint - exquisite with steak, and excellent value. Our hotel in Lahinch on my final night served excellent fare, and thus there was no need to leave the premises (fortunate, as the entire town seemed to have closed down for the winter!). On Ken’s suggestion we rounded the meal off with Grand Marniers, a classy end to a classy holiday.
I flew out of Shannon airport on Friday afternoon (a day earlier than the others due to baby daughter duties!). My golf bag was soaking, as were my clothes. As the flight took off, a stream of water poured onto my lap from the door seal (I was in row 1) and I was kindly asked by the stewardess: “well what do you expect me to do about it?!”. My cabbie from Heathrow to my house attempted to rip me off by claiming we had agreed on a price £10 higher than was the case. As I entered my driveway – still soaked, dragging my torn golf bag and suitcase behind me - I longed for the warm honesty of the Munster folk, the ease of their hospitality and the excellent companionship of my five golfing compadres. Then I opened my front door and little Amelia charged towards me and jumped into my arms. And everything in the world was right again.
Photo: Simon briefing the boys at Ballybunion!
