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The rich novice
He was rolling in it. Made his money in scrap metal after the war and on retirement he had almost everything he wanted including time to enjoy himself - even time to take up golf.
He bought the best of everything he needed. Great clubs, shoes, sweaters as worn by the professionals, the lot, and he attacked his first game with gusto.
Behind him he left fairways looking like they'd been ploughed and greens looking like moles had surfaced in their hundreds. There were broken flag pins, clubs and mangled balls left in his wake, along with beercans, fag butts and a littering of discarded score cards.
His score was 285 which he celebrated over a steak and a pint.
"Excuse me, sir," a discreet voice interrupted his mastications. "I'm the convenor of the Greens Committee."
The novice looked around, his face filled with indignation.
"You're just the bloke I want to see. These brussels sprouts are cold!"
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