A new boy in the school

WE ARE SITTING in that institutionalised emblem of middle class respectability – the local golf club.

Rather nice it is, too. What, with windows on three sides, looking out over the greens and out, panoramically, over the spectacular sweep of Morecambe Bay.

They serve a really nice pint of Tetley’s bitter here, too.

And yes, I rather shamefacedly have to admit we are the newest members here.

Personally, I feel like a new boy in the school – it’s all rather strange and unreal and I’m a bit like a fish out of water.

Never in a million years would I have believed I’d ever be member of a golf club. I’ve always been too much of an inverted snob; something in my working class roots rebels at the idea.

And yet, here I am!

Oh, the explanation is simple enough. Quite a few of our friends from the Geriatrics’ Corner of the Pub have migrated here. They’ve been happy enough to sign us in as guests, but after our third or fourth visit we began to feel it unfair for them to keep doing so.

So after a brief struggle with my conscience, I’ve decided to abandon my principles and become a member.

The class war will never miss me.

And the Tetley’s is very good.

Home ground

YES, INDEED, we’re back from our hols, as readers of My Good Lady’s web log will know.

It was a good one, too – despite the craziness of Italian motorists. Speed seems to be the only thing they care about and nothing and no one is going to slow them down. Not road conditions, not weather – and certainly not careful, elderly English drivers who just want to potter along and admire the scenery.

Still, we’re home safe and sound.

And we’re already booking our next venture abroad – the south of France this time.

In the meantime, we’ve consulted a designer to help us sort out our rather overgrown back garden.

Time was, when we first moved into this property with its rather extensive rear jardin, I was a keen gardener, and happy to have a go at keeping the thing in control.

Ill health and a general lackadaisicalness has put paid to that.

Our present jungle is overrun with self-seeded trees, a badly scratchy lawn, and borders that are a playground for weeds.

The winds of this last springtime have also left their mark, too, with fences down all over the place.

Drainage needs some serious attention to stop it becoming a rice paddy in parts, and as for the crazy paving on the patio – that’s so badly cracked and weed-strewn that it needs a serious overhaul.

All of this of course is music to the designer’s ears – he must think we’ve won the lottery or some such.

Anyhow, he’s promised to bring a tree and plant man round to see what can be done and draw up some sketches of possible improvements.

So, we’re in the market for a garden makeover, and we’re just hoping the cost isn’t too exorbitant.