There's a golf range close to me and I went for the second time last night. Took the kids along as it's great fun battering the balls about. Most of my friends play golf and go abroad for a week just to play and have a bevvy. I'm not part of that elite crowd though.
Having never played golf in my life I thought I'd be shite and would be slicing the ball everywhere or missing it. Imagine my surprise when I managed to hit it straight for 150-200 yards almost every time. It's a piece of piss. Very satisfying.
The golf range is in a leafy suburb of Glasgow and the carpark was filled with Mercs, Audis, and other executive style cars...and an L-reg burgundy Nova. How that must piss them off.
I'd picked up a couple of clubs for a fiver each in Braehead at the weekend.
Onto the range and the kids started popping out the balls and I was impressing them with my hits.
A few minutes after we got there a skinhead in a Metallica t-shirt came in with a bag of clubs and set up in the next stall behind me. Soon after we were deafened by a huge bang, and a ball landed at my feet. The stalls are covered by a tin roof which is about 10 feet high and protrudes about 4 feet out beyond the stalls. He had been using a driver and managed to hit the ball straight up the air and hit the roof. I moved stall.
Next in was a procession of well-to-dos in their soft comfortable shoes, pastel coloured slacks or cotton shorts, t-shirts and checked sleeveless jumpers with little logos on the chest. I overheard a conversation between two pals who each had just returned from holiday. Florida and Italy. Then one guy's son is telling how he got all A's in his exams. I'm surprised they let me in here.
One small woman dressed appropriately in a soft yellow jumper and check slacks looked very good, big bag of clubs, all with their little hats on. Until she tried to hit the ball. It wasn't just a practice swing. You don't take five or six practice swings surely.
Then there were the guys who were only hitting the ball about twenty feet. I had to suppress the urge to laugh out loud.
So get down the golf range and watch the "experts" play.
Showing posts with label Mercedes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mercedes. Show all posts
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Sunday, 26 August 2007
London incidents
I went to see my pal in London a few times. I was about eighteen to twenty years old and he could get me flight tickets for a tenner. So I'd fly to London on the Friday night after work, go out and get pissed for two nights and fly back on Sunday. Occasionally I would fly down for just one night. Very jet set. The taxi to the airport cost more than the flights.
He lived in Hounslow which is a cultural hot pot. A bit of everything.
He lived in a rented house with four other guys who were very decent. But their house was a fucking tip. The kitchen was a disaster area. Unwashed plates, mugs, food in the frying pan left for days. I washed up once and one of them walked in and laughed, asking "What the fuck are you doing? Just leave that."
One particular event made me laugh. They didn't use a hoover...for a good reason. One day, someone dropped lump of hash on the carpet and with the shitey brown design, they couldn't see it, so we were all down on our hands and knees crawling round looking for this wee lump of hash. They eventually found it and the day was saved.
I also once experienced a "deal" in front of me. One of them called someone and within ten minutes a car pulled up and the guy came in and sat on the sofa. He got out these wee scales about five inches high and started weighing out hash for them.
I never smoked it. I was more than happy just getting pissed.
The people that lived in Hounlsow were a source of entertainment for me.
Walking along the street behind some old man, he was sort of "jiving" along the pavement. His hands were shaking to some silent beat and he was bobbing around. As he approached people he would stamp his feet as he came to halt in front of them, and bring his hands up to the side of his face, shaking them shouting "Ta Dah !" as if he'd just finished some sort of performance. He continued this all the way along Hounslow high street.
I went to the supermarket and was buying dinner. A tin of beans. The old man in the queue behind me just asked me if I was having the beans for my dinner then asked me if I had a job which he seemed very impressed with. Short and sweet.
There was a pub along the road my pal took me to which he warned me could get a bit rough as it was used by soldiers from a nearby barracks who clashed with the regulars. On the night we were in it was very quiet and he was facing the door. For good reason. He'd positioned us away from the main area, near the back and the pool table, and apparently the fire exit. For good reason. He saw the soldiers come in and warned me. After about thirty minutes the fighting started. My pal obviously used to this just grabbed my arm and dragged me over behind a wide pillar and there we crouched with our pints. He warned me that it was a favourite of theirs to throw the glass ashtrays at each other. And this I will never forget because within seconds one of those glass ashtrays smashed against the pillar above my head and I still remember the sight of the shards of glass spraying inches away from my face. I think we left by the fire exit.
One other pub we went to I saw a young man holding court to several visitors. He was wearing an absurd jumper with a huge collar and lapels...on a jumper. His fingers were covered in chunky gold rings and he was drinking a coke. A succession of people would walk over to him and talk in hushed tones before a series of nods and thanks and they would leave.
My pal went out one evening to meet up with other mates in a wine bar in Kingston. At the end of the night we went out looking a taxi and outside there was a very tall black man sitting on the bonnet of a gleaming white Mercedes with one foot up on the bumper showing off his leather boots. He was built like a brick shithouse.
"Yaw lookin for a tawxi mawn?" he drawled very slowly in his thick Jamaican accent. We negotiated £15 and to his credit he took us straight home. Didn't mug or murder us. There's no way now I get a lift off some guy in the street.
I still remember the first time I bought a round in my friends local and asked for two pints and the guy said £5.30. It was the early 90s when I could get two for about £3 in Glasgow. I said to him innocently I only wanted two. He said he knew that. I was a bit embarrassed. Bloody London prices.
He lived in Hounslow which is a cultural hot pot. A bit of everything.
He lived in a rented house with four other guys who were very decent. But their house was a fucking tip. The kitchen was a disaster area. Unwashed plates, mugs, food in the frying pan left for days. I washed up once and one of them walked in and laughed, asking "What the fuck are you doing? Just leave that."
One particular event made me laugh. They didn't use a hoover...for a good reason. One day, someone dropped lump of hash on the carpet and with the shitey brown design, they couldn't see it, so we were all down on our hands and knees crawling round looking for this wee lump of hash. They eventually found it and the day was saved.
I also once experienced a "deal" in front of me. One of them called someone and within ten minutes a car pulled up and the guy came in and sat on the sofa. He got out these wee scales about five inches high and started weighing out hash for them.
I never smoked it. I was more than happy just getting pissed.
The people that lived in Hounlsow were a source of entertainment for me.
Walking along the street behind some old man, he was sort of "jiving" along the pavement. His hands were shaking to some silent beat and he was bobbing around. As he approached people he would stamp his feet as he came to halt in front of them, and bring his hands up to the side of his face, shaking them shouting "Ta Dah !" as if he'd just finished some sort of performance. He continued this all the way along Hounslow high street.
I went to the supermarket and was buying dinner. A tin of beans. The old man in the queue behind me just asked me if I was having the beans for my dinner then asked me if I had a job which he seemed very impressed with. Short and sweet.
There was a pub along the road my pal took me to which he warned me could get a bit rough as it was used by soldiers from a nearby barracks who clashed with the regulars. On the night we were in it was very quiet and he was facing the door. For good reason. He'd positioned us away from the main area, near the back and the pool table, and apparently the fire exit. For good reason. He saw the soldiers come in and warned me. After about thirty minutes the fighting started. My pal obviously used to this just grabbed my arm and dragged me over behind a wide pillar and there we crouched with our pints. He warned me that it was a favourite of theirs to throw the glass ashtrays at each other. And this I will never forget because within seconds one of those glass ashtrays smashed against the pillar above my head and I still remember the sight of the shards of glass spraying inches away from my face. I think we left by the fire exit.
One other pub we went to I saw a young man holding court to several visitors. He was wearing an absurd jumper with a huge collar and lapels...on a jumper. His fingers were covered in chunky gold rings and he was drinking a coke. A succession of people would walk over to him and talk in hushed tones before a series of nods and thanks and they would leave.
My pal went out one evening to meet up with other mates in a wine bar in Kingston. At the end of the night we went out looking a taxi and outside there was a very tall black man sitting on the bonnet of a gleaming white Mercedes with one foot up on the bumper showing off his leather boots. He was built like a brick shithouse.
"Yaw lookin for a tawxi mawn?" he drawled very slowly in his thick Jamaican accent. We negotiated £15 and to his credit he took us straight home. Didn't mug or murder us. There's no way now I get a lift off some guy in the street.
I still remember the first time I bought a round in my friends local and asked for two pints and the guy said £5.30. It was the early 90s when I could get two for about £3 in Glasgow. I said to him innocently I only wanted two. He said he knew that. I was a bit embarrassed. Bloody London prices.
Friday, 17 August 2007
Elvis Makes Amends, and Drives a Mercedes Benz
I actually went out looking for strange people this lunchtime. A little walk along Gordon Street onto Buchanan Street.
Well lawdy lawdy Miss Clawdy, did I see one?
A nice black Mercedes was moving slowly in the traffic along Gordon Street. And the driver?
Thick black hair, quiffed, big sideburns, large framed gold glasses, and a brilliant white jumpsuit, huge collar, huge cuffs and covered with a multitude of different coloured stones.
If he's in hiding from the world, someone should have a word with him.
Well lawdy lawdy Miss Clawdy, did I see one?
A nice black Mercedes was moving slowly in the traffic along Gordon Street. And the driver?
Thick black hair, quiffed, big sideburns, large framed gold glasses, and a brilliant white jumpsuit, huge collar, huge cuffs and covered with a multitude of different coloured stones.
If he's in hiding from the world, someone should have a word with him.
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