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Published: April 20th 2008
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Crazy Tim and his mate Dangerous Dave have recently moved over from NZ. Tim went to Uni with my flatmates Lisa and Andre. Anyway Tim has a car and decided it was high time for a boys trip. So on Friday after work Andre, Tim, Dave and I started off for Cardiff. We had a couple of trays of beers, some tunes and plenty of excitement. Two and a half hours later after talk of cars, rugby and other bloke things we were in Cardiff. We biffed our bags in our rooms, put on our man rags (glad rags sounds to lame) and strolled into town. By this stage we were ravenous. Andre and I thought it would be a good idea to order a 10 piece meal from KFC. We then thought it would be a good idea to eat it as fast as possible. 2 minutes later after 5 bits of chicken, as well as chips, I was quite full, well really full, so full in fact that I probably didn’t even lick my ‘finger licking good’ fingers.
After our feed we went to a bar and caught up with Andre’s rowing buddy Heath from back in NZ
and his mate Laurie, also a kiwi. It was a good night, I don’t think we had KFC on the way home from town.
The following morning we drove from our hostel to Heath’s flat. Andre claimed he knew the way. He didn’t. It was a good sightseeing trip though we saw most of Cardiff before arriving at Heath’s place around an hour later than we should have. He hooked us up with some golf clubs and gave Andre a slap for being so useless. We gave Andre a second chance to navigate us to the golf course. He redeemed himself. We stopped for a service station feed on the way, I had an all day breakfast in a sandwich, it was sensational. I would like to say my golf was the same, but it was far from that.
We arrived at the course and walked into the reception area. The guy in there was watching TV, we turned to see what he was watching - a blood-stained wolf ripping a deer carcass to pieces. He looked a little too excited, the Welsh seem a bit strange, just take their language for instance, I think they have lost
their vowels (and marbles) how on earth is Myfyrwyr a word? Anyway wolf man took our money, (probably to buy raw liver for dinner) and gave us the go ahead to play. We played Ambrose or something, I’m not clued up with golfing terms, Andre and I against Tim and Dave. It turned out to be a good system. Tim was really good, Andre pretty good, me average-to-poor and Dave looked like he was trying to hack the turf to pieces rather than hit the ball. I think Tim and Dave were one shot up going into the last hole.
They both missed their putts so if we sunk one of ours we would tie. Andre sailed his just passed the whole so it was up to me. We had been taking Andre’s shots for most of the round so it was my turn to up my game. Straight down the middle she went, it never looked like missing. They should make a movie about it. (Gunther off friends could play Andre.)
After our epic golf game we went and watched a not so epic game of rugby that Heath was playing in. We saw a guy trying to
play in work boots, a guy run to the sideline and have a puke, a bit of ruckus and quite a few tries (none to Heath’s team). Everyone decided to have a kip in the avo to recharge the batteries, except for Tim, whose constant hyperactivity makes me wonder how he even sleeps at all.
The same crew from the previous night all met up again, firstly to have a burger meal and then to have a few drinks to celebrate Australia day. Well that was more of a coincidence really. In the first bar we played some drinking games and pulled out a few moves on the dance floor, we also saw a guy whose arms must have been close to exploding he was built like a brick shit house. And no I wasn’t just looking in the mirror. The guy must just pump weights all day and eat steroids on toast. Of course he was wearing the smallest top he could find. What a loser. I didn’t say that to his face mind you. We decided that the walkabout would be the best place to spend Australia day, so we went there, gave some Aussies some stick
and got home in the small hours.
Sunday was spent traveling back, feeling a little seedy and reminiscing about the greatest golf game since the unorthodox Happy Gilmour beat Shooter McGavin.
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