Well, now we can say we’ve played golf in France. But we’re pretty sure that the once will be enough.
My wife had never played golf, ever. I haven’t played in years and years. But there we were at about 9:30 this morning, hitting out balls on the driving range at the Golf Club de Lolivarie, outside Siorac-en-Périgord, about a 25-minute drive from Daglan. And then away we drove in our electric golf cart, to play nine holes.
Sensing our potential incompetence, the woman in the club house had smartly suggested that we play the back nine, thus avoiding all the other players who were starting off on the first hole. And so we hacked and swung and whiffed our way around the last half of the course, until (alas) we had lost all the golf balls we had bought, except one. So by the very end, my wife was having fun acting as my caddie, driving the cart, and encouraging me in her best Scottish accent. It worked, because look at the inherent mightiness in this swing:
And the result? A perfect hole in 11. And then we went for — you guessed it — a very nice lunch.