I'm feeling human again. I've had 2 early nights in a row - tallying 15 hours sleep in the last 48. I've had time to get a caffeinated elixir down me before I leave home in the mornings. I think this helps me tolerate people, even the blatantly stupid ones. I never went golfing last Sunday. The prospect of chatting to the 'Golf Sale' guy made me chuckle to myself. I remember now that I made a huge mistake a couple of months ago. I once bought some of the ugliest golfing pants in Sweden. I was ridiculed by all my friends and family, I even took abuse from people I didn't know. I loved them, really, I did, the pants that is. They ended up in the charity store over the road for some other very lucky bastard to discover. I don't think everyone believes in trousers that can change your life. It's been a while since I had a pair of magical trousers.

I've got my sister Dolly with me at the moment, she's been here since Monday and it's been great to have her stay with me. She's come over to get some head-space, rearrange the mental furniture and dust the emotions off. For some reason she thinks that things are difficult. It's the Learmont 'I'm tormented for some or other reason' gene that we all have in some form or another. What's the worst that can happen? You have your youth to be immortal and invincible. A time comes when that romance dies. It's heartbreaking to see someone who's got the time to do whatever they please, and they don't - fear of sorts prevents them from living, they'd rather let the weeds beneath their feet grow into vines. It's hard to understand, but one day you realise that your baggage is yours, even though someone else may have started packing it for you, ultimately it's yours, you're the one who dies with it, as the wise old geezer in Shawshank said, Get busy living, or get busy dying. There can be no greater experience than putting yourself out there, on the edge, the real edge, not some self-defined 'this is my edge' edge - you'll know it when you really think you're going to die. Nothing brings perspective like the proposition of death. The absolute realisation of mortality. We don't have time to waste, especially not on fear.

This is great - i'm getting response here... this comment was posted up, I thought it was worthy of more exposure.

Dear Blogger

As the official reincarnation of the great Bobby Locke I would recommend that you desist from any attempt to qualify the ancient and honourable game of golf in the exercise of your limited philosophy. Your ramblings add nothing to the sweet science - and I suspect you are worse on the course. Leave golf to the true golfers. I'll bet Ernie Els would be keen to have a go at your empty head with a nine iron. He definitely wouldn't need a driver. Go and play pinball.


I wonder, has Bobby Locke's reincarnation has ever swallowed a 9 iron, sideways? Bring it on, ball-boy.

Hopefully I'll be able to start some kind of Golf Rage - or even better, golf riots and looting of golf sales. Mad and enraged men in salmon colored v-neck jerseys and plus fours stalking and hunting the not golf-worthy heathens like me, their pockets stuffed with little white balls, fists full of golf tees and plastic bags with their clubs in, spumous from their mouths, like rabid dogs, the golf playing hell hounds released to slather me with their putters, all the way to hell. Ah, the sweet science of golf - forgive me father, for I know not what I do.