...or as I like to call him, 'Dad'.
You know I've always steered clear of golf... it has connotations you know. Tarby, Wogan, pink Pringle knitwear, fat business men, spoiling a nice walk, etc. Anyway I've been to a local driving range twice this week in secret. Oh yes... borrowed some old sticks from a colleague and stood whacking buggery out of a bucketload of knackered balls for half an hour.
I am, of course, a natural. I reckon if I'm to stand any chance with Kirsty, I'll need to be able to show her old man a thing or two on the golf course... what d'ya reckon?