I love golf. When it’s played well it’s the most elegant and captivating game in the world. It combines strength with finesse, technique with tactic, all played out on some of the most impressive and perfectly prepared parks and gardens in the world.

When it’s played badly it is the most horrid looking attack on nature man has invented since the combine harvester. I’d like to think I’m closer to the first catagory than the second but I’ve hacked out a few craters in my time and trimmed some low hanging branches off of fairway trees.

I’ve played the game since I was young in Australia playing on hot and bouncy courses which cost next to nothing to play on to now playing in France where the surfaces are lush in the summer (what summer?) and can bury half the ball in the middle of the fairway in winter. My swing is natural and I kind of leave it alone for the most part and work the majority of my time on nailing my short game from 100 yards to the hole. I have a single figure handicap which feels like it could blow out to twenty on any given day if I don’t concentrate so, for the most part I keep my nose to the grindstone.

I’m not a tinker, I’m a worker. I never tweak, I try to understand then practice. I’m a loner, and a thinker, and part of what drives me on is the idea of working toward that perfect round. I’m rapidly approaching forty years of age and figure I have a good number of years of golf left in me to attack the pin yet. The musings on this blog are entirely my own and if it helps at all then don’t be afraid to let me know.

Happy reading.

Tim.