Some golf clubs seem to operate outside of the normal rules of time, space and humanity. I was reminded of this when my friends joined a club up north, one of those truly 19th century ones where you have to be nominated and seconded by members, you have to be interviewed, have to play a round with the Captain, and at the end of it only get membership if you aren't blackballed by someone who probably hasn't even met you.
These friends knew they wanted to play golf, and for some reason that remains mysterious to me decided they wanted to play there, and they didn't get blackballed. They seem happy enough, so all's well that ends well. Although technically they are members of different clubs, a mens and a ladies, that share the same course. I suppose they don't have mixed competitions. God forbid that the genders should play together!
Unfortunately, this also happened to another friend more local to me. She was a beginner, had swung a club at a driving range once or twice, and thought she might be interested in playing more regularly. She went to her nearest club, a short walk from her house. This particular Home Counties golf club would have required her to play a round with the club pro, have a handicap of less than 25, meet the Lady Captain, fill in an application form detailing her employment, job title and as good as her salary - as well as that of her partner - and for an initial investment of £stupid,000 (subject to being accepted) she could have been privileged to play with some of the snobbiest people in the land.Unsurprisingly she decided that golf clearly wasn't the game for her and jacked it in, except for the odd trip to the range. Fortunately a pro there suggested another, friendlier, club and that's where I met her. She's been playing for a year, and I'm hoping to see her handicap down in the twenties this summer. I would love it, I would absolutely love it (to paraphrase Kevin Keegan) if she one day plays for us in the county league and thrashes that club to buggery.
This last story I think is apocryphal, but it's shockingly funny. I won't name the golf club in case it turns out to be true. The bad part is that it really could turn out to be true! Tell me you don't deep down partly believe it. This club, let's call it Victorian Old Bastards G.C., doesn't allow women to become members. (I know. Forget shocking, this is barely noteworthy, sadly). However, in a generous gesture the enlightened old gits allow the wives of members to be 'associate members', just like the Carlton Club. Rather sweetly, though, if the husband pops his clogs, the widow is sent their condolences and asked to leave.
