Read Online Captain's Day by Terry Ravenscroft - Free Book Online

Sunnymere; and going at it as if their lives depended on it.

    Yet another advantage that golf enjoys over most other sports is that it provides almost constant opportunity to engage one’s playing partners in conversation, particularly on the walk between shots. (This maxim applies only to the better golfers who hit the ball reasonably straight, and not of course to the poorer golfers who, once they have left the tee, rarely meet up again until they reach the green.)
    During the game of football a conversation is hardly viable, most talk on the field of play being limited to calling for the ball, shouting 'Our ball!' to the referee whenever the ball goes over a by-line whether the player thinks it is his team’s ball or not, telling a fellow team member to get his bleeding finger out, and calling a member of the opposing team a dirty bastard who will very soon be getting what’s fucking coming to him. Tennis too has few possibilities for a pleasant chat; the players are rarely within hearing distance of each other except when they're both at the net, and on those occasions they are far too busy trying to hit the ball back to exchange the latest gossip. As for boxing, well one certainly gets close enough to the man one is fighting to have a natter, as Muhammad Ali has proved with great wit, but both the wearing of a gum shield and the fact that you are constantly being batted round the head by your opponent does little to encourage any conversation other than the odd cry of “Ow, that hurt!”
    Golf however throws up many chances for a chat and as Garland, Harris and Ifield were making their way up the first fairway together they were taking the first such opportunity the morning’s round had thrown up.
    “ I saw the weather forecast last night,” remarked Harris, to Ifield. “The man didn't say anything about the weather turning; on the contrary he said it was going to be bright and sunny all day.”
    “ It is.”
    “ Then why did you tell Mr Captain it was going to rain?”
    “ To give the self-satisfied prick something to worry about,” said Ifield. He smiled. “We don't want him enjoying his Captain's Day too much, do we.”
    “ How much longer do we have to put up with the tit for anyway?” said Harris.
    “ Another nine months,” said Garland, sadly.
    “ Christ, is it that long? You've got time to have a baby in nine months.”
    “ I think I'd rather have a baby than stick another nine months of Henry Fridlington,” said Harris. “I could put up with all the morning sickness and sore nipples and eating coal sandwiches.”
    “ Me too,” said Garland. “I’m not too sure about the pain of giving birth though,” he added, after a moment’s reflection.
    “ That’s exaggerated, Mr Vice,” said Ifield. “Women make out it’s a lot worse than it is so you’ll feel sorry for them.”
    “ I think you could be right there,” agreed Harris. “My grandmother used to say giving birth is only like having a good shit. Mind you, she had fourteen children so by the time she had the fourteenth it probably was like having a good shit.”
    “ My grandmother actually gave birth to my Uncle Reg when she was having a shit,” said Ifield. “So she’d know for definite.”
    “ When she was having a shit?”
    “ Yes. Apparently she went to the bathroom for a shit, squeezed like you do, and out came my Uncle Reg along with the shit. She had to haul him out of the lavatory pan by the umbilical cord, smartish. It was only that that stopped him drowning. They were thinking of calling him Lucky before they settled for Reg.”
    They walked silently for a while, possibly marvelling at the twin miracles of childbirth and having a good shit, before Garland thought of another topic he felt worthy of giving an airing.
    “ When I take over as Mr Captain next year I'm going to have a compulsory beer tent. Every player in my Captain’s Day competition will have to get a minimum of four pints of bitter or six shorts