Filed under: golf, humour, jokes, life, Scotland, sports, stories | Tags: arran, golf
“Fingers twitch over keyboard.
Mind wanders off to the wilderness of Arran.
As the prospect of conflict weighs heavy.
On the soul.
Bring it on.
The Auchrannie Quaich.
To the victor. The spoils.”
Yes. I’m off in search of the trophy. Shame I’m so bad at golf.
I will, of course, win best dressed man.
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