My lovely, lovely fiancée bought me a lesson at a local driving range for Christmas. Bag of balls, hour lesson, tea and coffee – all very civilised. To be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to it but I’ll hold my hands up and admit I enjoyed it a lot more than I should.
The day started with mission Gok Wan would have loved, picking the perfect outfit to wear for such an auspicious occasion. I forgot just how much kit I have bought over the last couple of years. 20 minutes later I was bedecked in white Oakley polo, black Oakley pants and an ace Puma jumper (below). I looked the part if nothing else.
Time to dust off the bats (literally). I took my driver, 5 iron, 7 iron and 52* wedge – a pretty varied selection for the Pro to assess me on I thought. I removed the massive, fluffy kangaroo head cover from my driver incidentally, replacing it with the standard Mizuno one. Big coward.
Richie and me arrived at a shoddy looking site that looked like it was in serious need of a makeover.
We learned later from the Pro that the place had just been taken over and had been stripped ahead of a complete renovation and expansion planned in the next couple of months.
The accommodation may have been poor but the instruction was very good. The Pro recorded my swing as I went through my paces with the 7 iron and spotted immediately why I sliced the ball so much and why my distance is restricted. Apparently I have noisy hands and an active left foot. 5 minutes of instruction later I was bombing balls straight and true. Result.
I spent the next hour watching the ball mostly sail where I wanted it. I wasn’t completely cured but I was hitting the ball straighter, further and more consistently. That hour has just rekindled my desire to play and improve, I’ve definitely been bitten by the bug again…
