Farming at the Belfry

Many thanks to i readers for your encouragement and advice before my golf debut last Saturday.

(“A first encounter with Earth’s cruellest sport” – Letter from the Editor, 22 March.) Over the years, I’ve found that the dafter the topic I write about, the bigger the mailbag.

Like that time we published a recipe for “Grey squirrel braised in dark beer with carrots and wild garlic”. Or the fevered discussion about the best ways of exterminating mice. And don’t mention Staplegate, when the staples were missing from one day’s edition.

Back to the golf. My (inevitably disastrous) debut seems to have been a sporting fixture anticipated more keenly than this summer’s Euros or Olympics. Your match report is as follows.

I had been reticent to name the venue, lest security await me. With hindsight, the Belfry was a bold choice for a novice playing his first round. The challenge was exacerbated (better golfers assured me) by marshy conditions, which appeared to have prevented greenkeepers from mowing a few fairways on The Derby course.

My playing style? Agricultural. I only ended up with a darts score rather than a cricket score because air shots aren’t counted.

Yet I had fun, flailing my way around the countryside with friends, hitting the occasional sweet tee shot. Grudgingly, I concede that golf may not (always) be a good walk ruined. Thanks to reader Nick Redfern, a retired headteacher, whose advice included the time-saving “Lost it? If it’s white, it’s yours!” I’ll play again.

And I got my revenge. The Belfry also has a mini-golf course, with 12 tiny versions of classic Ryder Cup holes. There, I triumphed with three-under-par, watching with quiet relish as my wife putted ball after ball into the water.