Big Frank, Whatever You Do, Don't Read This (But Juliet May Enjoy It)

Day 66, Sunday March 8, 7.15am: Frank, whatever you do, don't read this. I mean it. Stop. Now.

It will only bring back nightmares. Juliet, though, you can read on. If only to give you a chance to mock me.

I am playing golf today. In my club's montly medal. For the first time in four months.

As Frank knows to his cost - it's the price he pays for being my immediate neighbour - I am a bit of a golf nut. He had a very hard year recently, listening to me relentlessly expounding on the great game. Frank prefers Merlot, and long walks, the Civil Service and unicycles. Frank, indeed, prefers anything to me talking golf.

Juliet, a couple of doors down, also knows about my dedication to all things involving a 7-iron and a little white ball. The difference is that Juliet has just taken up golf and, I think, may get prettty good at the game. How are we going to measure her NYR progress? Well, her first 10 shots went about 65 yards, 45 degrees left. We'll go from there.

Me? Well, I'm playing off 10.3 today but, as I say, I haven't played for ages. In theory, I should be lucky to break 14 or 15. But I have been doing a lot of thinking and theorising in recent weeks and I'm hoping this will count for something. Anything near 10 over par today will be a big success. If I manage that, I shall tell you, while expounding on one of my latest theories. I shall even go and tell Frank.

If I score worse than 10, you will be met by a deafening silence, while I do some more thinking and theorising.

Whatever happens, I expect to have great fun today.

Talking of great fun, Adam is back in town. Adam is a friend of mine who has just moved back to the area. He has not had a particularly easy time of it, of late, which is unfair because the man is like Martyn - top bracket. Now Adam also happens to be a rather useful golfer, playing off 10. I have a feeling we may share a few rounds this summer. I think we may just challenge each other to dip into single handicaps this year. A recruit to TRSNYRC beckons, I fancy.

Must stop. No time for this. Must go and stretch, and find my trolley. And put some trousers on.