King of the Swingers.

Richard the Great. His children wept when he said he had to return the trophy he’d won in Ireland. But it was not to be.

His sterling effort in picturesque Silloth made sure the cup would be back in Blinkbonny and his kids could show themselves in the street again. “That’s my Dad. He’s a famous golfer.”


One man and his cup.

Wind back to Monday morning as eight of Craigielaw’s stalwarts set off to stride the links on either side of the Solway Firth.


A great little golf lub.

Southerness is our first stop, just along the coast from Dumfries. The weather is glorious, the views spectacular, and the bacon rolls not bad.


Richard refuels after a long drive.

We’re split into a 3 ball and a 4 ball as Willie is not arriving until tonight. It’s a tough wee track especially if you’re trying to dodge 2 women, 3 kids and a push chair on the 12th fairway.


The magnificent seven.

4 o’clock and we set off for the delights of England, and the jewel in its’ crown that is Carlisle. Off-load at the salubrious Cornerways Guest House before heading down town.

The local hostelries are crammed with women dressed to the nines, all fancy hats and best frocks. Apparently it’s Ladies Day at Carlisle race course and the horse lovers have come back into the town centre to make a night of it.


Where’s Willie?

Willie arrives at 8.00 and by now we’re ravenous. Great curry shop spotted by Andrew and after a few more swallies it’s bed.

Luckily Mr Carolan et moi have bagged the honeymoon suite while the rest have to slum it in the hammocks downstairs.

7.15 alarm, breakfast, and we set off for Silloth.

It turns out to be a bit more of a test than Southerness and after a triple countback Mr Crumms comes out on top with 69 points.


There’s a moose, loose, aboot this clubhoose.

The afternoon scramble is just as tense with team B missing 4 easy putts on the last to scrape a draw. Soup and sandwiches for sustenance before Mr C guides us back over the border with the weather turning nasty.

Back in Blinkbonny the locals are lining the streets for our returning hero – even the local meenister’s wife is there. He’s carried aloft, up the garden path, by his wife and children and no doubt won’t have to do the dishes for at least a week.


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