Getting away from the terrible British winter to play some golf isn't as difficult or as expensive as you might think!
You've just got to get off your arse and do it!
It’s fucking freezing.
Sorry for the rather punchy weather report but I think it is fairly accurate!
If you brave the British winter to go and play golf you’ll need to be absurdly wrapped up from head to tail.
You’ll need to be prepared for frosty temporary greens, that’s if the course is even open?
And if you do get out get ready for the worst pain imaginable. One surely worse than childbirth? That of thinning a 7-iron in the cold… makes me cringe just thinking about it!
So why not escape this misery and fly to hot weather, slam some shorts on, get on a perfect course and follow it all with a few beers on the clubhouse balcony with your sunglasses on?
We’re not sheikhs I hear you telling me, I have a job, a Mrs and a load of bills mate.
Well I hear you friend and that is why I’m going to help you…
Last month while you were probably freezing your tits off, having a fag with some dull guy at your work Xmas party we flew south.
1500 miles south to be precise, to sunny Andalucia. All for the princely sum of £47 each!
Fly on a Friday morning and back on a Sunday evening and you only have to take one day off work. Tell your boss to piss off and tell your Mrs she can have some ‘me’ time catching up with Made in Chelsea or doing paintings with the offspring or some shit? Do what you gotta do.
Next up we stayed in a decent apartment block called Sierra Park Club. About 360 euros gets you a class pad for six people, so about £45 each!
So now you have accommodation and flights sorted for £92 each, or the cost of a night out after a couple of drunken rounds of Jagerbombs on the credit card!
Need motivation? Think of those temporary greens and that pain from a thin!
Now check this...
When the morning rush is all gooooood!
The beauty of getting the early Friday flight is you can squeeze a round in on the day and benefit from the only time it is socially acceptable to drink *beers at 5:30 in the morning in public.
*Ignore the Coors Lights, got cained for that on Twitter!!! They were just the glasses... no loss of man points!
When you have landed jump in a *hire car, shove your sunglasses on and hoon it to your first golf course like excited little puppies, you’ll now realise you’re on holiday without the normal big outlay!
*Hire car is peanuts. I’m pretty sure I paid the lad who got ours in drinks on a night out.
We went straight to La Quinta which was right next to our apartment. It’s three loops of nine and green fees are bang on £50 with a buggy which is great value for a track that is as well manicured as you could imagine.
We all arrived and were absolutely buzzing.
The main reason for this is we took a mate who doesn’t really play golf, we gave him 28 and put it this way, we weren’t worried he’d be taking the prizes. He was shitting himself about the first tee shot in front of a starter and we all knew that. We were giving him shit the whole journey there and on the range and were praying he’d nobble it.
He stepped up, pulled out a hybrid on a tee shot that was extremely tight between two streams with trees on either side of them, it was treacherous. As he stood up to the ball everyone got their camera phones out and hit record, all looking for the perfect angle of this abomination.
The hybrid went back, in what was a rather unconventional manner, before coming back down and striking the ball beautifully setting it on sail high and straight down the middle cut of the fairway.
You have never seen someone so smug.
You have never seen playing partners so disappointed.
Karma struck as I went on to three putt the first five holes for bogey damaging my scorecard, before it all got too much for me on the 14th where a blocked approach meant the bag got a clout.
Next hole I pluck out the driver which feels lighter than normal. As I reveal the whole club I see the fit of anger on the last had been my best strike of the day leaving the grip and half the shaft of my driver hanging by a thread of graphite.
Needless to say the rest of the round didn’t improve.
Everyone chucked in cards in the friendly 18-30 points range before we all agreed over a beer that golf wasn’t the winner today and probably wouldn’t be for the remainder of our trip.
On the beers...
Next was the night out. Pop to the local supermarket to grab a load of interim tinnies, and maybe a cheeky bottle of Rioja in homage to our favourite local Miguel and head back to the apartments for getting ready/pre-drinks/hearing about everyone’s awful shots.
I’m a big advocate of the pre-drinks. Not because I’m a tight fucker but because you can have a laugh and chat with your mates whilst getting hammered. If you go out early, yes the beers are more expensive, but also there are plenty of distractions. Their attention will be taken by women, music or even just colourful shapes. Then head out for all of the above a little later and it’s all good!
Anyway, we all got hammered and there is probably a lot of other stuff I can’t write because I don’t want my mate’s suing me. Use your imaginations.
In the weeks building up to our trip we have whatsapped each other almost on a daily basis whilst we were all bored at work. In this we decided we’d treat ourselves to a spanking course on one of the days.
The kicker was when one of the lads said ‘I just had my floor done and it cost a shitload. At least I can get some enjoyment out of this £100!’ Another lad had just had a skirting board done and we all agreed it was worth the investment.
We took a drive down the coast further south to San Roque. Without checking what the blood alcohol levels are in Spain I’d guess both drivers were a fair bit over the legal limit but our plan to plead ignorance and offer a bribe of a sleeve of Pro-V’s left us confident.
San Roque’s clubhouse was something to behold and looked the part, as you would expect for the green fee. This didn’t however perturb my pal Elliot who still high off fumes of Cruzcampo beer and inspired by London grime artist Stormzy decided it would be a good idea to say ‘State your name cuz’ to the local waiter when asking for a sausage sandwich.
As the guy who had organised the trip I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. As I’m pretty confident I was still drunk I unashamedly and embarrassingly laughed before running away.
Luckily Elliot got his comeuppance as is always the way. The San Roque golf Gods struck him down.
After my performance the day before I was in the first group out and we raced around the course in quick time. We headed into the clubhouse where I saw the same waiter from before and we politely asked him for three beers. Then we got another round. And upon finishing them we wondered where the lads were behind… they weren’t particularly slow players after all.
As the waiter came out we saw the three behind us laughing and wondered why. Well it was because on the 18th at San Roque Old Course this had happened… KARMA!
Another night out happened before heading to a course right next out apartments. A late Sunday flight meant we could squeeze a final round in and we opted for Los Naranjos.
For £50 with a buggy it was incredible value and was the pick of the three courses we played.
Unfortunately we were two nights deep at this stage which meant people’s balls were getting run over by buggies at any given opportunity, tee shots were flying over the heads of the lads in front and we came up the 18th in front of the clubhouse playing ready golf in a six ball with four karts.
Forgetting the poor behaviour it was an awesome day with a particular highlight being lying on the 10th tee in the afternoon sunshine with a final beer completely relaxed knowing we’d had a great weekend.
We were all so happy we made the decision to get our arses together and take the plunge to actually book some flights and get on with it and will be doing it every year until we get old.
I'm the Managing Editor at The Club. I like putting and Rioja. I dislike my low slice.