My mate turned 17 he passed his test and we all piled in his Peugeot 306 with four sets of golf clubs... The rest... Thank God, is history!
The Mobile Virgin Conversion Unit
The woods wouldn’t fit in the boot so the people in the back had to carry about 12 clubs on their laps and sometimes an extra bag dependent on what kind of shit he already had in his boot. Basically once you were in the back, you were wedged in and weren’t getting out without help.
As 15-17 year-olds you think you are fucking cool when you are with your mates. You all like the same things, come from the same place and still think it’s acceptable to like and recreate WWF.
It isn’t and we weren’t.
Put a girl into the mix and you all go into bumbling messes.
But we played golf, and there were no girls there. Or if there were they were understandably even more bumbly than we were.
We’d get wedged into that 306 and my mate would stick on some hip-hop mixtape he’d made and crank the volume up as loud as the little French motor could handle.
The likes of MOP - Ante Up, Notorious BIG - Juicy and on a slightly cringier vibe Jagged Edge - Where the Party At (Remember we were just discovering girls and didn’t know what was acceptable yet!)
As four or five, fairly dorky white kids we’d rap/sing along to these tunes on the way to Daily Telegraph junior events. Looking back on how we must have looked makes me cringe to this day.
Finally we’d get to the car park and the passenger would think it would be utterly hilarious to put on 2Pac - Hit Em Up as we rolled into the golf club car park to see the member’s reactions.
“I ain't got no motherfucking friends
That's why I fucked your bitch you fat motherfucker
West Side, Bad Boy killers
You know who the realest is
We bring it too.”
We were such rebels…
I say that… we’d bottle it, roll the windows up and turn it down if a member even looked at us.
Then we’d get out and behave like perfectly good little white boys with our shirts tucked in, all dressed the same, until we got back in the 306...
Then it was the 45 minute drive back home, Biggie Smalls pumping intertwined with the epic banter of who hit the shortest club into every hole.
We were pathetic when we were kids, but you wouldn’t change it for the world!
Words - Ryan Curtis
I'm the Managing Editor at The Club. I like putting and Rioja. I dislike my low slice.