Fatlo.af

So… Here it is. The story apparently none of you have been waiting for.
Read on for the lowdown on the Christmas Spectacular that was ‘The Mooks go Golfing’…

Glad to see you’ve stuck around. Although to be fair, that grabline was pretty irresistible.
Now, onto business. I picked up “the Lynch’s 3″ at about 11.30 on that fateful Saturday, hungry and a little sleepy. Ben called “shotgun”, which meant at least the front half of the car was attractive, but the back half had about 50 years worth of musical knowledge and some fine Chilli Peppers backing vocals, as well as a mighty impressive crop of facial hair.
The drive to the city was uneventful, and our arrival at the Tap Inn (formerly the Kent Town hotel) went unnoticed by most passersby, probably because Grum was wearing sunnies and a beard, Russel Crowe in hiding style. (He also threw a phone but that’s a story for another time.)
Turning the corner, I managed to snaffle a park right out the front, and then our initial journey was over. We were there. But the night was only just beginning. Quite literally in fact, as it had just ticked over to midday.
Entering the Inn, we took stock of the situation, and then were slightly surprised by the appearance of Nurl, the little man with the big guns.
It was decided that beverages were on the cards, followed by a bit of a go on the driving range.
Off the mark with a beer each, except for Ben who is clearly gay and only drinks scotch, we ordered chips from the bar so we could watch them fall 3 stories to the waiting arms of the bar person. You�ll have to go there to find out what I mean.

Snacks consumed, myself, Gavin and the gay one had a bit of a hit upstairs, with sms tips and commentary from Grum, including a report that one of the toilets, positioned at the end of the driving range, afforded a great view of golfers whilst one is relieving oneself.
Meanwhile, home on the range, we realised 2 things: 1) Gavin�s club was broken, resulting in very loud shots and sparks with every swing (fun for everyone), and 2) Gavin is quite good at hitting golf balls into the middle distance. Pity he�s fat and balding.
We got our half-hour�s worth and headed back to the counter, where Gavin handed his club back with the immortal line �this one�s fucked�.
Then it was to the bar, after a brief rest (with beer and O�Leary�s white wine� It�s terrible stuff, and just goes to show, if it�s on tap it�s not necessarily beer, or indeed good) for Wedges and beer.
Following Wedges and beer, we were joined by Emmajo (and her breasts, as pointed out by Gavin) and Alex (with his money clip, as pointed out by Emmajo), followed shortly by Greg (as pointed out by Greg). To celebrate their arrival, beer was had, and Nurl showed everyone his guns. For a little man, he has very big muscles. I guess that�s what you get for working in a gym.
Following this beer, more beer was had to celebrate the arrival of Narelle (or �the one everyone keeps asking Nurl about�), prompting Nurl to get embarrassed and put his guns away, and Andy and Kate, as well as Pat Cardillo.
Having sat around for quite a while, more food was requisitioned, and Gavin, ticking along quite nicely, took it upon himself to embarrass the lovely Narelle by drawing her to the attention of everybody in the now quite packed bar.
We received our food, sans sauce, so in protest, Gavin annexed a plate of tapas and crab cakes, and then Alex decided to try out the main toilet. He came back with a look of joy on his face and a video of the water in the fish tank above the urinals receding (to the obvious discomfort of the fish) when the toilet was flushed. Emmajo returned from her jaunt to report that the women�s toilets only got a naked statue, presumably where spare toilet rolls were kept.

Nurl�s visit to the toilet revealed that Ben�s schmoozing radar was not damaged by his recent jaunt into the world of the �relationship�, as he wasted no time in materialising next to Narelle and engaging her in conversation about him, when not encouraging his friends to send silly sms to his girlfriend, the excitable Jeffrey (or Obelix).

It was around this time that the first 2 $1 bets were made, with Gavin eating gherkins he�d stolen from the salad bar, topped with a red wine sauce, chilli sauce, and sour cream, and I followed up, flying the flag for the sober party with a lemon (rind and all) dipped in red wine sauce.
A short time later, Gavin and I had traded vicious leg slaps (I believe we�ll both have lovely bruises), and Gavin had eaten the remainder of the sour cream, earning himself several more dollars.

As the afternoon/evening wore on, and our numbers dwindled slightly, more golf was on the agenda. However, this time there was the slight problem of the breathalyser. Gavin decided he�d chance his arm, coming away with a warning not to go anywhere near the golf course and a breatho reading of 0.18. Ben blew 0.08 and one of the bouncers. (ZING).

Greg and Grum headed into the Beer garden (or Beer Tree, as there�s really only one, but the view at the time we were there was MAGNIFICENT, thank you ladies) for schnitzel (top notch, by all reports), whereupon Greg lost his fuel card by throwing it at Grum.
The beer garden is a nice, tranquil area, and I decided at once that if I�m ever allowed by the courts to go near a woman again, it would be a lovely place to take a special one for dinner. But I digress.
Food consumed, it was back to the bar for more drinks, before Paul Cree arrived in a sweatband and was roundly condemned. Sulky, he slunk off to the corner, where he posted a record score on the PGA Tour Golf arcade machine he found there, playing as that Allenby bloke and injuring his hand halfway through. Coincidence? I think not.
Grum went home in disgust. Or because he had a sore back, I forget which.

Meanwhile back at the bar, things had gone from bad to worse for Mr Pat Cardillo. He had attempted to seduce a lady with her boyfriend standing right next to him, staggered around a bit, and lost a game of pool to Gavin.
He decided the only way to redeem himself in front of his peers was to begin �collecting stuff�.
4 sets of tongs from the salad bar, an ash tray, a big black kettle (nobody, including Pat, knows where that came from) and a cry of �oh, for fuck�s sake Patrick!� later, it was decided somebody should prop Pat up at the bar before he did some real damage, and, as Gavin had made his way home, the rest of us would head into town to see what was going on there. As it turns out, nothing was going on there except Greg�s continuing fine form, (which was a pleasing feature of the afternoon/night), so Ben and Paul hit the casino, Greg went home, and Nurl and myself, after 11 and a half hours of celebration, headed to the comfort of our homes to wait out the several minutes to Christmas.