With Tom and Harry home from Cleveland and the Holland’s back to full strength, a recent evening was a simple affair and yet one for my fatherhood diary. Not that it will endure for very long, I suspect. Not if first steps, words or even my boys births are anything to go by as my advancing years wreaks havoc with my memory. And not such a momentous night anyway. Not a meal out for us all to a favourite eatery or a trip to the theatre. It wasn’t even all of us; just Tom, Harry, Sam and I and down to our local pub for a few beers.
Practise makes perfect – or so the adage goes.
‘Perfect’ being relative of course and depending on myriad factors including ability and talents. The awkward upshot of this being that some people’s ‘perfect’ is better than others. More perfect, I suppose. Which is awkward but a fact of life and why we venerate certain people and not everyone.Golf is a useful way to contextualise this. The hardest game of all – and famously associated with a quote…“the harder I practise, the luckier I get.”