Wamboin Community Association


Wamboin has a somewhat different golf course where the 18 fairways are spread over five properties and the Bingley Way Community Centre. All putting surfaces on our golf course are sand greens.

On the first Sunday of each month we meet at the Community Hall in Bingley Way (at 12.15pm for a 12.30pm start) to sort out the competition. First time golfers and children are welcome to try their skills. We hit off on different holes to ensure a more even finish time.

Then it is back to the hall where tall stories and presentations are mixed with nibblies and drinks. Partners, friends and relatives of the golfers also join in this social activity.


Peter Greenwood  6238 3358

July Competition Results

Sunday, 3 July. It had to happen. Despite our healthy diet and Pilates-driven lifestyle the plague came to Wamboin with a vengeance in June. It struck at the 19th hole and was carried into the fire brigade AGM the following Tuesday. To protect his privacy I’m unable to reveal the name of the suspected super-spreader. For the avoidance of doubt I’ll repeat that I am not able to reveal his name for privacy reasons. He’s no longer a regular golfer but attends the 19th when he is able. Before joining us at the Hall he spent the afternoon reforming his kitchen counter.

That reminds me of the Counter Reformation, set in train by the Council of Trent 1545 - 1563 in response to the Protestant Reformation begun by Martin Luther. I pass this on for what it’s worth. So, there was your correspondent trying to tap out this month’s golf report and getting nowhere until an old mate who works for CIT in Canberra put me onto a top notch complexity and systems thinker who said he could coach and mentor me through the process of developing improved situational awareness and generalised and context-specific responses. He reckoned that before long I’d be able to detect early/weak signals and build trends to improve products and services and establish and self-sustain practices that allow for iterative learning cycles across a range of temporal and spatial scales.

Now, I’m not saying that’s two tonnes of horse manure in a one tonne bag. All I’m saying is that it sounds like two tonnes of horse manure in a one tonne bag. It makes the Stableford system of golf scoring look simple and straightforward.

Pine Slice

And on the subject of golf, this month’s comp commemorates the anniversary of the GST by adding 10% to your handicap and giving it to ATO who gives it to Elbow who gives it to AEMO who gives it to the generators who trouser it just for doing what we pay them to do anyway. The day, cold and windy, was sponsored by Judith Evans, Kathy Handel and Keith France whom we thank for the provender and the rewards. Play in both the nine and 18 hole divisions was to be decided by a 2-ball Ambrose.

Back in the think tank, as the a/g captain and his complexity thinker fought the algorithm that made sense of our score cards, the talk was all of the US Supreme Court’s quashing of Roe v Wade. The ladies (bless’em) were particularly vocal. I asked the Club President how I should cover it in my report. He said that as it affected Associate Members only, we should leave it alone. Hmmm.

Moving along, prominent Russian politicians have sometimes adopted noms de guerre or aliases. It started with Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, aka Lenin. Then came Ioseb Besarionis dze Jughashvili, aka Stalin. And now we’ve got Vladimir Sonovabich Putin, aka Peter the Great—at least in his own estimation. He’s comparing his “special military operation” in Ukraine to Peter’s nicking parts of Sweden. Peter wasn’t such a nice guy either; he had more serfs than Stephanie Gilmore, Mick Fanning and Kelly Slater combined. Meanwhile the war creeps on apace, as my old mate Will would say. Neither Putin nor Zelensky can stop now, absent force majeure from within. Russia will scrabble out some kind of a win unless the West stumps up with some serious weaponry. Even then, the Russkies know how to put up a fight: play the 1812 Overture as you google Stalingrad.

Australian energy Czar, Chris Bowen, has announced a new mechanism for the AEM, i.e. what the AEMO looks after. It’s got something to do with keeping fossil generating capacity up the sleeve pending renewables taking up the national load. (Wasn’t that what we were supposed to be doing already?) The details don’t matter because it doesn’t really click in until 2025, by which time we’ll have a brand new fast-breeder reactor at Woodlawn. No more bad smell and you’ll be able to find your kids in the dark. The Greens have announced they’re opposed to it. They’ve also said they’ll oppose the government’s plan to cut emissions by 43% by 2030. They appear to your correspondent to have made no intellectual progress since they voted with Labour in the Senate ten years ago to kill the Abbott government’s bill to introduce an ETS, which looked very much like the ETS the Rudd government wanted to bring in but couldn’t because the were baulked by the Turnbull Opposition in the Senate with the help of the Greens. Our Parliament at work. It brings a lump to the throat.

Damp Course

Trans women in sport are still a public issue. FINA has banned post-pubescent trannies in the interest of fairness. Your correspondent, who is approaching early middle age, well-remembers the 1980 Moscow Olympics when spectacularly-muscled Russian ladies excelled at athletics, particularly the shot put, javelin and discuss.

We expressed dismay at the release from prison of the trigger-happy Minneapolis policeman who shot and killed Australian-American Justine Damond in 2017. Even our Comancheros don’t shoot innocent bystanders. We agreed he was a loose cannon or incompetent. Maybe he’s both, just like that member of a degenerate underclass they elected as President in 2016. And the nitwit might get back in next time. I worry about America’s qualifications to continue to lead the free world. But who else is there? The UK is in the hands of an unkempt party animal. In France M. Macron has only a tenuous hold on the legislature despite a strong endorsement as President. Angela is no longer uber alles in Germany. Maybe all parliamentary democracies should formally join NATO.

Winners & Grinners

The captain called for order, thanked the sponsors and welcomed our guest, Iain Barter. Ted’s joke recalled a strange restaurant. Your correspondent got the googly ball and dummy spit for drawing attention to the annoying effects of Keith France’s hi-viz beanie. The dummy was quickly flick-passed to Glen Crafter for disputing an NTP ball prize.


It was still too cold for juniors. LD and NTP ball winners were Glen Crafter 2 (the positive result of whingeing), Rob Gorham, Ken Gordon, Larry King and Colin Urquhart. The winners of the nine hole comp were the team of Rob Gorham and Larry King with a score of 28.35 after paying the BAS, from 41 strokes. 2nd were Joan Mason/Deb Gordon/Ken Gordon 29.22/36 from 3rd placegetters Sam Urquhart/ Keith France 36.4/43. In the 18 hole comp the winning team was Tim and Iain Barter 62.03 from 70 off the stick. In 2nd place were Pete Harrison and Paul Griffin 67.35/80 from Colin Urquhart and Glen Crafter 70.45/82. Well done all, for braving the elements.

Next month belongs to Caesar Augustus. Join us at the hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 7 August to enable play to start at 12.30pm sharp. Meanwhile, June has been a month of long sentences. Gizlane got 20 years, N Kelly got 30, and that ISIS Paris bomber got life. Still, the longest sentence of them all goes to “Ulysses”, the novel by James “Barnaby” Joyce, which celebrates its centenary this year. Molly Bloom’s soliloquy goes for 45 pages and the only punctuation is the full stop at the end!

Larry King, golfer

June Competition Results

Sunday, 5 June. When it comes to governance your correspondent is a pluralist: he favours a contest of ideas between more than one party for the right to govern. You don’t get that in one-party states such as the PRC and Putinesque Russia. However, when I say plural I mean two: the traditional political opponents; capital and labour. When you shake out the rats and mice that’s what it should come down to. Consequently I am underwhelmed by the trend, which I hope has reached its apogee in the latest federal election, for minor parties and independents to attract more than their usual shallow and ephemeral attention. For instance, One Nation, the Jacqui Lambie Network and UAP are no more than occupational therapy for their founders. They will fade with time but not before providing colour and controversy during election campaigns and in the parliament. The Teals are a “stuff you “to the Liberal Party who, under the guidance of their former marketing genius, have ignored women, climate and probity. And then there’s the Greens. Your correspondent might have to start taking them seriously, damn and blast it! With possibly three or more in the House and 12 in the Senate (at time of writing) they will be even more demanding than usual – unless the big mobs can get it together (a vain hope). There are a few others enjoying their >15 minutes of oblivion at the expense of the ATP but, frankly, their names escape me. I suppose the Teals will return to the fold under the new benign and user-friendly Liberal leader. If the Greens could go back to being the ratbag end of the ALP we might return to those halcyon days of stable-ish government. It’s a pipe dream, of course. As the size of the “other” vote shows, the world has changed but capital and labour haven’t. They’re still focussed mainly on the self-absorbed class war of the 19th century, leaving holes for the crazy gang to creep in. Hence, the legislative/executive paralysis on important issues such as women, climate and probity.

Lambert's Leap

There is, as you know, an antidote to all this: golf. We gathered in a post election stupor to contest the June Dally-Watkins Pennant sponsored by the Urquhart/Crafter Network whom we thank for the rewards and sustenance. The day was as cold and cheerless as a US Republican’s heart. But it didn’t deter us. We’re tough out here. We’ve even become used to driving along Norton Hole. (It used to be an arterial road.)

Back in the tally room, as the a/g captain and birthday boy, Mr Gordon Gordon, tallied the score cards, we drank a toast to the new Labor government and wished them well. More power to your elbow, Elbow. We noted the PRC’s diplomacy offensive in the South Pacific in the light of their pacification of the Solemn Islands. (I mean, who cares? As far as I know the Solemns haven’t ever produced a decent rugby team.) And I’ll bet the Teals were chuffed to see all the SP blokes wearing dresses. Let’s acknowledge that the PRC has every right to cuddle up to our SP buddies as long as they don’t do it better than we do. Which it looks like at the moment; the Islanders are as good as any at sniffing out “iffy” deals such as infrastructure “loans” and “help” with policing. Presumably PRC negotiators will get better. It will be interesting to see how DFAT responds—if it can get out of bed in time.

Water Hazard

They’ve been voting in the Philippines, too. The Marijuana Party, under their spaced-out leader Two Bongs Marcos, have scooped the pool. It’ll be a great place to holiday again, provided the latest COVID variant, Monkey Pox, doesn’t lock us down again.

We briefly considered the energy crisis and most reported feeling its effects, some even lacked the energy to get out of bed. All the blokes congratulated Johnny Depp on his well-deserved win in court. All the ladies (bless ’em) felt that Amber had a raw deal. Who is correct? (This is a trick question. The trick is not to answer it.) We noted that to mark HM’s jubilee, the new PM has renamed Aspen Island “QE2”in honour of a floating hotel in Dubai. Maybe Elbow didn’t read the brief again.

Winners & Grinners

Rob Gorham, standing in for the a/g captain, called for order and thanked all those who had provided a feast big enough to obviate dinner. Ted’s Joke was about a remarkably supportive wife. The googly ball went to Col Urquhart, a survivor of the Great Wamboin Chainsaw Massacre. Your correspondent was again falsely accused of expectorating the pacifier by merely asking a question of procedure.

Caring parents felt it was too cold for kids so there were no juniors or encouragement awards. NTP and LD ball winners were Deb Gordon, Pete Harrison and Glen Crafter. The winner of the nine hole comp was Ken Gordon with 34 off the stick for a score of 30 after adjustment for handicap. Runner-up was Joan Mason 45/33 from Rob Gorham 43/34. Winner of the 18 hole comp was Paul Griffin 80/63 from Vicki Still 91/67 and Tim Barter 80/71. We congratulate our staunch golfers who braved freezing temperatures after adjustment for wind chill.

Next month is July or SOFY, as accountants refer to it. Join us at the community hall at 12.15pm for the 12.30pm start of the GST Anniversary Medallion. Bring a calculator. Which reminds me, did you sit up for the final of the Eurovision Song Contest? We were all entranced by the performance of Australia’s representative in Turin, dressed appropriately in a shroud. A shame he didn’t score well. Next time we should send a genuine First Peoples group, like the Sapphires.

Larry King, fine weather golfer.

May Competition Results

Sunday, 1 May. Still in their bucolic finery after dancing around the Maypole, the golfers of the region took to the course to contest the Merrie Month of May Medal. Your correspondent couldn’t make it. He was returning from Russia having failed to gain an interview with Pooty. I did have a minute or two with his media spokesman, Dimitri Peski (and he is, too) who told me that Vlad was kicking the chairs around over the time the invasion was taking; Vlad was going to raise the stakes and this time there would be no more Mr Nice Guy. It seemed a good time to leave, particularly after his security guys confiscated the South American Bushmasters I’d brought with me as a present from Australia.

Up the Creek

In Wamboin it was a beautiful Autumn day for the comp, which was sponsored by those intrepid sailors and airmen, Tim Barter and Paul Griffin, under the orders of Chief of the General Staff, Vicki Still. Play was to be determined by the Stableford scoring system. And so, singing snatches and lays apposite to the season, the players took to the field with their usual grim, competitive intent.

Back in our leaf-strewn bower, while the acting captain struggled with the score cards, the talk was, of course, all of politics. We are extremely politically aware here in Wamboin. We know, for instance, when you cancel out all the minor contestants, the fight in Eden-Monaro comes down to the two main political outfits: the Social Capitalists and the Capital Socialists. Their representatives and campaign slogans are, respectively, Ms McBain-Marie, “Keeping it Warm” and Mr Knuckles, “He’s a Knockout”. (In fact he was TKO’d in round 3 by the virus).

Around the rest of the country the campaign has become very colourful. There are, as usual, the Reds (the workers’ flag), the Blues (the monarch’s blood), the Green & Golds (pasture and mining) and the Yellows of Clive Palmer’s UAP (Unhealthily Adipose Party). We can’t forget the Watermelons (yes, it’s a colour) lead by the dogmatic Adamant Bandit and his brother, One Arm, whose gambling instincts must be responsible for policies like punting that Carbon Zero by 2030 at all costs won’t have any effect on regional Australia.

Then there are the Teals, people who might be Liberal if the Libs would rattle their dags over climate change and a federal ICAC. They include the poultry princess in Warringah who did us a favour by ousting the head of the monastery in the joust of 2019. It’s still hard to see him as a Rhodes Scholar. I guess it depends on how you spell Rhodes: the scholarship could have been conferred by the Civil Engineering Contractors Association. This time Scomes has picked Katherine Devious to wrest the seat back for Big Blue (not IBM). She has taken a bead on Trans women in sport. If her thesis is based on weight-for-age considerations she has your correspondent’s support. I felt sorry for Hannah Mouncey but believe the AFL took the right decision for the safety of her potential opponents.

In that context, we all felt blessed that our children haven’t had to rely on the NDIS to overcome sporting injuries. In the ACT it’s good to see that Helena Rubinstein is alive and kicking and throwing her hat in the ring for the Senate. She’ll bring a much needed cosmetic bling. Maybe Max Factor will get up and give it a go.

Discussion turned to China’s bloodless annexation of the Solemn Islands. I agree with Elbow: we should have been on the front foot early, say, by sending in Circus Oz to make them less solemn and susceptible to PRC blandishments. Was DFAT asleep at the wheel again? It wouldn’t have happened in Atlee Hunt’s day—and I defy anyone to fault the logic in that!

Winners & Grinners
Clint & Keith

The a/g captain called for order and thanked our sponsors. Ted’s Joke was about two Irish pigs. The googly ball went to Vicki Still for something to do with 19th hole FLAs. The dummy spit was awarded to Sam Urquhart for audibly lamenting her expectations of little support sponsoring the June golf day. The encouragement award went to Emma Crafter. LD and NTP ball winners were Dave Hubbard 3 (where’s ASADA?), John Whitney 2, and one each for Vicki Still, Ken Gordon, Colin Urquhart and Glen Crafter.

The nine hole comp was won by Ken Gordon with 21 Stableford points off 35 strokes from Joan Mason 9/54. The 18 hole comp was taken out, or “stolen”, by Clint Pickin 44/84 from Rob Gorham 41/82. Naturally, after that performance Mr Pickin received the Ned Kelly statuette but, because he is not a Wamboin resident, it was passed to Mr Hubbard (a familial connection) for mounting on the gatepost of its spiritual home.

Next month will mark the beginning of the end of the first half of the year. With that important occasion in mind, please join us at the Community Hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 5 June for the standard 12.30pm start of the June Carter Cash Pennant. Meanwhile, for those interested in the policies the Deadly Serious Party is taking to the election, here’s a teaser: under Aged Care we plan to build a Seniors Rest Home in Bungendore on the vacant block next to St Philip’s and—wait for it—connected by a tunnel under Gibraltar St to the Royal Hotel! For the party’s full platform go to deadlyseriousparty.org.au/blahblahblah.

Larry King, golfer

April Competition Results

The Wamboin Mini Masters

Sunday, 3 April. The unpleasant surprises abound. Firstly, Raskolnikov has abandoned your correspondent in Ukraine. The rascal nicked off and I’ve had to cancel the trip to Russia to interview Our Vlad (curse him) now that he’s banned citizens of sanctioning countries. Then, there’s the B2 version of Omicron which, as predicted, is spreading like a northern rivers flood. (Why they’ve named it after a banana in pajamas eludes me.) And, of course, there’s petrol. Filled up the car lately? An irritated customer filling up in Queanbeyan was heard to complain that the only thing missing was the highway. The cashier didn’t get it. Or maybe he’d heard it too often. Any way it’s not his fault. Nor is it entirely the fault of Mad Vlad’s war, for that matter. The principal cause is the damage done by the plague to international transport systems, especially shipping. And the propensities of OPEC members and oil companies to never let a chance go by. This is why prices rose even before the more expensive Brent and West Texas crude hit the refineries. You have to admire the efficiency and altruism of a well-run cartel. It makes you proud to be a consumer.


But there’s no point being bitter about the cost of living while there’s golf to soothe the troubled mind. I thought wistfully of the gathering in my native land for the Wamboin Mini Masters sponsored by the Community Association. You know the drill: we play the Bingley Way holes twice, pausing after the first round to see who made the cut, then out again to determine the winners of the open and handicap divisions and play the novelty shots (see pix). What japes!

Back In the bomb shelter, as the acting captain jostled with the leader board, it was obvious that more attention had been paid to the federal budget than normal, in view of the imminence of the general election. Fortunately, our sympathetic federal treasurer, Rogan Josh, has our backs on the cost of fuel. He’s convinced his clutch-fisted colleagues to cover the oil companies grab for six months while the international oil market settles down (we hope).


Oh, and the federal election is decided. That’s important, too. Have ScoMo’s gang been mortally wounded by their association with natural and unnatural disasters or will Elbow’s mob again take a bead on the foot and pull the trigger? It’s good to be spoilt for choice. Elbow’s cunning plan is to do what the new South Australian Premier, Peter Malinauskas, did: forget about pandemics, fires and floods; concentrate on a gripping local issue government has a chance of doing something about—in Elbow’s case, looking after the old folks.

The Coalition is doing the same by emphasizing the robust economy and high employment. The rhetoric is arcing up but not a word about the secret trial of an Australian journalist in China. That’s because of our own secret trial of an Australian lawyer in Canberra. With the state election a year away Parrot A, NSW boss cocky, is concentrating on the floods but dragging a leg on declaring war on the 30,000 wild horses despoiling the Snowy Mountains high country. If you haven’t seen it, catch it before it becomes an eroded wasteland.


There should be general approval for the resurrection of Sir John Bradfield’s 1938 plan to build the Hell’s Gates dam in North Queensland. It would boost investment in agriculture which would become a major employer to replace coal mining as we desperately try to reduce CO2. Let’s hope the yet-to-be-undertaken environmental assessment has regard for any likely impact on the Murray Darling catchment. It shouldn’t, but we remember with asperity the affects of the Cubbie Station dams on the Murray Darling headwaters before they reach the poor old consumers of the southern states.

As for the war, the conventional wisdom is that it will eventually peter out. It’s clear the democracies of the West will not risk a donnybrook with Russia, nuclear or otherwise, by giving Ukraine what it really needs: tanks, cruise missiles, a no-fly zone and a battalion of Daleks. Thus, Russia’s numerically superior but poorly maintained troops, trucks and T 90s will probably grind out a win—whatever a win looks like—despite losing seven generals in the conflict. Seven!

Winners & Grinners

The acting captain called for order and introduced our guests, Anne and John Thracks. Mr Thracks caused a sensation by slapping the MC in the face for suggesting that his partner Anne’s perfume was Poison. He later apologised for the misunderstanding. Ted’s Joke starred a pining golfer marooned on a desert island. Lofty Mason got the googly ball for his battle with a length of fencing wire while mowing the fairways. The dummy spit was awarded to Clint Pickin for complaining that his right leg wouldn’t adjust to the ramp (some people!).


Novelty shot winners were: total Vicki Still 20.98 metres; ramp Scott Mason 2.37m; tyre Tim Barter 4.83m; bunker Vicki Still 4.05m. Junior master nett was Robert Thompson 80/51. Senior master nett was Clint Pickin 57/40 from Rob Gorham 54/41. Strike up the band for the Mini Master Tim Barter 44 OCB from runner-up Ken Gordon.

The après comp entertainment featured local band, Danny and the Velcrows, who also provided backing for Canberra’s newest close harmony trio, The Mean Girls (a Pussy Riot cover group) and warmed up the crowd for the main act, Clive and the Sweaty Palmers. Afterwards the crowd sang and danced the night away just like a marquee full of happy, carefree Hillsongers.

Join us at 12.15pm on Sunday, 1 May for the 12.30pm start of the Merrie Month of May Medal. Communists may wear red.

Larry King, golfer

March Competition Results

Sunday, 6 March. A hillside above a Russian military base in Donetsk, or possibly Luhansk. It’s hard to tell. Our editor, SB-Y, has sent your correspondent here to fill in the gaps left by the daily media covering the ebb and flow of the struggle between plucky little Russia and their Ukrainian oppressors. My guide and interpreter, Raskolnikov, and I are covertly observing the ordinary Russian soldiers as they go about their peace-keeping. Through my binoculars I can see some smoking those black cigarettes and drinking coffee from samovars as they play chess. Others are reading books by Dostoyevsky, Chekhov and Tolstoy. One wagski is drawing a moustache on a pin-up of Catherine the Great on the latrine wall. Raskolnikov tells me that a T 72 commander was complaining that, before the troops were mobilized, he was slotted to win the women’s slalom at the Beijing Winter Olympics.

But, of course, it’s not like that at all. The grim reality is that at the orders of its sociopathic leader, the Russian military behemoth is killing thousands of Ukrainians and laying to waste their major cities. Desperate to find something positive to say, the experts suggest the Russian advance is slower than Putin thought—as if they know what Putin thinks. The worst is yet to come, I fear. If he’s undismayed by present civilian casualties, he won’t be worried by even higher civilian casualties. Ukraine is likely to be returned to the jigsaw puzzle of the old Soviet Union before the West’s economic sanctions, powerful as they are, cripple the Russian economy. Unless he’s rolled by others in the Kremlin. There is a rumour that he suffers from Parkinson’s. Those around him may see little value in expensively annexing a smoking ruin as his sprawling country of 143 million people—much bigger than Australia but with an economy of only equal size—is impoverished. Properly managed, Russia could become an economic power to rival the US and China.

Hole in One!

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, life goes on more or less as usual. In Wamboin it was the Mad March Medal that captured the general imagination. The event was sponsored by the Gordon family whom we thank for sustenance and rewards.

The day was fine. The track was good and dry underfoot. As usual, the groundskeepers had done such a fine job that the sponsors had no hesitation in declaring a Stableford competition.

Back in the clubhouse, as the acting captain did the tally, we marveled at the inundation of much of the eastern seaboard. We wondered what the future was for properties flooded for the third time in recent history. Then came the deaths by heart attack of Rod Marsh and Shane Warne (surely as iconic a bowler as Bradman a batsman). And still COVID and its variants weave their evil spell through the population.

With epidemics and pandemics on our minds for the last two and a bit years, it’s useful to remember that there are lots of other “demics” we should be aware of. Your correspomdent has included just a few for your edification. These are real words but you don’t have to look them up. I’ve done it for you.

Firstly there’s academic. That’s a widespread outbreak of pointy heads saying incomprehensible things in cheesy voices (e.g. the Au Gratin Institute). Isodemic: an outbreak of isosceles triangles. Watch out for the points. Polydemic: an outbreak of sulphur-crested cockatoos. Syndemic: an outbreak that’s not really an outbreak at all. Myxedemic: an outbreak of myxomatosis. Look out for your pet rabbit. Hyperdemic: an outbreak of people on “uppers”, or compulsive coffee drinkers.

While on the subject of epidemics, there’s been a widespread outbreak of voting in the idyllic QP region. First, the local council and lately the state seat of Monaro. And between now and May we’ll have to do it all over again at a federal election. Still, think how blessed we are to have the chance. And how none of us are poisoned or sent to gulags for our political views, no matter how silly or subversive they are.

Winners & Grinners

The a/g captain called for order and, after a long wait, received it. Ted’s Joke involved a one stroke penalty for an improved “lie” (5 strokes instead of 6). Vicki Still claimed the googly ball for cunningly bouncing her ball over two players putting out on the green ahead (but did she call “Fore!”?). Of the many dummy spitters, Glen Crafter stood out for loudly moaning about the reduction of his handicap.

Keith & Deb

No NTP or LD balls were awarded as the Eastern Nine conundrum has not yet been resolved. But it’s amazing how the Esky still gets there.

Winner of the nine hole comp was Joan Mason 43 strokes for 21 Stableford points from runners-up Lord and Lady Gordon. Victor in the 18 hole comp was Keith France 75/44 from David Bailey 93/42 and Glen Crafter 77/41. Well done, everyone, especially Keith who got a hole-in-one on Donkey of Finn and is thus entitled to a free beer at the 19th until someone else does similarly.

Next month is the Wamboin Mini Masters sponsored by the WCA. You don’t need a written invitation to join us at the Hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 3 April for the 12.30pm shot gun start. (We don’t really use a shot gun; it’s a small muzzle loader).

Larry King, golfer

February Competition Results

Sunday, 6 February. As far as your correspondent can work it out, it goes like this. Somewhere in a small Balkan state partial to a bit of ethnic cleansing, top tennis star, Novak Jockitch, declares he won’t be vaccinated and promptly comes down with the virus. Undaunted, he goes to a few parties, attends a school (he’s repeating year 10) then flies off to Spain to prepare for the Australian Open. Like Raffa and others, he knows he can’t get into the country without the jab so he prevaricates while seeking a “medical exemption” from those slow tops at Tennis Australia. TA gets a couple of tame medical students to bodgie up a report citing “diminished responsibility” (i.e. he hasn’t passed year 10). Just to be on the safe side, TA gets the report peer-reviewed (probably Lord Lucan) and off it goes to the Jock and Dancing Dan, grand poobah of Victoria.

Meanwhile the Feds have written to Dan saying no jab, no Jock. We’re not sure what Dan did but we never are (he’s like Macavity, the Mystery Cat). Simultaneously, the Jock applies for a visa and—Madre de Dios!—gets it on the strength of the medical exemption and a lapse of memory concerning his whereabouts while infected. He lands in Melbourne whereupon the hawkish Immigration Minister cancels his visa and puts him in isolation. A Federal Court judge puts him back on the street saying “What more could this man have done?” Well, your honour, he could have abided by the Australian entry rules and not littered his application with deliberate ambiguities. However, that’s not the argument the Federal Court of Appeal used to confirm the re-cancellation of his visa. They said it could encourage anti vaxing in this country. It all seems to confound rational analysis, except to Novak’s faithful compatriots who have no other heroes to admire. Unless you include Slobodan Milosevic. This fustercluck has provided more cheap entertainment than the Open could ever hope to achieve.


However, let’s not be diverted from the real sport—golf. It was a cool and blustery day for the Wamboin February Dry-Out Medal, sponsored by the Schroder family whom we thank for the prizes and refreshments. The sponsors selected a stroke-play comp so we gratefully put our calculators away as we mounted our iron horses to take on the professionally manicured course.

Back in the tent, masked and socially-distanced, we reviewed current affairs while the captain made sense of the score cards. O’Micron, the Irish variant, is wreaking such havoc on the Victorian health system that the government has declared a Code Brown. Code Brown! They must be absolutely terrified.

News from Beijing is that She Gin Sling has been heard singing The Hollies’ “Hey Carrie Lam, what’s your game now, can anybody play?” as he polishes his Jeep with the 27 microphones. Apparently Lam, the Hong Kong quisling, has done her boss’s dirty work by passing even more repressive legislation through the so–called Parliament of Patriots.

Hillsong’s Christians are not only clapping, they’re also singing and dancing which, in itself, isn’t a bad thing but not when banned by state anti plague regs. Boss cocky of NSW, Parrot A, has waggled a spongy finger at them and told them not to do it again.

An old mate in Brisbane caught the virus and was off-colour for three days. For the following three days he lost all sense of taste and smell. The upside was that he could happily consume the otherwise unpotable “vinegar” in his cellar. Always look for the silver lining.

The world holds its breath waiting for Pooty Pootin’ to send 100,000 heavily-armed social workers on a good will mission into Ukraine. It’s hard to know what further economic sanctions the West can employ. Europe and Scandinavia need Russian oil and gas and I honestly wouldn’t miss any more vodka and caviar.

In the home of the “Mother of Parliaments” an elected government is tearing itself apart over the number of knees-ups held in the leader’s digs. In the titular head of the West the Senate has kyboshed a bill to make voting easier for all. Ol’ Bidin’ Time says he’s “disappointed but not deterred”. We know who’s deterred. Trump is deterred. And his acolytes in the GOP. Putin must be laughing his viscera out.

Winners & Grinners

The captain called for order and introduced our guests Len Ivey (up from the coast), Kevin Rowe (fresh from a PB in the Kowen half marathon), and Charles Guscott (who needs no excuse to return). Ted’s Joke involved new technology to examine the effects of bird strike on aircraft. The Googly Ball was presented to the golfer whose drive from Up the Creek hit the pump house and landed on the ladies’ tee. To protect the identity of the Dummy Expectorator I will identify her only as the woman who won two NTP balls. The encouragement Award went to little Debbie Gordon who grows taller every day.

Deb & Nev

LD and NTP ball winners were Vicki Still 2, Tim Barter 2, Ken Gordon 2, Dave Hubbard, Nev Schroder, Joan Mason and Larry King. The nine hole comp winner was Larry King with 44 strokes for a net 27 after deducting handicap, from Steve Lambert 45/33 and young Debbie Gordon 52/34. Winner of the 18 hole comp was Pete Harrison 91/59 from Vicki Still 88/61 and Rob Gorham 85/65. Well played, all.

Next month we vie for the Mad March Hare Pennant. Join us at the Hall on Sunday, 6 March at 12.15pm to be ready for the regular 12.30pm start.

In the meantime spare a thought for poor old Scomes who’s being branded a liar by all and sundry. As if it was a bad thing. I put it to you that the country needs good Professional Equivocators to keep the awful truths of governance from us. To quote Colonel Nathan R Jessup: “You can’t handle the truth!” For our own good we need to be kept in a state of blissful ignorance. As they say in Dogpatch, USA: “As long as no one knows where no one stands, the country’s in the very best of hands”.

Larry King, golfer

January Competition Results

Lambert's Leap

Sunday, 2 January. “Would you care for a RAT?” With Basil Fawlty’s deathless words in mind we prepared for the beginning of the Wamboin golfing year, the New Year’s Resolution Cup. The RAT is the current hot topic because, accurate or not, it will take over from the PCR test because of the virulence of Omicron and its consequent demands of the health system. Then there’ll be Epsilon or Zorba or Nana Mouskouri or whatever they decide to call the next variant (it’s all Greek to me), which we will all catch to end the pandemic. The good news is that Love Potion No. (Covid) 19 will be but a bad memory come the end of 2022. That is, until She Gin Sling’s chefs in the Wuhan Biological Restaurant cook up another viral delight.

Returning to golf, the day, which was warm, was sponsored by L & L King whom we thank for the eats and prizes. To keep the captain happy the sponsors agreed to a Stableford competition which, for some, requires the use of those little pencils with the rubber on top. Masks were all the go in the Hall for signing in but once on the course we abandoned them for the restorative air of our bucolic Wamboin idyll, a tonic the equal of any anti viral vaccination.


Back in the clinic, we masked up again and took FLAs intravenously as the sorcerer and his apprentice marked our cards. Naturally, COVID dominated conversation as it does the national media which, it seems with clever editing, contrives to portray our elected federal and state representatives as under graduate debating teams obsessed with accusing each other of incompetence. Of course, it may not be clever editing after all. Whatever, it’s turning people off the unremitting coverage of the pandemic. At one point we thought that the government was getting advice on immunisation from Mr Miyagi (vax on, vax off). But it turned out to be Mr Atagi who runs the Australian Technical Advisory Group on Immunisation.

We were not surprised to hear that The Masked Mandate had returned to Queensland. After his starring role in The Guardians of the Universe he needs a rest. On the other hand we were shocked by the news that the Scots had invaded England on New Year’s Eve just for a drink and a knees-up. I don’t fancy the chances of the Virgin Sturgeon (who, according to the song, needs no urgin’) with another secession referendum.

We commiserated with the England test team over their hapless performances on the field in Brisbane, Adelaide and Melbourne. And the COVID infections which thinned their ranks for Sydney. The betting was heavy on a whitewash if the visitors don’t resort to the straight bat to induce a draw. Unless the bat comes from the Wuhan wet markets.

Sticking with sport, it appears that top tennis player, Kim Novak Djokstrapitch, has received a special dispensation from the Victorian government to play the Australian Open. This followed a “health exemption” after a “rigorous review process”, according to the head of T A. But good old Border Force wasn’t having any of that! Then Serbia arced up and pretty soon it was raining blood, teeth and human eye balls.

Winners & Grinners
Libby & Paul

The captain called us to order and welcomed back visitor, Clint Pickin, who distinguished himself with a score of 47 Stableford points on a visitor’s temporary handicap. Ted’s joke referenced Leonardo’s famous restaurant scene. The Googly Ball was awarded to Tim Barter for dramatising the number of balls lost by his foursome. The Dummy Spit was passed around and finally settled on your correspondent who merely sought to bring the Club’s attention to the frivolity with which this serious award has become treated.

Junior winner was Robert Thompson with 22 Stableford points from 54 strokes. Winner of the nine hole comp was Gerard Ryan 22 (39) OCB from Larry King 22 (48) also OCB. Winner of the 18 hole comp was Paul Griffin 37 (83) from Nev Schroder 35 (78). Well done, all players. As usual the real winner was golf itself.

Next month (February, if you haven’t been concentrating), the shortest in the Julian calendar, dipsos try to rest the liver by abstinence. That doesn’t apply here in Wamboin where we do everything in moderation. So if you want to join us for an FLA at the 19th after a healthy game of golf come to the Hall on Sunday, 6 February at 12.15pm for the ever-reliable 12.30pm kick off

Until then I’d like to share a few of my New Year’s resolutions:

  1. I will stop taking the RAT on a daily basis
  2. I will charge only a reasonable mark-up on my stock of RATs
  3. I will vigorously defend the sacred site of Mick Sherd Oval by chaining myself to the goal posts
  4. I will not encourage anyone to christen their daughter Gizzlaine
  5. I will not storm Parliament House dressed like a cow
  6. I will include more commas in these reports

Larry King, golfer


December Competition Results

Sunday, 5 December. God rest ye merry gentlefolk, let nothing you dismay/Who cares our scores grow higher as long as we can play. Yes, sports fans, even though golf returned to Wamboin in November, the standard of play had slipped a little through inactivity since June. But skills were sharper for the Christmas Cup, which, like a cornucopia, runneth over with all good things such as the milk of human kindness, rare and refreshing fruit and so on and so forth. By contrast, the day, which was sponsored by Peter and Adrienne Greenwood and Karyn Gentleman, who selected stroke play, was a bit on the cold-and blustery side courtesy of a sharp Easterly and a Sun shyly peeping intermittently from behind the clouds. Nevertheless, singing carols in four part harmonies, we leaped to our sleighs and flew off over the unusual greenness of the Wamboin countryside.

Back in Santa’s workshop, as the captain, masquerading as a fat man in a red suit, flogged the elves into assessing the scorecards, we reviewed happenings in our world. And what an exciting world it is! The big news, of course, is the new razzle-dazzle Covid variant which started in Africa under the infectious title of B.1.1.529. When it got to Europe it was renamed O’Micron after the first person to contract it - a leprechaun living under a rock in the Burren. In France M Macaroon’s found someone else to hate: Boris. Manny is sending the UK loads of refugees and throwing tanties when Boris objects. France’s once-vaunted reputation for diplomacy is in the freezer or, putting it another way, sub zero.

In Australia the federal parliament has drawn the curtain on the year as ScoMo plans another secret holiday to scratch his head in bewilderment over the Italianate government he now leads: now I have a majority, now I don’t; why won’t those pesky senators stay put and belt up?; what’s wrong with a federal ICAC that meets in secret and doesn’t cover pollies?; why can’t I have a Religious Discrimination Bill which discriminates against LGBTIQ people and free thinkers?; what’s in the air conditioning?; why can’t they keep it zipped?; will there be an outbreak of bunga bunga parties in 2022?; ten of my best people – which doesn’t include the dill who can’t spell Christian - won’t be around to contest the next election; where can I get candidates that aren’t knuckle-headed apparatchiks; why can’t I say anything intelligible and informative? Meanwhile, a Chinese spy ship has been spotted slinking down the coast of Queensland gathering intelligence. We wish them luck.

And back in God’s Own we’ve had the Council elections. Your correspondent, a noted champion of the civil authority—I salute the uniform, whoever’s wearing it—almost wore himself out on 4 December, visiting all polling stations in the region to vote for Group L who are deadly serious about shifting the putative site of the Bungendore High school to Woodlawn, an easy train ride from town. This should please everyone.

Winners & Grinners

After the captain silenced the unruly crowd with a few well-chosen epithets he introduced our guests Matilda Whitney and Clint Pickin, and told Ted’s joke involving a man calling himself James Bond and a dog who really was Jack Russell. The googly ball went to the person who drew attention to the presence of several barkers’ nests on the oval and suggested appropriate action. One competitor was lucky to avoid the dummy spit when told that the reason the nine holers weren’t getting to play the Eastern Nine was the roosting migratory birds on one green. He replied that he could fix that. During the resulting furore the dummy was awarded to Rob Gorham who complained of losing six balls. (It’s an expensive game. I lost a tee.)

LD and NTP ball winners were Colin Urquhart 2, Clint Pickin, David Bailey, Glen Crafter, Rob Gorham, Dave Hubbard and Keith France. There was a tie in the juniors comp between Madison Gordon and Robert Thompson, both returning with 35 after handicap. Winner of the nine hole comp was David Thompson 51/34 from Steve Lambert 48/36 ocb Alex Gordon 53/36 also ocb. Winner of the 18 hole comp was Keith France 80/63 from Colin Urquhart 95/69 and Vicki Still 97/71. Well done all!

Why not make a New Year’s resolution to throw off the enervation of the pandemic by joining us at the community hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 2 January for the ever-dependable 12.30pm shot gun start. You’ve only got your dignity to lose. Meanwhile I want to have whatever they’re feeding political prisoners in Myanmar. It looks like a Yangon court could give the 76 year-old Aung San Suu Kyi 100 years for various “crimes”.

Larry King, golfer

November Competition Results

The 36th Wamboin Open

Sunday, 7 November. “Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!” And so, with the closing words of Martin Luther King’s famous “I have a dream“ speech, your correspondent (sadly, no relation) welcomes the great reopening of the land and the joys that go with it—such as golf. And what an occasion to come back to: the highly-esteemed Wamboin Open when golfers throughout the region, the nation and, indeed, the world vie for the chance to get their names on the honour board. As if to share our joy, the weather gods smiled down on us with a warm and sunny day punctuated by mid afternoon rumblings from the West accompanied by a brief, gentle shower which affected only the 18 holers, and who cares about them. Sponsored by the Club itself from its vast financial resources amassed from years of usurious green fees, the Open is scored on stroke play with a subsidiary handicap division for those doing it just for the fun.

Back in the Elysium of our familiar, comforting community hall, as the acting captain tried to remember the rules, etiquette and Byzantine scoring systems of the beautiful game, we congratulated each other on withstanding the plague and remembered with affection those who didn’t. Much had occurred since last we met. Firstly, Premier Glad (bless her) picked up her ball and walked off, then Deputy Barrelo (Porky, to his friends) did the same. After that, Dom Perignon (the Premier Cru) got Glad’s job, Mr Toole became deputy premier, Mr Dick became Treasurer and Mr Ayres (Curly, to his intimates) became 2IC of the Libs. Moving right along, back home our dear leader, Tim Working Trousers, dropped the bomb that he was stepping down as captain of Queen’s Park Rangers just as his lovely wife announced she would contest the vacancy in the state seat of Monaro. Crickey! This’ll keep the thousands employed by the ABC manufacturing political trivia engaged for years. At the federal level the Barnaby Country Party, egged on by a guy who can’t spell caravan, were holding poor old ScoMo to ransom over his trip to Scotland to have a drink in the Last Chance Saloon and talk about the weather (I hope he took a brolly). When he got there he was ambushed by his old Froggy pal, Manny Macaroon, who identified him as a liar. ScoMo retorted that it was water off a duck’s back and released an elliptical email from the French Prez suggesting it was really Manny who was peddling porkies. The email said “Can I expect good or bad news tonight?” Well, we all know what a Frenchman means by that. Napoleon set the tone with his famous “Not tonight, Josephine?” (Everyone forgets the question mark!).

Now that COVID-19 is nought but a bad memory we looked back in summary: the only states where it got a real grip were NSW and Vic; our Glad (Charity Queen at the Wagga Agricultural Show) fought valiantly and well while Dancing Dan (who’s never to blame for anything) took out the lockdown record; Qld did OK but even a virus finds Queenslanders repellent; the ACT didn’t fair too badly as did the NT unless you’re a blackfella; South Australia and Tasmania are still there, as mendicant as ever; and the Golden West’s broken record, Mr McGoon, is still rattling his sabre about access for Easterners (Ah, McGoon, you’ve done it again!). At the federal level ScoMo could have done better if he’d listened to Elbow. Apparently the virus rages in the rest of the world, throwing up variants plain and fancy. But now that we’re all vaccinated, if not immunised, we’ll be fine – except for the frail aged, the halt and the lame. But that’s not all bad news. As soon as the Boomers leave the scene an enormous tax burden will be lifted off the Millennials, the Ys and the Xs who will also benefit from inherited wealth and lower house prices, win, win, win. You have to go all the way back to the Black Death to find a better distributer of wealth. (OK, Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries wasn’t bad either.) We then scratched our heads over the identity of COP 26. Who could the mysterious crime fighter be? Suggestions included Capt. Kate Beckett, Officer Jake Peralta, DI Barnaby, Officer Barbrady, Deadpool, Kick Ass, Theo Kojak, Frank Columbo, Father Brown, Robocop and Judge Dredd. The name of the cryptic sleuth will be revealed in Glasgow on 12 November.

Winners & Grinners

The a/g captain welcomed our visitors, Charles Guscott making a rare but welcome appearance, and Spanish cattle breeders, Pam and Juan Ploner. Ted’s joke concerned a 72 year old man determined to get his alcohol consumption down to net zero by 2050. The googly ball was frittered away on a dull and very ordinary comment about the water on the course. Tim Barter spat the dummy (beating Vicki Still by a nanosecond). The encouragement award went to Madison Gordon. The junior champion was Robert Thompson (destined for a green jacket). In the handicap division, the nine hole winner was David Thompson 50/33 from Ken Gordon 39/35 with Colin Urquhart 51/38 in 3rd place. The 18 hole handicap winner was Rob Gorham 84/66 from David Bailey 99/72 and Dave Hubbard 95/75 3rd. A hush fell over the crowd as the a/g captain revealed the names of the 2021 R&A Wamboin GC Open Champions. They are: Men’s 18 holes Tim Barter 72; Ladies 18 holes Vicki Still 102; Men’s nine holes Glen Crafter 37; Ladies nine holes Deb Gordon 58; Eclectic 18 holes Glen Crafter; Eclectic nine holes Deb Gordon. Congratulations to our worthy winners and all who competed.

The Assembled Participants

Next month we contest the Christmas Cup, overflowing with tidings of comfort and joy. Join us at the Hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 5 December for the usual 12.30pm start. Meanwhile you can tune into Kabul radio, Triple K (not to be confused with a Southern USA social club) to hear the current No. 1, which is the old Banana Boat Song. The popular verse goes “Come Mr Taliban, tally me banana”.

Larry King, golfer

October [Covert-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday, 3 October, two days after the shocking news that Our Glad (bless her) had resigned as boss of NSW. It’s because she is being investigated by ICAC as part of its probe into the property affairs of former boyfriend Jerry (“show me the money”) Maguire. ICAC, which is Latin for ‘I Regurgitate”, is where they spew out all the bad things they suspect you of. You then get an opportunity to defend yourself. They got a former NSW Premier, Farry O’Barrel, for accepting a bottle of Grange. Big deal. Your correspondent is showered with cases of Grange (I also accept Hill of Grace, Lafitte and Latour) to write articles supporting various causes. My policy is to accept all wines and write the absolute truth. But Our Glad will be OK. She’ll probably be represented by her new boyfriend, Moses. That’s right, Moses. Mr Ten Commandments. She has to be safe with Moses on her side, so let’s stop worrying about her and concentrate on golf.

Having missed Aunty Joan’s spring rolls in September, the R&A Wamboin GC was determined to have a traditional golf day complete with a fully-attended 19th hole. So we slipped into Sydney two weeks ago, joined the Rabittohs entourage and flew to Brisbane where we’d booked the Royal Queensland Golf Club’s top notch course for Sunday. Premier Palerskerzuk met us at the airport (she does that for all top sporting teams) and personally conducted us to the club’s beautiful riverside course. It was a ‘perfect’ day for golf (it was merely ‘beautiful’ the previous day) 26°C and fine.

Back in the well-appointed club house, as the captain passed around our tickets to the NRL Grand Final that evening, we all expressed our surprise at the sudden recall by the French government of their ambassador in Australia. We wondered what the poor chap had done wrong. It couldn’t have been for getting drunk on the diplomatic cocktail circuit. That’s standard operating procedure. A few thought it had something to do with the submarine contract. The word from Paris is that when the news filtered through, the French President, Monsieur Macaroon, was heard to whisper to his wife “Je suis ropeable ce soir, ma cherie”. But when ScoMo called to explain the change of heart, the President’s assistant, Mlle Ada Camp, informed him that M Macaroon was “tied up” and would not speak to him. So it probably had nothing to do with the subs after all.

Talking about under water warfare, the terms of the recently-announced Orcas Agreement with the US and the UK, permits us to buy eight nuclear-powered killer whales from the US. I don’t know who’s going to train them. Or feed them, for that matter. They eat a prodigious quantity of seals, tuna, squid and dolphins. You’ll never be told when they’re in port, either. The crew always carry on with this “refusal to confirm or deny” nonsense. And notice how they’re never interviewed at night. That’s because they all glow in the dark. Naturally, ScoNuke is over the moon. And so he should be. By 2040 we’ll have eight nuclear whales to take on the 90 or so the Chinese already have. And it kicks along the push for nuclear power stations to take over from Eraring, Bayswatwer and Loy Yang.

We congratulated Russian President, Ras Putin, on his stunning election victory. The irony is he doesn’t even have to hold elections, being President-for-Life, banning opposition parties from standing candidates and sending Alex Nabokov off to the gulag to rewrite “Lolita”. When asked by the media how he felt he said “I’m Stuffed”. So would you be if you’d spent the day supervising the stuffing of ballot boxes in eleven time zones. Even the Communist Party is calling foul. The good news is that Russians may now settle back in comfort knowing a firm hand remains on the tiller.

In other news, we rejoiced with Quade Cooper at the federal government’s change of heart in agreeing to make him an Australian citizen. We congratulated the Jehovah’s Witnesses for finally signing up to the restitution fund in the light of the findings of the Royal Commission into child abuse. I often invite them in for a cup of tea when they come around. And the Watchtower is always good for a hearty laugh. It beats L Ron Hubbard’s dreary tome on dianetics—whatever that is—hands down.

We approved the notion of COVID passports. Your correspondent has produced a very reasonably-priced version, guaranteed to get you through border security in all states (it got us in and out of Queensland) and most other countries, including North Korea which is the new, exciting place to go now that Kim Wrong-un has been “disappeared” and replaced by a guy with a better haircut and sharper suits.

Next month—November to be precise—will feature the annual Wamboin Open. It should be a good one with prize money donated by the PRC under the Belt and Road policy. Join us at 12.15pm at the community hall on Sunday, 7 November for the standard 12.30pm start.

Meanwhile for those who haven’t had two or even one jab, may I recommend local GP, Dr Rekkers, COVID Retardant. It’s not a cure or vaccine but it will mask the symptoms, which is handy for those runs in and out of Canberra and Russian athletes. It comes in a brown bottle and is taken internally. You can even wash your hair with it.

Larry King, golfer

September [Pseudo-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday, 5 September. Hold the defibrillator. All the watts in the world won’t start Charlie up. The 80 year old, sartorially splendid human metronome of The Rolling Stones is no more. There are many drummers who can keep the beat and many who can do the fancy licks, but those who can do both are justly famous. Charlie Watts was such a one. Like The Beatles, there are now only two of the original Stones left. When Keef goes—and some say that happened a while ago—Mick can tour by himself as “The Rolling Stone”, free of all moss.

And talking about getting around, the R & A Wamboin GC has come out of diapause now that Our Glad (bless her) is allowing us to gather in groups of five. And exercise outdoors for three hours. It works like this: groups of 4/5 go out to each tee before the shotgun is fired to start play. See? No group meets another group. When play ceases we all gather in an open field—still in our groups of five—and picnic in a responsibly-masked and socially-distanced way. We communicate by semaphore, heliograph, megaphone, bull horn, loud hailer, mobile phone, PMR and tablet/iPad. It’s tough for the captain but, leadership has its downsides. Although the course was sodden, those who turned up paddled valiantly over the Eastern Nine (that’s all you can do in three hours).

We welcomed our guests, Bill and Deidre O’Wheeler. The googly ball was won by local rhinologist John Barrelo (Porky to his friends) who can identify the source of waste products by smell alone. The dummy spit went to the 18 US intelligence agencies who accurately predicted when the Taliwhackers would reach Kabul. (These are the same guys who brought you weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.) Winners and place getters all elected to remain anonymous in keeping with these isolating, self-effacing times.

Staying with sport, we mourned the loss of Deb and Ken Gordon to Oztag in the region after 20 years association with the game in Bungendore. Doubtless, freed of that onerous burden, greater honours await them on the golf course. We then congratulated the Wallabies on regaining the Bledisloe Cup. True, the All Absence of Colours won the first two games but forfeited the series for not turning up for the third game on the agreed date and time. Maybe they need a new bus driver. I can’t see the Mudchooks being that silly.

We marveled at the cooperation being shown between the Taliban and US forces who are bombing the Al Qaeda-linked ISIS faction bent on exploiting the chaos in Afghanistan. The aphorism “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” springs to mind. It is, apparently, an ancient Sanskrit proverb dating from at least the 4th century BC but first expressed in English in 1884 by American architect, Gabriel Manigault. I pass this on for what it’s worth—which is considerably more than any deal you could strike with the Taliwhackers.

On a brighter note, Kabul radio is playing the current No. 1 hit: “The Boys are Back in Town” by The Taliband. Of course, back home the plague always gets a mention. Delta seems to be getting away from us. In Qld and WA, Premiers Palaskerzuk and McGoon are steadfastly sticking to the futile policy of containment but Our Glad (bless her) is warming us up for the great re-opening which will restore fun and prosperity.

You see, the real purpose of a lockdown is to get us vaccinated. Its motive force is fear: fear that we’ll catch the virus and die; and fear that we’ll lose our jobs, go broke and never recover. At 80% double-jabbed it’ll almost be back to normal. Let’s hope we get there by Christmas. The other 20 per cent can take their chances.

This is a variation on achieving herd immunity. Look up the Spanish flu. Without vax or cure it petered out in Australia after about two years. In essence, the variants that followed the original outbreak became progressively weaker. Let’s face it, a virus which kills its host isn’t going to survive for long. The general political response to the present pandemic has less to do with medical science and more to do with the understandable reluctance of civil authorities to be seen to be doing nothing as people die. Who can say they’re wrong? My courageous prediction is that when this is over the international death toll, expressed as a percentage of world population, will pale into insignificance when compared to that of the Spanish flu.

Why not repair your mental fabric by joining us in a paddock to be confirmed, at 12.15pm on Sunday, 3 October for the 12.30pm start. Meanwhile, think about lying by a sun-drenched tropical pool, sipping an FLA as zephyrs waft about your body. Now think about how you’re going to get there.

Larry King, golfer dreaming

August [Non-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday, 1 August. A grey day with patchy rain and a light breeze. Not ideal for golf but not impossible. Unless of course you’re in the middle of a pandemic and the course is sodden. The Greens Committee cancelled the competition.


This is getting to be an annoying habit. Fortunately your correspondent was able to quickly round up some willing golfers from the multitude wandering the streets of South West Sydney and bring them back to Wamboin—cunningly avoiding the mounted police and the sniffer dogs (trained to detect COVID Delta)—to tackle the Western Nine. The Eastern Nine is out of play pending the completion of construction of the Pfizer Bridge across the source of the Yass River (discovered by John Hanning Speke in 1858).

Back at a certain large shed, socially distanced and wearing masks (except when taking a mouthful or two of a restorative throat lubricant), we agreed there are some people you just have to feel sorry for. Firstly there’s poor Delta Goodrem. After a valiant battle with cancer she carves out a glittering career in the music industry but do they give her an OAM? No, they name a virus after her.

Then there’s that clever low security prisoner in Goulburn. His meticulously-planned escape (he opened the back gate and fled ) was foiled by the late arrival of the get-away train. And of course that chap in charge in Brazil whose name I’ve forgotten (sounds like balls-in-a-row): after ruthlessly prosecuting a policy of herd immunity by doing nothing he’s rewarded by a case of chronic hiccups after orthodontic work. With deaths at over half a million and rising, Ballsy clearly bit off more than he could chew.

But the people I’m feeling sorriest for at the moment are the poor old Afghans now that the war’s over. If you can believe the Taliwhackers, they now control a fair chunk of the country. This is not good news for peace and harmony, respect for women, education for girls, cultural monuments, religious tolerance and prosperity (unless you’re a Taliwhacker). It is your correspondent’s melancholy observation from examples of conflict throughout the ages that war can be concluded with a decisive victory in only two ways: (a) if you are willing and able to kill lots of people including yours, theirs and anyone else who gets in the way (note that an estimated 60,000 French civilians were killed in the WW 2 battle for Normandy; by the time Paris was liberated it was well over one million); (b) if the invaders just call it a day and go home, which is what we did in Vietnam and now Afghanistan.

This raises the question of what we were doing there in the first place. The conventional reason advanced was to rob terrorists of a breeding ground. I can’t see much difference between the Taliwhackers and ISIS. Still, the troops are no doubt happy to quit the land where, according to a formerly ”embedded” ABC journalist (a real one, not one of those current affairs communists), the women cannot be seen, the men cannot be trusted and the food cannot be eaten. Not to mention all those dangerous IUDs by the roadsides. No doubt they’ll relish their redeployment to fight the virus breakout in Sydney.

Meanwhile back home, tough-talking NSW CMO, Dr Gregorienne Chant, has come down hard on the Travelling Wilberries. She, like you, has read David Williamson’s play “The Removalists” in which three furniture movers travel from Sydney to Melbourne, Adelaide and back again, spreading joy and mirth wherever they go. The play’s moral is that unless we look after each other everything ends in tears, a fine uplifting thought. Dr Chant and our Glad (bless her) share that thesis. So embrace the lockdown. I can say that because my business—fearless reporter—is based on the three golden rules: no rent; no debt; no stock. I sympathise with those who carry the burden of all three. The rest of us, via the money we give to the civil authority (taxes), must help if we mean to heed Williamson’s warning.

We speculated on the name of the dimwit who signed the advice to the immigration minister to deny Quade Cooper Australian citizenship. I guess we’ll never know. He/she/it and the minister should be red-carded. Poor old Quade has only lived here since he was 13, played with distinction for the Wallabies and has recently been recalled to the squad for the Bledisloe Cup.

And talking of sport, aren’t we doing well in the Olympics! Thank god for the women. And in 2032 they’re going to be in Brisbane. I can’t wait. No wonder AOC supremo, John Outergarments, was keen to bolster the Australian presence at the opening ceremony by insisting on a good roll-up including his pal, O’Shea (I think that’s what he said). Whoever O’Shea is remains a mystery. Also mysterious is when we’ll be able to use the Community Hall as the 19th hole. Sydney’s lockdown is scheduled to extend another eight weeks at time of writing. But golf will continue one way or another. In the meantime look after each other and get vaccinated!

Larry King, golfer.

July [Non-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday 4 July. That pesky pandemic deserves the green needle. Those other jabs are too good for it. We had to cancel the July comp because it’s just too difficult to hit all the requirements to use the Community Hall. We could have played the game without the 19th afterwards, but as you know, golf is only played for the FLAs at the end.

Be that as it may, your intrepid correspondent gathered a host of kindred spirits amongst his mates in the NRL—I won’t name them for privacy reasons—to contest the Eastern Nine. It was bitterly cold so play was halted after a statistically significant proportion of the course was covered. We then repaired to a certain large green shed to warm the fingers by a large gas heater. This enabled us to remove the crown seals from several Fluid Loss Adjusters.

In the captain’s absence your correspondent introduced our guests, distributed the googly ball, the dummy spit award, the LD and NTP balls, told Ted’s joke and awarded the major prizes. Again for privacy reasons, I cannot reveal the winner’s name (we later found him hiding under a bed) but it gives me much pleasure to let you know that I came second. (Please pardon the obvious display of pride. I rarely appear on the podium.)

In the course of replacing essential fluids we briefly lamented the plight of political cartoonists now that the deplorable Trump and his monkey house of sub-cretinous, misanthropic dropkicks have been turfed. Sure, he’s had a few rallies where he’s spread the same old manure, but it’s not as exciting when the man in the clown suit no longer controls an arsenal of ICBMs.

However, journos have all perked up since the return to the stage of steam-of-conscious novelist and family man, James “Barnaby” Joyce. Don’t bother reading his masterpiece, “Ulysses”. I got to page 30 before being admitted to a sanatorium. It reminds me of the first 30 pages of “Das Kapital” which I recommend as diversion therapy for all budding socialists. It’s a pity these demagogues can’t write for real people.

While on the subject of ratbags, we expressed righteous anger at the shutting down of popular Hong Kong newspaper, Apple Daily, by the running dogs of PRC Czar, She Gin Sling. They did the same in Tibet years ago to the Daily Lama. Just let them try the same totalitarian nonsense with the Independent! I’ll be the first to take up my umbrella in protest.

Poor old ScoMotose can’t take a trick at the moment. Elbow’s got him on the ropes over the pandemic. It turns out he didn’t take Elbow’s advice on how to keep it out; what to do when it got in; how to control outbreaks; why hotel quarantine would never work; what would; how to force aged care workers and others to vaccinate; when to lock down; when to open up; how to keep the economy going; how much vax to order; where to get it; what to do when Italy reneged; when to open and close the border; how and when people trapped overseas should be allowed to return; why they shouldn’t; blah, blah, blah. We should have been guided by Elbow. A person that smart ought to be Prime Minister. I’ll bet he wouldn’t have allowed Witness K to be tried behind a screen of secrecy (literally and figuratively). Just wait for next month’s report in which I reveal how the QPRC have bugged the meetings of the Save the Mick Sherd Committee. I’ll insist my trial be held in the Bungendore Memorial Hall with free admittance to all.

Having got all that off our chests we packed up and left in an orderly fashion. There was no need for the police to untangle the traffic in Wirreanda Road. Let us hope that our Glad’s (bless her) contact tracers turn up a whole pile of negatives so that the August golf day can proceed. You may then wish to join us at the Wamboin community hall on 1 August at 12.15pm to sign up for the 12.30pm start. Dress warm.

Larry King, golfer

June Competition Results

Sunday 6 June. Welcome to Winter. My old mate, Chill Blains (he really loves Winter) reckons it’ll be a ripper this year—low temperatures, biting frosts, blizzards and snows metres deep. Fortunately, it wasn’t like that for the Wamboin Pre-Solstice Frolic when all golfers, except the ladies (bless ‘em), play naked to the waist. Just a dusting of 10-15cm, hardly worth worrying about unless you’d forgotten your orange golf balls.

Short 'n Sweet

The day was sponsored by the Urquhart family whom we thank for the sumptuous spread and prizes. The order of the day was an Ambrose Scramble with “the golden egg”—a yellow golf ball. We don’t normally encourage yellow golf balls in Winter because of a past unfortunate misunderstanding. Regrettably, with our usual ADD we missed the significance of the golden egg, making the captain spit the dummy. Nevertheless, clutching our golden eggs (Deb Gordon had three! That woman must have been trained by Fagin) and suitably gluhweined, we strapped on the snow shoes, threw off the upper raiment and took to the piste.

Back in the chalet, as the captain worked the abacas with frost-bitten fingers, we discussed the federal budget. It was a short discussion. After watching the news on the ABC most of us turned over to “8 Out Of 10 Cats Does Countdown” on SBS. We thus missed the pearls that Rogan Josh Friesanburger cast before us. Obviously, there was no point watching Elbow the next night. So we unpicked the Sutton Road fiasco. Managers of major civil works are generally competent people. So how come it’s taking them so long to work out that if you’re mucking about with an arterial road for a long time the traffic into town in the morning generally equals the traffic leaving town in the afternoon. And why can’t they set the traffic lights accordingly?

We noted that 20 May was International Bidet. As none of us has a bidet (or is not game to admit it) we felt a bit left out and wondered if the UN was really a club for the wealthy, only pretending to be a sheltered workshop for shiny bums from banana republics, dictatorships and failed states.

We then turned to Pooty Putin’s efforts to put the band (i.e. the Soviet Union) back together. He’s already got Crimea and may soon have Ukraine and Belarus under his belt. This lead to a discussion of the good things about Russia, such as its famous composers. Can you name ten? Here’s how we went: Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Borodin, Stravinsky, Rachmaninov, Mikoyan, Tupolev, Iluyshin, Sikorsky and Kalashnikov. We excluded T 34 on the ground that she was a painter.

Next we tried to name the actors who played the original Magnificent Seven. The first two are easy: Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen. For the record, the rest were Butch Cassidy, Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Akira Kurosawa and one of the Pickens brothers but we couldn’t agree on whether it was Slim, Easy or Lousy. After that the six wives of Henry VIII were relatively easy: Catherine of Tarragon, Anne Berlin, Anne of Cloves, Anne Hathaway, Maid Marion and Bronnie of Karabar.

And now they’ve discovered a new strain of COVID, the “peripatetic variant”. All those who contract it feel compelled to travel widely interstate and even overseas, spreading the love wherever they go. Why can’t the infected just stay at home?

We rounded it off by discussing poultry princess, Zali Steggles’, climate change bill in the federal parliament. If anyone asks you what it’s about you can say it’s about 10cm thick. It’s like the road to hell: paved with good intentions but leaves the hard thinking to someone else. Fortunately, energy czar, Anguish Taylor, the Baldric of climate change, has a “cunning plan” to reduce CO2 from using oil by using gas.

Winners & Grinners

The captain then terminated the frivolity by introducing our guests, Dave and Michelle Cochrane and Val and Erik Haller. Ted’s joke involving an ambidextrous golfer was told by Keith France. He also got the googly ball for directing a ball towards the Palerang mayor-in-perpetuity who narrowly avoided brutal emasculation (see photo above). The dummy spit award was passed from the captain to Michelle Cochrane for interjections too numerous to list.


LD and NTB ball winners were Glen Crafter 3, Pete Harrison, Dave Cochrane 2, Keith France, Colin Urquhart, Tim Barter and Lofty Mason. The winning team in the nine hole Ambrose was Lofty Mason and Deb and Ken Gordon with 29.85 strokes (yeah, that’s what I said) after handicap. Runners up on 31.7 were the team of Dave Hubbard and Larry King. Winners of the 18 hole Ambrose were Pete Harrison and Paul Griffin 51.85 from Tim Barter, Vicki Still and Dave Cochrane 53.8. The captain said he’d explain the golden egg better next time.

Next month will feature the Ted Evans Memorial GST Handicap where 10% is added to your handicap and forwarded to the ATO. In case you don’t know, ATO stands for the Australian Taxation Office. I hope that didn’t sound condescending. I detest condescending people. ‘Condescending”, by the way, means displaying a patronisingly superior attitude. It comes from the Latin, descendere, to descend, but I don’t expect you to know that.

Larry King, golfer

May Competition Results

Sunday, 2 May. It was a fine autumnal day for the Wamboin Merrie Month of May Frolic. The day was sponsored by those old sailors and airmen represented by Tim Barter and Paul Griffin whom we thank for the scrumptious spread (which they had little to do with) and the prizes (chosen by people with taste). They declared the competition would be decided on the Stableford scoring system. Ah well, never mind.


Last month was a red letter occasion for your correspondent. Being an essential service worker as a reporter for this august organ of communication, he had his first date with Jabber the Hutt. Yes, I joined the conga line of masochists with our sleeves rolled up to the armpits to get the initial jab of the Astral Zenic vax. As promised, it didn’t hurt. Well, not until the needle actually went in and then it hurt like hell—a cross between the guillotine and seppuku (I hope I’m not putting you off). Anyway, I made it through the side effects period without experiencing the dreaded managerial thrombosis i.e. clots at the top.

Finn's Spotties

Back in the ICU, as the captain did the intricate calculations, we considered the news that crime stats had dropped sharply during the pandemic. Not white collar crime—that continues unabated: my ISP still bills me full price for a service delivered intermittently. No, they mean crimes like theft and burglary. It’s because we’re all working from home. Being the bleeding hearts we are, we wondered how the poor old tea leaves and their families were bearing up. It’d be a bit hard to claim the JobKeeper. We decided that they needed a community group to lobby on their behalf. Maybe the Business Council of Australia can form a blue collar division.

Conversation then turned to our hydrogen future. No one reading this remembers the Hindenburg but most have heard of it. It wasn’t a good look for hydrogen. But your correspondent, who goes to great lengths to research these articles, can reassure you that R & D has progressed since those days. This is how it works (I’ll keep it simple): hydrogen gas and compressed air are forced through a membrane which splits the hydrogen atom (that’s right!) which creates the power to drive an electric motor. You are now riding an H bomb just like Slim Pickens did in the movie “Dr Strangelove”. The bits of the H atom that aren’t needed—call it the nuclear waste—react with the oxygen in the air to form water which is released through the car’s exhaust system. I reckon it’ll be the go-to vehicle for ram raids—if you can jump out in time like James Dean in “Rebel without a Cause”.

Winners & Grinners

The captain called for order and introduced our guest, Vincent Gorham making a welcome return. Ted’s joke involved a lady with a glass eye. The googly ball was awarded to Nev Schroder for striking your correspondent with a divot while limbering up. Guess who got the dummy spit award for bringing it to the committee’s attention. Once again no LD and NTB ball winners for the Eastern Nine. The junior nine hole comp winner was Phoebe Beckett with 20 Stableford points. The senior nine hole comp winner was Deb Gordon 21 points from Rob Gorham 20 points OCB. Winner of the senior 18 hole comp was Glen Crafter 38 from Vicki Still 36. Well played, everyone!

Isn’t the year flashing past? There’s nothing like a pandemic to while away the boredom of the mundane. And golf, of course. Join us at the community hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 6 June for the pre solstice comp which will kick off at 12.30pm sharp. Stay on afterwards for the ritual pagan dancing around the fire. The shy and inhibited may retain their clothing.

Larry King, golfer

April Competition Results

The Wamboin Mini Masters

Sunday, 4 April. A beautiful sunny day for Easter Sunday. Not a breath of air, which was a shame. 28°C feels like 32°C without a breeze. Still, no one complained for fear of the embarrassment of the dummy spit award. It was, of course, the day of the Wamboin Mini Masters. This legendary competition goes back to 1893 when Rudyard Kipling donated the Great Grey-Green Greasy Limpopo Jacket to the club. 1893, by the way, was the year that women got the vote in New Zealand. And haven’t they done well since!

Unlike the US Masters, a drawn-out four day affair, the winner of the greenish coat is determined on the day, following two rounds of six holes on Bingley Way, the nerve centre of Wamboin. Those who make the cut after round one go on to vie for the afore-mentioned article of bespoke tailoring. Those of us who don’t (including your correspondent) still play round two for the handicap honours. All players then compete in the NTP novelty shots: off the ramp; off the tyre; from the bunker. Got it? OK.

The day was sponsored by the Wamboin Community Association whom we thank for the the refreshments and prizes. And so with a song in our hearts, as Heaven opened its portals for us (thank you Messrs Rodgers and Hart) we sprang to the stirrups and galloped off into the countryside swathed in its mantle of green, courtesy of the recent rains.

Back in the jungle, as Brown Owl in the guise of Lofty Mason did the tally with the technical expertise of Akela, local ICT wizard, Nev Schroder, we pondered the roll out of the anti Covid jab. We thought that Ireland’s early concerns about clots was an Irish joke until we realized they meant blood clots. The answer is childishly simple: lace the vaxx with Warfarin. Then there was the all Ordinaries Index. It started 2020 at over 7000 (whatever that means). And, roughly, that’s where it started 2021. Sure, it dropped like a lead zeppelin in the interim but the general economy, measured by Gross Domestic Product, rocketed out of recession while full time employment increased. All this suggests that the gig economy—mainly the income earned by part timers in the hospitality industry—doesn’t contribute much to the broader economy. And guess what? The calculation of GDP doesn’t really take them into account. My mate the economics lecturer at QU tells me that the composition of GDP hasn’t been revised since about 1937. It doesn’t account for informal or unrecorded employment arrangements. Of course, the gig economy is a big deal for those who work in it and will feel the absence of JobKeeper which is just part of the $200 billion the Feds have spent on pump priming and which will take about sixty years to repay.

News that police in Canberra had unearthed a haul of cannabis valued at $500,000 evoked memories of the Wamboin Rural Fire Brigade President’s smoking party of ten years ago. The brigade was called upon to burn a huge crop of the substance confiscated in the region. This was done under strict police supervision on the oval next to the hall. Some of the participating brigade members felt a mild euphoria while others wandered about saying things like “far out and solid, man”.

Winners & Grinners

The acting captain called us to order and introduced our guests, Philip Moran, Clint Pickin, Ben Hubbard (scion of a noble Wamboin family), Tony Dowdell and Lila Mason. Kathy Handel, representing the WCA, recited a poem about the shape of wombat poo. It brought tears to the eyes. The Googly Ball went to Rob Gorham for driving the course while a guy with a steel leg walked it (how lazy can you get?). Just for good measure we awarded Gorham the Dummy Spit.

Paul & Kathy

Novelty shot winners were: off the ramp, Tim Barter 2.9 metres; off the tyre, Steve Lambert 4.3 metres; from the bunker, David Bailey 7.2 metres. Handicap winner was Phil Moran 57/41 from runner-up Glen Crafter 52/42. Junior Master was Robert Thomson 39 for six holes. Runner-up in the senior Masters comp was Tim Barter 56. And as the band strikes up Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance March No.1 we can announce that the 2021 Wamboin Mini Master is Paul Griffin 52. Well played all one and all!

Whether or not you’ve had the jab, give serious consideration to joining us on Sunday, the 2nd of the Merrie Month of May for another joyous day of golfing pleasure. Be at the community hall at 12.15pm to sign in for the punctual 12.30pm shot gun start. While on the subject of shot guns, ASIO has identified a ”nest of spies” operating in Australia. It has expelled some. Others have been “rendered inoperative”. We wonder if they’ve been rendered inoperative “with extreme prejudice”.

Larry King, golfer

March Competition Results

Sunday, 7 March. The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Not to be confused with the rabble that is still twisting the tail of the poor old Republican Party in the benighted US of A. No, this time it’s the gladsome Wamboin golfing spectacular.

Lambert's Leap

The day, superbly Autumnal, was sponsored by Deb and Ken Gordon whom we thank for the sustenance and the loot. And talking of loot, what about the gazillions the charismatic Mark Suckitup of Faceache has trousered through the simple ruse of not paying for anything: e.g. tax in our fair country and the work of journalists? Mark, an attractive mixture of badly disguised greed and petulance, unplugged us from the news content he’s nicked from others. Unfortunately he rolled over and agreed to cough up, so all those pictures of Lady Gaga’s ugly little dogs are back on the screen. Still, looking at pictures of French bulldogs is less enervating than trying to work out your score on the diabolical Stableford system which, I suggest, would have confounded even the great Alan Turing.

Back at Bletchley Park, as the captain struggled with the Enigma code of our scorecards, there was much to wonder at. Such as Italy’s refusal to hand over our Vaccine. Bloody wogs! (Did I say that out loud?). The country hasn’t had a functioning government since Mussolini. Actually I’m not that upset: I’m hanging out for the Perfizzer vax. As for Astra Zeneca, wasn’t she the last winner of the Sanremo Song Contest? And what’s all this hoo-ha over the colour of Harry’s and Meghan’s kids? Hasn’t anyone ever heard of Edward of Woodstock, the Black Prince? He was the eldest son of Edward III who, as far as I know, never complained about the boy’s colour. Next, we deplored those obnoxious virtue signalers who endured an alcohol-free February. Your correspondent, in conformity with General Angus Campbell’s advice to make himself less attractive, is now on the so-called “5/2 diet”: 5 beers/2 hot dogs. It seems to be working.

Winners & Grinners
Dave & Madz

The captain introduced our guests, Annie Burne, Steve Miners and Rob Gorham—the latter two returning after long absences. Ted’s Joke was told by Dave Hubbard and Keith France. The googly ball went to the person who birdied Short‘n’Sweet. Ruth Lambert spat the dummy at the news a certain member couldn’t attend because his partner was chopping wood. Phoebe Beckett scored the encouragement award. LD and NTP ball winners were Dave Hubbard 2, Annie Burne, Glen Crafter, Ken Gordon, Col Urquhart, Nev Schroder, Pete Harrison, Vicki Still and Tim Barter. Young Robbie Thompson, with 23 Stableford points, took out the junior comp. Winner of the senior nine hole comp was Nev Schroder 23 from Dave Hubbard 20 and J & L Mason inseparable on 19. Victor in the 18 hole comp was Tim Barter (yawn) 38 from Paul Griffin 36 OCB from Col Urquhart. Congratulations all.

Join us at the Community Hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 4 April for the highly-esteemed Wamboin Mini Masters—two rounds of six holes provided you make the cut after the first six—kicking off at 12.30pm on the dot. Meanwhile, have you read “The Jew of Malta” by Christopher Marlowe, a contemporary of my old pal, W Shakespeare? No, nor have I. I’m only aware of it because of an epigraph from Marlowe’s play which begins the famous poem “Portrait of a Lady” by another old buddy, T S Eliot. It goes like this: “Thou hast committed fornication. But that was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead.” It put me forcibly in mind of the paradoxical imbroglio one of the parliament house porters finds himself in. Eliot’s poem leaves us in turmoil as to who has been misused: the woman or the man or, indeed, both. It is a conundrum which will never be solved to the general satisfaction no matter what we do.

Larry King, golfer

February Competition Results

Sunday, 7 February, the day of the Great Wamboin Liver Transplant Medal. And what a superb day it was. Thank you Mother Nature. You may be under pressure at the moment but you can still roll out a purler! The day was sponsored by the Schroder and Whitney families whom we thank for the prizes and refreshments.

Lambert's Leap

The clemency of the weather attracted a large field which included, we were happy to note, the incredibly life-like Dave Hubbard. As we walked around the course we discussed such things as how we spent Invasion Day. Your correspondent eschewed the traditional burnt protein overload for a 4pm get together over finger food and a few fluid loss adjusters to remember our late friend in whose honour we now include the telling of a joke in the formal 19th hole programme. Invasion day sends a frisson of pride down every spine as we recall the glorious battle between the British Army and the National Eora Army of Central and East coast tribes. Who couldn’t thrill to the vision of the invading troops landing at Kurnell in a manoeuvre copied by Eisenhower 256 years later? Who couldn’t marvel at the nulla nulla emplacements of the indigenous army raining spears upon those on the beach as the returning boomerangs – the home-grown secret weapon - attacked from the rear? We straighten our shoulders in pride and admiration as we recall the chivalry shown by each side to the other during and after hostilities. And finally the signing of the treaty which recognized the prior occupancy of the defenders of this great southern land.

I wish it had been like that: a clean and fair fight, (allowing for the superiority of the invaders’ weapons), followed by an honourable peace. It wasn’t but we can still repair the damage if we have the will.

Back on sacred ground, as the captain fiddled with the abacas to calculate the scores, we bemoaned the fate of poor old Burma – or as they call it these days, Myanmar (why do I think of mum?). Having spent years trying to get the military junta to step aside for the elegant and well-loved Unsung Sushi (unless you’re a Rohingya) civilians watched in dismay as the army took it all back again. The new despot is Min Aung Hiaing who looks about 40 but, based on the decorations on his chest, saw action in every war since Joshua fought the battle of Jericho. They go down the left side of his shirt, under his belt and down his leg. Everything’s there including the Order of the Ingrown Toenail. The rumour is that China doesn’t want a budding democracy on its doorstep. Your correspondent suggests that if you enjoy living in our democracy you work to keep it strong. Like making sure those pesky foreign tennis players stick to our COVID rules. Tennis is an appalling game played by the likes of Pentacostal sky pilots and angry guys with funny haircuts and lots of spare racquets. Now, golf is a decidedly more agreeable game requiring guile, cunning and good hand/eye coordination as exemplified by the former President of the US.

Winners & Grinners

The captain called us to order and introduced our guests, Tom Roberts, Mia Cullen and Trish and Michael Zebel. The Ted Evans memorial joke was told. Tom Roberts got the googly ball for twice over-shooting the green on Lamberts Leap. Karen Thompson was awarded the dummy spit on the grounds that she hadn’t got it before. The junior comp was won by Tim Nelson. All other juniors were given encouragement awards (thus encouraging the golfers of tomorrow). No LDs or NTPs because no one has worked out how to get the markers onto the Eastern course. We’re working on it. Winner of the crowded nine hole comp was Trish Zebel 46/28 OCB from sponsor John Whitney (too bad, John). Under the rules runner-up was Deb Gordon 54/31 (sorry, sponsor Nev) with Ken Gordon 3rd 37/33 (don’t you love handicaps?). Winner of the 18 hole comp was Paul Griffin 86/71 from Pete Harrison 2nd or last depending on your perspective.

Next month we battle it out for the Mad Hatter’s Teapot, so don your silly hat and join us at the community hall 12.15pm on Sunday 7 March for the usual 12.30pm start. Meanwhile, may I point out that the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated by the American media, those purveyors of fake news.

Larry King, live golfer

January Competition Results

Sunday, 3 January. So you made it through to 2021. Congratulations! One of the many great things about playing golf on the well-manicured Wamboin course is that on golf day, with the permission of the property owner, you can play at any reasonable time of the day (provided you play with someone who can be relied on to count all your strokes). This is handy if the day is expected to be excessively hot, cold or rainy. In the later case some took that advantage in January, mindful of the BoM’s advice. Unfortunately those who played early got wet while those who teed off at the scheduled time experienced mild and pleasant conditions. BoMed again!

Firebreak Fore

The day was sponsored by Matt Hawke whom we thank for the prizes and eats. We played a shortened competition of nine holes for all, in unfulfilled expectation of a hot day. The field was slightly down owing to the holiday season, many preferring the South Coast or the Northern Beaches of Sydney (some weren’t expecting to stay for 14 days). Still, that left time to work on our new year’s resolutions. Here are your correspondent’s:

  1. I will not catch COVID 19. (So far so good)
  2. I will not have a beer at the Newport Arms after surfing at Avalon
  3. I will quit smoking. Tick. (I did that in 1986)
  4. I will start wearing a mask. (I have a very attractive one from the Venice Biennale.)
  5. I will give in to my neighbours and stop using fissile fuels
  6. I will send all the money back to China
Pine Slice

Back at the Hall, as the Captain struggled with the maths, we discussed the New Year. Firstly, Trump’s still whingeing that his ”election was stolen by the Democrats”—at least I think that’s what he said. If I’m wrong he can probably get help from his go-to COVID vaxx provider. On the other hand we have a new word in the national anthem. Except they got it wrong. It should be “we are old and reasonable”. “Old” because the blackfellas have been here since before written history and “otherfellas” for more than 200 years. “Reasonable” because you don’t get us for free. For example, if you do a reasonable deal with our peerless government, you might get to set up a fracking operation at the edge of, say, the Pilliga Scrub—most likely contaminating the ground water. Not smart if you want to increase the population of regional areas. Guess what those peoples’ greatest need will be? Imagine drilling shale oil wells near Bungendore, Braidwood and our other regional townships.

Winners & Grinners

The Captain stopped us playing the “ain’t it awful” game by calling for order and introducing our guest, Gerard Ryan. Paul Griffin told the Ted Evans memorial joke. The googly ball went to Pete Harrison for a 20 metre putt from off the green to birdie Short ‘n Sweet. The dummy spit became controversial when your correspondent attempted to move a motion restricting the award to events occurring on the course. Debated without resolution. NTP/LD ball winners were Tim Barter 3, Vicki Still 2, Ken Gordon 2, Gerard Ryan, Pete Harrison and David Thompson. Winner of the juniors was Robert Thompson with 53 off the stick returning 25 after deducting handicap. The senior >20 handicap comp winner was Pete Harrison 40/27 from Vicki Still 40/28. Winner of the <20 handicap comp was Ken Gordon 33/29 from Tim Barter 36/31. Well done, everybody!

Next month’s comp will be the annual February Liver Rinse & Spin Dry Pennant. Unless otherwise advised, join us at the Hall at 12.15pm for the usual 12.30pm start. Meanwhile think about this: Trump spelled backward could almost be a phonetic rendering of “peanut” if the M was an N. Yes, I know it’s a long bow but we shouldn’t overlook even the smallest clue.

Larry King, golfer