Members only

There's a plush private golf club near us, with a plethora of members only signs where ever you look. You can't wear this and you can't wear that. The usual collared shirts and long socks with tailored shorts when playing and blazers with creased slacks in the Clubhouse. Car park full of Aston Martins, BMW's and the odd Roller. First years entrance fee a cool 10K, if you can get through the interrogation. I'm not sure if they've ruled out torture, like the UN. It's a tightly run ship especially if you're from the wrong end of town, or more importantly poor. Plenty of rules to keep them out.

Membership enhanced by some minor celebrities and plenty of representation from the legal fraternity. Naturally, the club turns a blind eye to some illegal gambling and due diligence of where your money comes from. Who cares if it's from running brothels or arms dealing.

Ok ramble over. My point. It may seem childish, but I really enjoy playing at these posh clubs. I can feel numerous sets of beady little eyes staring at me, which can bring a slight shiver to my shoulders. But it's a challenge, a bit of a victory to play at such elitist golf clubs wearing fake golf shoes, reversed indigo denim pants and planting a black golf ball on the first tee. That's not strictly accurate. I usually wait until the first green to get my original black ball out.

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