Dear Blackwithers,
Whilst making up the numbers for a mixed foursome at Chuffington Golf Club on Boxing Day I sliced a shot on the seventh. As the ground was, as our friends in the racing fraternity call it, "good to soft", I can only put my foul disposition down to an ill considered double wager concerning Kauto Star winning the King George for an unprecedented fifth time and the demise of Prince Phillip. The object of my aggression veered to the left at a trajectory of approximately 18 degrees whilst the resulting divot disappeared to my right. After a short search, curtailed by an encroaching foursome with Masonic tendencies, I continued with my sport.
Later in the day as I relaxed in front, and slightly to the right, of the television, my attention was drawn to a contestant on the misnamed "Celebrity Mastermind". A Mr. Steven Harley, being neither celebrity nor mastermind, appeared to have found the small piece of turf I accidentally excavated from the seventh.
If Mr. Harley would be so kind as to return the aforementioned sod to Chuffington I will personally reward him with tea and biscuits, especially, as I believe Mr. Harley is a musician, if he brings his trumpet.
Yours faithfully,
Judith Teen, Lady Captain.
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