Last Saturday I was supposed to go out with Irwin after the end of my assignment phase. Weeks before that we were even crapping that we could go down to the beach together.
He was running a fever and I supposed I was too slack after the months of struggle that we did not meet up until evening time, he asked me to go for golf to sweat it out. I called my mum to inform her not to get dinner for me before leaving the house.
Irwin and I tried our luck at one of the coffee shops near Queenstown MRT and that was a terrible experience to me. Three bucks for a plate of sticky rice partially covered by a few pieces of awful chicken and that would what I consider wasting of money and torturing myself.
I was not even close to an intermediate player but at least I continued to be familiarised with better swings. When Irwin exchanged his driver with my 7-Iron, I finally got to experience how swinging with less strength could increase the distance of the poor balls. I did try using the driver before but my swinging was totally off and thus, this time with a better skill, I felt so excited. However, when I returned to my 7-Iron club practise, I lost the touch again; or perhaps, the blisters had already been too hurting.