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anything, so despite his suspicions he released his grip on Hanson, pushed him away and stalked off in the direction of the pro's shop, not trusting himself to say another word on the subject.
    “ What on earth’s got into George?” said Galloway, with a bemused shake of his head.

    “ Golf would be a much more enjoyable game if women had their own course,” said Chapman, marking his golf ball where it had come to rest
    four feet short of the hole, following his approach putt.
    “ They have at Formby,” said Arbuthnott.
    “ Have they really?” said Bagley, surprised. “A golf course all of their own?”
    “ Yes. I played there once on a day out with my company’s golf society. The ladies' course is in the middle, completely encircled by the gents' course. When the gents play it’s like Red Indians encircling a wagon train.”
    “ Do they shoot arrows at them?” asked Chapman.
    “ I don't think they've thought of that one yet.”
    “ I would,” said Chapman, wistfully. “Poison-tipped ones.”
    “ I don’t doubt it for one moment, Gerry,” said Bagley. “And throw the odd tomahawk as well no doubt.”

    When Fidler entered the pro's shop Tobin was immediately on his mettle.
    “ Good morning Mr Fidler. Lovely morning. Half a dozen Top Flight fours is it?”
    Fidler’s eyes narrowed. Could the pro be in on the conspiracy too? He wouldn’t put it past him. However, unable to prove anything, he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “No. Half a dozen Pinnacles.”
    Tobin expressed surprise. “Pinnacles? But you always play Top Flight fours, Mr Fidler.”
    Fidler's temper, already on a very short rein, snapped again. “Well I'm not playing them today! So half a dozen fucking Pinnacles, and quick about it!”
    “ Yes. At once. Right away, Mr Fidler.”

    “ I mean they just trivialise golf, women,” Chapman went on. “What’s the name of that competition they have?” He remembered it. “‘Hidden Holes’. Have you ever heard of anything so stupid? You play all eighteen holes but only nine of them count. And you don’t know which nine they are until it’s all over. I mean what sort of a competition is that? You could have nine birdies and finish last.”
    “ You obviously haven’t taken the psychology of ladies’ golf on board, Gerry,” said Bagley.
    “ What?”
    “ Well it has precious little to do with the best player on the day winning. Ladies' golf is more to do with ensuring that over the course of the season as many different ladies win as possible. That’s why they have lots of the type of competitions that diminish the skill factor. Flag. Three Clubs. Texas Scramble. Anything that will introduce an element of luck into the proceedings, so that even an absolute duffer at the game has some sort of a chance of winning.” He chuckled as he recalled the occasion. “Someone… Irwin I think it was…. once suggested to them in all seriousness a new kind of competition they might try. ‘Seventh Heaven’, he called it.”
    “ Seventh Heaven?”
    “ Yes, he told them it would work exactly the same as a normal medal competition except that the winner would be the lady who hits the green with her tee shot on the seventh hole, and during the walk to the green her period stops. Apparently they weren’t interested.”
    It took only a moment for Chapman to come up with a rational reason why the suggested competition had failed to find favour with the ladies. “That’s because if you had to still be having periods in order to enter ninety per cent of our lady members wouldn’t qualify.”
    “ Good point, never thought of that,” said Bagley, then turned his attention to matters more important than ladies’ golf, namely his putt, a tricky ten footer. After carefully lining it up he struck the putt. The ball, after narrowly missing the hole, came to rest a foot beyond. Bagley tapped it into the cup for a one over par five, a net par with his stroke.
    Next to putt was Chapman. He