Somewhere around ball 92 of 100, I discovered that my backswing has been wrong all along. I had spent around an hour and a half (and £6 something) hitting (or not hitting) the little round devils anywhere but where I wanted them to go when I thought "why don't I swing this club behind my head?". Have I been too girly and diffident all this time? It appears that way. Now I can't wait to return to the range and test out my theory.
After a mysterious hip/pelvis injury in June which made it difficult to walk, never mind pivot around with a golf club like a mad eejit, I have only practised once, and that was two months ago when I visited the North Wales Golf Course and Driving Range near St. Asaph. I wimped out of going round the course on that scorching day, but spent a relaxing hour trying not to hit the two pied wagtails that were bouncing about in front of me. All going well, I'll try the course next year.
What I'm trying to say is that I've got a good excuse for being rubbish.
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