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06/14/2018
Minigolf
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MC Knickerbocker , Scot of his mark.......
......carries the same, whether at work, in his leisure time at his beloved grass sports with several clubs and a small, usually white, "dimpled" ball. And in addition he wears very sparingly (which he is not when playing golf), "Burberry Sport for Men".
He prefers to travel along the Scottish coast, where the cool sea sends a strong breeze over to him, carried by the wind and fresh to almost odourless.
He likes to eat grapefruits that at least have a good aroma.
When he has finally been put in a hole, he rejoices like a snow king to sink the tee shot into the juniper bush growing at the edge of the hole, and in search of his ball, he releases the green and spicy scent of the wood by striding along and inside it, looking for a slight bend. He finally got it. Strike two follows, but not on the "green", but high up in a cedar.
Softly swearing, he goes to his golf bag and pulls out a new ball. (A penalty point in golf...), but he wanted to save shots, just like in scent.
At the edge of the 9th "hole" he picks a purple flowering mauve branch, which smells like musk, and enjoys it entertainingly.
"What's that smell?" he thinks, "Is it my perfume or this flower?"
Wurstegal, he thinks, and continues his game.
The half-long trousers ending under the knee, which bear his name, do not bother him.
He feels very athletic in the end... first, because he was on the court for a long time (he didn't count the many steps.
Secondly, because he was busy knocking off and punching holes (not to mention the many knee bends in ball searches).
The strokes he counted, finely neatly on a score card.
After the round, he packs his golf gear into his pocket, sprays up some more "Burberry Sport for Men", sniffs his head and makes his way home..... Smell is good, only too sparing..... The Scots may not take it any other way....
He prefers to travel along the Scottish coast, where the cool sea sends a strong breeze over to him, carried by the wind and fresh to almost odourless.
He likes to eat grapefruits that at least have a good aroma.
When he has finally been put in a hole, he rejoices like a snow king to sink the tee shot into the juniper bush growing at the edge of the hole, and in search of his ball, he releases the green and spicy scent of the wood by striding along and inside it, looking for a slight bend. He finally got it. Strike two follows, but not on the "green", but high up in a cedar.
Softly swearing, he goes to his golf bag and pulls out a new ball. (A penalty point in golf...), but he wanted to save shots, just like in scent.
At the edge of the 9th "hole" he picks a purple flowering mauve branch, which smells like musk, and enjoys it entertainingly.
"What's that smell?" he thinks, "Is it my perfume or this flower?"
Wurstegal, he thinks, and continues his game.
The half-long trousers ending under the knee, which bear his name, do not bother him.
He feels very athletic in the end... first, because he was on the court for a long time (he didn't count the many steps.
Secondly, because he was busy knocking off and punching holes (not to mention the many knee bends in ball searches).
The strokes he counted, finely neatly on a score card.
After the round, he packs his golf gear into his pocket, sprays up some more "Burberry Sport for Men", sniffs his head and makes his way home..... Smell is good, only too sparing..... The Scots may not take it any other way....
