I was recently reminded of an incident thirty years ago when a golf-playing friend invited me to join him and a few friends for a round at the municipal golf course.

I kept telling my friend and his friends that I really didn’t know how to play. My only experience was one round at a “course” (not even a real course, about nine short holes, on the grounds of a holiday camp another nineteen years before), and a “crazy golf” course a further eight years before. But my friend insisted, saying it was “just like pool”, and I only had to beware of a course official who would sometimes check that everyone had passes for the course.

I hung back at the first hole, watching the others tee off, and then:

Friend: “Okay, stop hiding, [My Name], your turn.”

Me: “Okay, hope I do this right.”

I hesitantly addressed (is that the word?) the ball. I tried to swing the club, but it went straight over the top. (Note to golf equipment manufacturers: your tees need to be at least 10 cm taller!)

One of my friend’s friends lept in behind me.

Friend’s Friend: “No, you need to have your left hand HERE, and your right hand HERE. And your left foot here, and your right foot HERE! And bend your knees slightly. And swing— NO, DON’T MOVE YOUR HEAD!”

He manhandled me as he instructed me; it was not pleasant.

Anyway, I then adopted what I thought were all the weird instructions, pulled back, and swung with all my might.

The ball flew off into the distance, and we all watched it come down… straight onto the green, within a metre of the hole. My friend, and all his friends, turned back and stared at me, with an expression that said, “You are NOT a beginner; you’ve been winding us all up!”

When we got up to the green, they all watched me carefully as I then failed to putt the ball, probably a couple of times. They didn’t bother watching me the rest of the time, except for my friend because I kept losing balls in undergrowth and it was getting expensive.

I work in an inbound call centre. I was helping a little old lady with an issue she had regarding her grandson’s school. At the end of the call:

Old Lady: “Thank you so much for all your help.”

Me: “You’re a problem.”

I was going to say, “You’re welcome and it’s not a problem,” but I guess I had a brain fart.

I managed to apologise and explain myself before ending the call, but I’ll never forget this embarrassing moment.

My mum, dad, and a friend were sitting at the bar at their local pub when some d****ebag came up and decided to wind up my mum. She told him to stop. He didn’t stop.

My dad and their friend quickly picked up their drinks and moved to a table, leaving my mum and the d****ebag at the bar.

A pub regular and his friend had watched the scene unfold and joined my dad and his friend at their table as soon as they sat down.

Regular: “Why did you two move?”

Before my dad could respond, his friend replied:

Friend: “I’m not gonna be there when she spills his blood.”

Thankfully, the d****ebag got the picture after a couple of other regulars intervened and politely escorted him from the pub.