Flat Golf 2014

With the Korfball season kicking off earlier in the week with the first 2nds/3rds match, there was much sorrow to be drowned/triumph to be toasted. Some Korfers came spectacularly dressed in links-appropriate gear (Mike’s glove and Owen’s flat cap deserve special mention) and others rightly assumed that normal clothes with a visor was all the effort we were looking for. At Alvanley Terrace, Beer Pong was highly competitive and intense, and after some initial confusion over the rules, many games of Flip Cup were played on the absurdly low table. After plenty of beer had been knocked back, everyone crawled along to Marchmont Street, where a brutal game of Minesweeper and a less brutal game of Jenga ensured that belly-dancing was exhibited, and the saucepan downed (BUT WITH THE T-REX ARMS).

At Warrender Park Road, everyone enjoyed the surprisingly tasty punch. It was so tasty, in fact, that my recollection of the rest of the night may be limited. An enthusiastic if uncoordinated Rowboat was assembled and completed, and with that finished the golfers made their way to Frankii’s, on Thirlestane Road.

Some definite highlights of the night came at Frankii’s, with Battleshots being a lot of fun (amid some controversy over tactics) and the jelly shots also evaporated very quickly. It can’t all be highlights, though, and as with all good socials, the drinks overcame a few poor Korfers, and both Frankii’s bathroom and the vat of punch were soon compromised. The spirit was strong, and the body was weak.

From then on, most of the group made its way to the next hole, Oxford Street, but a lucky few were selected to come and pick up the excess booze from my flat. Lily, my flatmate’s pug, was very impressed with the visitors, even if my recently stirred flatmate was not. We arrived at Oxford Street to scenes of utter devastation in the hallway, with horrified spectators witnessing dozens of buckets overflowing with suspiciously punch-smelling vomit. All hyperbole and joking aside, Connor must have some serious stomach capacity, it just kept on coming throughout the whole night. By this time some golfers had quite reasonably called it a night, but a good amount of hardy souls carried on around the course.

Hermit’s Croft was not as much of a shitehole as had been intimated, and in the kitchen a crowd of popcorn-bearing onlookers rapturously watched the shameless, shameless act committed in front of them. In the hallway, Connor’s miraculous stomach kept on producing, and thanks are due to those who stayed and cared for him.

All in all, it was a cracking night, and thanks of course go to all the hosts who were willing to subject their flats to such abuse. I know that Frankii particularly enjoyed cleaning up the pukey present that was left in her pantry. Cheers for coming everyone, see you all at training!