behind the black door

So this was urban golf. A totally anonymous building in a Soho back street whose black-painted door gave nothing away except its number - 33. Once inside, however, you entered a hushed environment full of people bustling about their mysterious business, and the contrast put you in mind of a secret scientific research establishment in a low-budget SF movie. The futuristic aura was, however, slightly tarnished by the discovery that the screens in the virtual driving ranges all operated on Windows 98, as became plain when one of ours crashed. Several times. Still, a sense of wonder lingered. One of our number, Matt, became so intrigued by the thought of what a certain silver button might do that he pressed it, thus locking up all the golf clubs so that they couldn’t be removed. A member of staff would come along at various intervals thereafter, try a number of different keys in a nearby lock, and then scurry off, having discovered that none of them fitted.

I just watched. It was entertaining, and I got to enjoy four of the most expensive gin and tonics I’ve ever had.

Afterwards, we headed for a boat moored up on the Thames near Temple. We weren’t going anywhere (apart from further into drunkenness) but it was a pleasant setting. The movement of the water complimented the alcohol perfectly, and Richard Sell (perhaps the only person ever to lose a real golf ball on a virtual course) had plenty of passing boats to moon at.