Well, here we are, 2022 has arrived, and I would like to take this opportunity to wish you all a Happy New Year and all the best for the upcoming year. Today, we got back from a weeks camping in Cromwell with the family, fresh from having spent fifty weeks of the year knowing exactly where the keys are for the roof box and the bike rack, but the moment that you go to pack the car, they are, of course, impossible to find (until you get back). Having rammed the children into the car (I mean that literally), off we set for a golf free week (honestly, we wouldn't have been able to fit a tee into the car, let alone a set of clubs). The only golfing activity took place on the tricky greens of Cromwell's mini-golf course. As you would expect, it was a heated family battle, bitterly fought out over 18 holes of lightning quick greens, dubious quality golf balls of varying bright colours, and putters that belonged back in the 19th Century. In terms of the roll of honour, I am pleased to say with a modicum of modesty that yours truly, leaning on over 30 years of golfing experience triumphed on the day with a score marred by a quadruple bogey 6 on the tricky tenth. My 7 year old came second with a solid performance of pouting; my 10 year old was third following his second ace on the 11th with a disastrous 10 on the diabolical 12th hole, an upturned pudding bowl of a hole with fractionally wayward putts punished harshly. Other than that, the only golf I got in over the last week was a couple of yearning glances at Cromwell GC as we drove past on the odd occasion as we went on our to other, more "family-friendly" events such as the Cromwell water park which from my point of view, was just an opportunity to lark about on a bunch of giant inflatables dressed in a wetsuit that seemed to be designed to highlight every beer, every glass of wine, slice of cheese and every desert that I might (or might not) have eaten in the last twelve months. In my defence, I still reckon that I looked better than the over 50's category of BMX riders that we watched at the South Island BMX title trials. Now my oldest was glued to this, and to be fair, it was fun to watch, as the action was relentless, and it was great to see the age ranges involved as riders from the age of 5 (the brilliantly named, "Sprockets") to the previously mentioned, over 50's in full BMX get-up go as fast as their little legs (or beer-guts) could propel them round the banks and over the jumps as fast as they could. It was great to see another sport that encouraged ongoing participation throughout the generations. Still, I reckon that there is a bit more dignity for us golfers, for one thing we don't need to wear body armour or use gear that not only looks about ten sizes too small, but is also at least three generations behind us. The idea, however, love of some of our members on teensy bikes pulling a "Manual"/"Nose Manual"/"Truck-Driver"/"Tail-Whip" etcetera is quite amusing (ok, I have no idea what any of those are either). Of course, this time of year is the time to look forwards and to anticipate the potential wonders and opportunities that the next twelve months have to offer. Outside of our little slice of paradise, there is a whole lot of stuff going on that is going to be fascinating to observe from our distant viewpoint. Personally, one of the things I can't wait for the new "Hubble" to start operating - the James Webb Telescope has spent the last two weeks unfolding, after US$10Bn and thirty years (yes, thirty) of planning, construction and delivery beyond the boundaries of our atmosphere. I can't help wondering though, about the pressure that all of the thousands of highly skilled individuals were under over three decades of working on a single focused result. The pressure of knowing that, were they to make just one single, simple, tiny error, then that could lead to the failure of a generations worth of labour. Not that long ago, similar scientists and engineers mistook imperial and metric measurements and a vessel destined to land on Mars, instead disintegrated in the atmosphere as the angle of approach was subsequently too steep. In other words, the potential to make a minor, mission critical error over a period of thirty years is huge, and so the next time you are standing over a butt-clenching three footer, just remember that, in the greater scheme of things, a missed putt might cost you a drink, but it won't put the human exploration of the mysteries of the universe back all that much. Whatever your goals are, and whatever happens to those goals, I hope you enjoy them and the subsequent year ahead Stay safe, play well, and I look forward to seeing you out there. Steve |