Matt using his well aged Bolivar PC as a pointer off the tee
Greg and Matt enjoying average golf with excellent company in a perfect autumnal twilight.
We had a bottle of syrupy sherried Jura malt to keep us relaxed in between wayward drives, and it told as we followed each other from fairway to fairway (on the same hole). The Punch Punch, my favourite afternoon delight, also joined us - and while not quite as immediate in its flavour delivery as in its heady youth, still put out its signature hints of cloves on light cedar. Matt's Bolivar Petit Corona sounded like had aged all the way to mildness. We managed to saunter around 11 holes before sunset, and followed Matt's fluorescent pink bag home in the growing darkness.
