July 30th 2017

Today I had a transformative experience on a golf course. Long story short, at the end of the first hole I got the scorecard out and went to write down our scores. I then realised that I didn’t have a pencil, or anything with which I could mark my score.


I wasn’t going to run all the way back to the club house, there wasn’t a spare one in my bag anywhere, and my cousin didn’t have one either.

So, my options were to either write down the scores on the notes on my phone, or to ask the group walking past us if any of them had a pencil. Neither of those seem like particularly difficult solutions to a somewhat tedious problem, but when you’re socially anxious asking a random guy if he’s got a pencil is a big deal. I tried to get my cousin to do it, but he said he was too scared too.

Stuck, and realising it was my only option, I went and asked them. I jogged on over, tried to play it cool and asked ‘sorry boys but do any of you have a spare pencil? I’ve just realised I’ve forgotten mine. We’ve just holed out and I went to write down my score and I rea–‘ 

Yeah sure,’ the random man said, and passed me a pencil, probably partly just to shut me up. I ramble when I’m nervous. You may have noticed.

I took the pencil and did that classis British thing of saying thank you in four different ways at once. ‘That’s great, thanks, nice one, sweet, cheers, good stuff.’ And went back over to my cousin, glowing in my victory. He was impressed.

In a sad way, I’m not sure what’s more depressing: that I had to talk myself into asking a stranger to borrow a pencil, or that doing it was a big enough achievement to warrant writing an entire blog post about.

Until tomorrow, it’s probably the latter.




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