“Il fait froid.” I said…. “It is cold” I explained penetratingly.
“Il fait extremely fucking froid” trumped Pensioner Steve.
“Maen o’er!” I added frostily for no sensible reason I could think of.
We were waiting on the wintry, first tee as Dai Proper and Dai Copy (twins) were completing their frozen first nine holes and wandering past us.
“Cold enough for you?”, trited Pensioner Steve
“Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey”, further trited Fred the Bread, icily.
“It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a pool table”, even more numbing tritefulness from Pensioner Steve.
“It’s nobbling. It is.” Said Dai Proper, a man of gelid reserve, in passing.
“It’s as cold as my mother in law’s love.” I quipped bitterly. Silence.
Dai Copy was very very nobbling. He cough, sneezed and shivered glacially past us complaining to Dai Proper (twin), “The trouble with this club Dai. The trouble with this club is the weather. Everyone moans about it. All of us members moan about it, but nobody ever does a fucking thing about it.”
We looked.We waited for the quartet to glide past us.
“Get on with it.”
We got on with it. We played. We moaned and not one of the committee did a thing about it.