A few lines about golf

As Covid-19 restrictions are relaxed, one of the great freedoms for me is getting back to the golf course. 
I am an enthusiastic, knowledgeable duffer. My first book, ‘Emerald Greens’ a guide to Holiday Golf in Ireland (for golfers with room in their hearts and heads for more than golf) was commissioned on the basis of my writing ability rather than my golf! A real golfer, Darren Clarke,  wrote the foreword.
I have played more than 80 golf courses in Ireland - from world-famous Royal Portrush, to lesser-known gems such as North West on the shores of Lough Swilly; nearly 50 in England, Scotland and Wales, including the Old Course at St Andrews, the home of golf; and more than 50 in France, including the 2018 Ryder Cup course at Le National.  Memorable courses I've played in other parts of the world include Alta Gracia (where Che Guevara played in his youth) and, also in Argentina, one of my particular favourites, Golf de Yacanto (flocks of bright parrots fly overhead and lynx watch you from the rough).  I've teed off on the slopes of Mount Etna at Il Picciolo in Sicily. I've even played Snow-Golf in Megève. I am a member of the Ulster Press Golfing Society - great fun, and we get to play terrific Irish courses.
Golf features in each of my five published novels.  I'm still better at writing about it than playing it.
I am a member at Knock Golf Club in Belfast - eighteen holes laid out around a hill (cnoc, in Irish and Scottish Gaelic) which gives the club its name. Three great golf architects, Alister McKenzie, Harry Colt and Hugh Alison designed the course. The fairways are lined with trees, including cherry blossom which is particularly lovely at this time of year. Nine of the eighteen fairways are crossed by streams which give character to the course, and can be character-forming for the golfer.

With apologies to poet and golfer, John Betjeman, I wrote these lines about Knock GC.

Ode to Knock GC

Ah, velvet fairways lined with trees,
And blossom drifting in the breeze.
Bluebell woods, a winding stream,
And sometimes - every golfer's dream -
A perfect landing near the flag,
One putt, and birdie in the bag!

But when the golfer’s luck, or flair
Departs, then, flying through the air
In graceful arc the ball descends,
Finds sand, or trees. Or - heaven forfend! -
The golfer's nightmare, deadly shanks
Find water flowing through steep banks.

But consolation's never far.
The nineteenth hole provides a bar
Where sorrows can be drowned, and where
Good cheer abounds. And it is there
You'll hear the doleful golfer say
'I'll play, and win, another day.'