Why didn't I see it? I mean it was right next to my back door when I got in the car, and I even remember thinking I should be careful while leaving such a precarious spot. Before getting distracted by the BBC news on the radio and then throwing the gear shift into reverse without thinking.

The guy said it's going to cost me at least a couple thousand euros to get fixed. Oh well, there goes my golfing trip to Scotland. Damn.

The next time I turned to look in his direction to see if the train was coming yet, he'd collapsed right then and there in front of me. A group of people attired in various kinds of uniforms was kneeling on the ground attending to him with urgent motions and concerned looks. Considering the gravity of the situation, they remained quite calm following closely a coordinated process of unwritten rules.

One tall skinny guy wearing a cap was talking into his porto-phone saying that they needed an ambulance right away. He walked right past me and was having some difficulty orienting himself so that he could provide the proper directions on how to get there. At the front of the train station, no better come in from the back, wait I'm on platform three next to the snack bar, so better come in from the side entrance and ...

The poor businessman was lying on the ground with his head tilted at an awkward angle on the leather suitcase, which served the purpose of a make-do pillow on the otherwise hard cement ground. He was motionless and his face was ashen like a wax-figure stricken cold by Medussa's gaze. The people who were bent over him were talking to him in muffled voices, assuring the waxen figure that everything was going to be alright.

I would say that this person was not much younger than I, at most five years. My first impression was that he seemed pretty healthy standing there next to me just a minute ago. Holding the leather briefcase so firmly in his right hand. The one moment glancing quickly at his wristwatch and then the next moment something cracking open reality and slapping him hard in the face.

Although I had been originally feeling pretty grumpy this morning having to go to work again, I think I'm feeling more thankful about life. Might as well enjoy life while I can.

"The true (golf) pilgrim wanders off to the outlying, the more humble and obscure courses. For it is on those unsung courses, on a damp morning in April or a blustery afternoon towards the end of October, that you may look around at your friends, the pulsing light on the grey sea, the undulating fairway, the club in your still singing hands and the distant green, and know yourself in earthly heaven..."

Preferred Lies, A journey to the Heart of Golf
- Andrew Greig.

That's why within the month I'm planning a spiritual golfing trip to Scotland so that I can play Shiskine, Gigha, Prestwick and other fine courses in the area. Even if it means getting wet and having to play under gale-force conditions.

Par, par, par, par, par, double-bogey (oops), par, par, par = 38.

How did I manage keeping my cool after I choked the sixth hole? Hungry for the easy five foot birdie on the sixth to go one under, I rammed the sucker way past the hole and ended up four putting for a double-bogie. How was this possible?

Though I was boiling up inside and feeling very embarrassed at the same time, I laughed it off and remembered Hogan's insightful adage: "always treat the next hole like it is the first one of the day." This gave me strength and energized me with adrenalin, easily adding fifty yards to my next tee shot.

What a great relief it is for me to discover that I still have those secret powers inside of me.

When I turn into the main entrance I can see that the flag has been replaced to its natural spot on the seventeenth hole. No more winter greens! The car speeds up and I'm barreling up the hill to the clubhouse.

Winter greens are temporary roundish areas placed out somewhere in the fairway to allow the real greens relief from sub-freezing temperatures and excessive snow, making the holes significantly shorter but disproportionally more difficult. The new hole is slightly larger, and the putting surface area (2-3 meter radius) around it is very bumpy and as hard as concrete. No matter how good you are, your putts roll and bounce every which way. About 20% skill and 80% luck, so balls ending up within a club length are good.

This is the first day in three months that the winter greens are gone. The girl at the reception says that I can tee off in five minutes. I feel like bending over the counter and giving her a big kiss. I grab my bag of clubs and dash out to the first tee. The breath of fresh air gives me extra energy and inspiration. My drive with the three wood is a magnificent shot, down the middle of the fairway and a slight fade, on a hole which I normally flub up my pulling my ball into the left trees.

Nine holes were enough excitement for the day, no use over doing it. The afternoon was getting late and it was becoming slightly dark. Driving home, I went over every single shot in my mind, thinking up my strategy for the following tee time which would be tomorrow at twelve o'clock.

In the middle of an important golf match he receives a telegram, and he rushes home by ship. But is too late, his young wife and newborn baby were dead from childbirth. The Young Tom becomes so broken-hearted that he dies four months later on Christmas Day.

I realized that I was nearing the end of "Tommy's Honour" by Kevin Cook and at the back of my mind wondered why. Could there be a sequel out there that I hadn't heard about? I'd go out and buy the book right away.

But alas, this was not to be. I'll have to go to St. Andrews someday and pay him tribute in person by visiting his grave.

Of course, after eighteen holes of golf first.

Once I even brought it to a so-called expert computer repair shop. I was told that there was nothing to do about it. They even had the gall to suggest that I strike the keys more gently and at an increased perpendicular angle.

All of a sudden I'd had enough. Mustering up enough courage to grab my special screwdrivers, I became a madman, loosened the bottom of my laptop completely, pulled off the front cover, and dislocated the screen.

I looked around, blew some dust away, wiggled this and that. Then when I put the bottom and front covers back in place, I had a whim and reversed the sequence. I began with the left side and tightened the screws in only three-fourths of the way, and then I screwed the right side back tightly in place.

I couldn't believe it, but none of the keys stuck anymore. Now it feels like heaven when I type, and it's almost like I have a brand-new laptop all over again.

I believe it is high time that we stop dilly-dallying around, that we face the future for what it is, for what is was meant to be, and take the challenge.

for 0..3 -> $even, $odd {
    say "Even: $even \t Odd: $odd";
}

An appropriate theme song could be "Start of Something Beautiful" by Procupine Tree (which just happened to be playing on RadioParadise twice while reading and then re-reading the link above on alternating even and odd days).

Cannot wait to get up bright and early for a fun and relaxing day dedicated to the fascinating world of Perl. Last year was a blast and with lots of interesting talks I look forward to the trip.

During the ninety minute drive east, I'm going to crank up my latest Porcupine Tree CD and prepare myself for the busy day of mental gymnastics.

@no_comments = grep {!/^#/} @blahblahblah;

The pain in my shoulders is pretty much gone and I feel great. Actually, I still can feel that the something that used to be painful is still in there, but the pain impulses normally sent to my brain are blocked dead in their tracks.

The ultimate test was surviving a number of intense golf training sessions hitting balls on the driving range. The ball trajectories are slowly but surely getting straighter with an occasional errant draw/hook, the constant pounding of club face to the mat ineffective.

The secret goes by the name of Meloxicam 7,5 PCH, at least that is what is written in tiny letters on the back of the medicine strip.

According to the scientific literature, "Meloxicam inhibits cyclooxygenase (COX), the enzyme responsible for converting arachidonic acid into prostaglandin H₂--the first step in the synthesis of prostaglandins, which are mediators of inflammation. Meloxicam has been shown, especially at its low therapeutic dose, selectively to inhibit COX-2 over COX-1."

Lovely little miracles these small round objects that I swallow.

So what am I complaining about with my sore shoulder, what a sham compared to the painful obstacles Ben Hogan had to overcome.

This was truly one of the most memorable moments in the history of golf and truly an inspiration for me.

Go out there and practice alot so that by the end of the year your handicap hits the single digit realm.

Nothing more than a non-stop parade of meandering souls coming and going. One lady isn't looking where she is going and jars me to the side. Another person passing in the opposite direction, bumps me back into the mass of cytoplasm.

Brownian motion at its best.

From the slightly elevated entrance, I can look pretty far down to the end of the main hallway. I feel like I am floating on a restless sea of bobbing heads.

Luckily it doesn't affect my golf game, except if I have to carry my bag. Winter play disallows usage of push carts, so now I just carry my bag from my left shoulder and hope for the best. My back swing and follow-through are not limited by my right shoulders which makes me very thankful.

This afternoon I have an appointment with the friendly neighborhood physiotherapist, and I'm curious what he has to say. His usual thing is to give me a bunch of exercises I have to do each morning to loosen up my joints. But to be honest, I'm a little worried that this is some kind of chronic infection that requires a more serious medical treatment.