The Team
A small but exclusive collection of ne'er-do-wells who annually
congregate at some of the more interesting and challenging golf
courses the world has to offer.
The mission - to indulge in a veritable riot of golf and booze.
The challenge - to return to the point of departure in one piece.
The Debonair Digger
A high roller who likes
his suits sharp and his razor sharper (except in some cases when he
appears to be modelling a caterpillar on his top lip (see gallery)).
His sartorial elegance has however, recently come into question
with the adoption of a more youf-full look, replete with chav-like
beanie hat and general down-home attire. On more than one occasion
I distinctly heard the phrase, "Oi ! You thieving git. Put that flag
back in the hole.... Oh, sorry Paul. Didn't realise it was you.."
But that could be more down to misted glasses in the dreich weather
at Kingsbarns. Given his penchant for fast cars, male grooming
products and distinct lack of grey hair, there may be some truth in
the rumour that he's the long lost older brother of Richard Hammond.
What next - teeth whitening ? Or the dead give-away of the midlife
crisis - a Porsche Ferrari. Just looked up the definition of debonair in
the dictionary adj. 1. suave and refined 2. carefree ; gay. Now,
I'll take that as the original meaning of the word but if the lip
balm appears once too often on the next tour there will be a
handicap review.
The Development Digger
Starting on the property ladder in inner-city Ardmillan, via trendy
Stockbridge, Mr Ham has sold his soul to a religious fundamentalist
sect and is knee deep in a shorefront development in the highland
wilderness that is Fort William. What's being kept secret is the
fact that the shorefront is being built on converted submarines and
barges which were once used as dive platforms. The development is
slowly but inexorably growing into a floating Scotland in miniature.
Once the flats are sold and the essential businesses are installed
(tartan shop, cafe/bar, PR firm, tanning salon etc) the whole unit
will be unzipped from Fort William and floated to the centre of Loch
Lynne, whereupon the mad monarch of Holyrood, his Salmondness, will
arrive and declare the island to be an independent, free state -
Scotland 2.0. Installing himself as crown monarch, with queen
Sturgeon by his side, he'll immediately demand EU funding. Solely
based on oil revenues (of which there will be none), the islands
economy will founder, the capricious sands of support on which the
pipedream was built will ebb away and the island will be cut adrift
to fend for itself on the open seas. In a supreme irony it will be
sunk by the last nuclear submarine in Scotland, on the grounds that
it's a danger to common sense - and the rest of the nation will bask
in the afterglow of its catastrophic annihilation. Mr Ham - you have
been warned.
The Decorated Digger
Decorated indeed. Has won many famous victories whilst battling
demanding and unrelenting courses the world over ; has triumphed
over political opponents ; has valiantly defended too many council
budgets and has been honoured with academic awards too numerous to
mention (8 GCSE's (one in metalwork), 5 Highers (3A's, 4B's, none in
Arithmetic) BA (Hon)est I didn't copy anyone else's coursework). But
no - these are not the decorations to which I refer. Hotel rooms.
That's his forte. He's had SPECTACULAR results in this area - no
wall too large, no duvet too white, no room-mate unaffected. His
technicolour palette ranges far and wide and with devastating force.
Allied to his keenly honed building climbing skills and his years of
training in spinning webs of confusion, he may well be the tours
only superhero - FURYKMAN ! Striking fear and terror into Diggers
and hoteliers alike, with the driver of justice, the lob-wedge of
inequity and the pint-glass of truth, this golfing colossus takes no
prisoners when it's time to drink to excess. Gasp as his toes tap to
music, fear as he dances on tables, be amazed he can still speak,
let alone walk. But - just like the Incredible Hulk - it's only when
he awakens the next day, with the darkly disturbing evidence of his
superhero lifestyle surrounding him, that he realises - it really is
going to be a six Aspirin hangover.
The Devastating Digger
Or the Apache Attack Digger. Can designate up to 200 targets in a
crowded bar, prioritise the 16 likeliest hits and launch half a
dozen winning looks before he's even ordered a drink. With this
debilitating fire power on tap, the issue of friendly fire or blue
on blue inevitably raises it's head : but rest assured, this is a
heterosexual chopper.
The difference between Mr Bell and his American Army flying namesake
is that he only has fewer rounds with which to play, has been known
to waste them all on an easy target, tank up with too much volatile
'fuel' and end up going down in a hail of vomit (no pun intended).
Also, like the Americans, his exit strategy can appear callous or
wallet draining.
His current mission is to establish 'cordial relationships' in as
many countries as possible, a commendable effort from a humanitarian
standpoint and one which could yield many air-miles. Be aware
though, that when he says he's popping out to see a friend, it's as
likely he'll end up in Australian as Aberdeen. Also known by the
moniker 'Dibber' which, according to the quintessential on-line global
dictionary Wikipedia, is (and I quote) '...A dibber is a pointed,
hand operated wooden tool, for making holes in the ground so that
seeds can be planted.'
Never was an entry so apt.
The Debauched Digger
Often used in the 'before' pictures which are scattered throughout
the Sunday supplements. Hair styling, haute couture, weight reduction
plans and gym adverts are his speciality : he earns a reasonable
living by abusing his body so that others may benefit by feeling
better about themselves. Even medical researchers are keen to
acquire his internal organs in order to establish once and for all,
that humans can exist solely on red wine and Scotch Eggs, or the
Santa diet as it has become in his new fitness book, "Who ate all
the pies ? Eh, I did." A collection of thoughts and anecdotes, the
book details - amongst other things - his struggle with anorexia ("I
look in the mirror and see a fat person...") and his desperate
endeavours to be accepted by the tall-isti ("The other Diggers all
look up to me - when they're sitting down. And I'm standing. And
even then it's touch and go..."). Unbeknown to most, he sports that
most desirable of middle-age must have's - a tattoo. Nothing too
radical - more a warning : 'In case of death, do not cremate'. Well,
with that amount of fat, booze and methane, he could take the
crematorium with him. He's hoping to make the next tour but if the
website doesn't update for a couple of months, could you send an
ambulance crew to wade through the unopened milk bottles.
The Drinking Digger
From student to seafood fondler to stockbroker to mobile drinks
cabinet - a truly eclectic career collection. His main strategy
for winning is to get the rest of the team absolutely rat faced
between rounds, if that makes sense. Indeed, he makes no secret of
fact, but the wiser heads in the team (that's everyone else, isn't
it ? Ed) are now, more and more, seeking refuge in abstinence (well,
moderation at least). His latest cunning plan will be to have drink
sponsors for each round and a concerted campaign to have the Diggers
charter (is there one?) amended such that his competitors must take
a shot on each hole. The biggest dilemma will be for Mr Ham - to take
a shot (drink) or a shot (stroke)? Combining his two main careers,
Mr Dickson is also planning to rebrand some of his existing drinks
portfolio with a hitherto unheard of fish-like slant. Consider :
The Post Electric Eel (Aftershock)
Jim Bream
Pipefish Heidsieck
Canadian Chub
Absolute Lemon-Sole
Skipjack Daniels
The combination of which will probably leave you feeling a bit like a Gibberfish.
