What do you think of this? I emailed it to a family member last year, but I think it may be worth sharing.

At a holiday in La Source in Grenada last summer, I took advantage of the opportunity to learn how to play golf.
After almost decapitating a couple of players during a daily one-hour session with the resident professional, I just about learned how to differentiate between a putter and a wedge. However, I thoroughly enjoyed my sessions on the greens, during which the trainer started referring to me as Tiger, to the obvious amusement of the other trainees, all of whom had some degree of experience back home.
Well I suppose I could have told them about my sessions on the Crazy Golf course on the seafront with my grandson, who did not manage to beat me till after he had celebrated his fifth birthday, but I didn’t want to boast.
There were ten of us altogether, four females, three under thirty, one fit looking lady about fifty, and four chaps, all in their late twenties, early thirties, the instructor, late thirties, and yours truly, recently retired, and looking not a day over eighty. All of them were suitably attired in ‘golfy’ looking gear.
The instructor obviously took his job seriously, because on the first day he took exception to my open toed sandals, and sent me back to my apartment for something more appropriate. He seemed satisfied when I returned wearing a pair of training shoes borrowed from my son. More satisfied than I was, for they were a couple of sizes too big, and I had to take two steps to move forward one. I wore a pair of plaid shorts. I thought this would better facilitate his view of my leg movement during my swing. Unfortunately, the shorts were average size shorts, and I am of Ronnie Corbett stature, though with more skinny legs, so his view was restricted. I blame my lack of progress on those shorts. I got used to the shoes, though it seemed I had to stand further back from the ball than I would have liked.
I considered joining my son and his wife scuba diving. We discussed it, and it was decided that as the extent of my technical knowledge does not include anything more demanding than the workings of a wheelbarrow, it might be beyond me to sort out the pipes, dials, and weights involved.
Instead, I happily swam, besnorkelled, within fifty yards of shore, sometimes accompanied by, and always observed by, my better half, enjoying the unparalleled pleasure of seeing those beautiful multicoloured marine marvels.
W e always watched ‘our two’ go off on the diving boat, and eagerly awaited their stories at the end of the day. After thirty or forty dives, the sighting of a mere shoal of gorgeous iridescent small fish, or of a beautiful coral reef, was barely worthy of a mention, but shark and barracuda, and other more elusive serendipitous discoveries were related with relish.
I really enjoyed too, the various cleansing and massaging treatments, which were part of the all inclusive package. The La Source experience is intended to send you home mentally and physically regenerated, and the treatments are to induce a feeling of serenity, uniting body and spirit.
My first ever encounter with these had come as something of a shock. That was on a previous trip, a few years earlier, to St. Lucia, to another Health resort called Le Sport. My son, encouraged by his wife and mine, had ‘set me up’. Knowing the macho, and, I must ruefully admit, sometimes salacious nature of my conversation, they arranged for me to have a full body massage; without informing me. They just told me to go into a numbered room, and await instructions. Imagine my astonishment, when a beautiful young black girl entered and told me to remove all of my clothes, cover my modesty with a towel and lie on a table, where she covered me in oil and gave me a very professional massage.
However, in Grenada, on my second ‘luxury all-inclusive’ trip to this kind of resort in the Caribbean, I was by now fully prepared for the sensual delights. I simply asked my spouse which room I should enter, and going into room two, I proceeded to remove my entire clothing, and stretched out on my back on the massage table. Imagine if you will, my embarrassed astonishment when a tall grizzled black man of late middle age, entered the room, asked my name, and told me he was there to give me a foot massage. To add to my amazement, I learned that he was totally blind. Needless to say, this latest of my many embarrassments, caused much merriment at the dinner table that evening.

dabbler
good one

I would also highly recommend The Rendezvous in St. Lucia.

hi my father is called derek thomas mccabe his father is called ernist mccabe is this your relation from benson street lisburn.

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Replying to:

dabbler
good one

I think I have been looking for a needle in a haystack, folks. I have come to the conclusion that I need to get my head out of the haystack, and change direction. I have enjoyed writing in here. Beano, you were a strong link to the past. Thanks! Donald; ‘Minnie’ convinced me that you are too. Thanks! Liz, Maureen, good writing. Thanks! And to all contributors, thanks! I’m now going to put my energy into the future - what’s left of it.
Jim, thanks for the use of the forum.
Joe.

Dabbler,
Glad to hear from you ,do you by any chance know if Minnie had a brother ( in Law )called Rabbie?
Donald