Whatever small fragment of golfing finesse I first learned was picked up as a child on a hilly pitch and putt course called Tolka Lodge in Finglas. Its sloping greens were as fiendishly treacherous as those at Augusta National during the US Masters tournament, and its scenic highlight – the 17th tee box – was located directly opposite an abattoir, from which a small torrent of blood and guts from slaughtered animals spewed out into...
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