Golfing buddies share a laugh at The Big Dipper's expense - he's been hiding a secret about Brussels sprouts from his mummy for many years. Photo / Getty Images
Golfing buddies share a laugh at The Big Dipper's expense - he's been hiding a secret about Brussels sprouts from his mummy for many years. Photo / Getty Images
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Regular followers of my weekly ramblings will know I am an ardent fan of the royal and ancient sport of golf.
Many are the courses around this fine country I have belted a little white ball in equal parts of joy and frustration.
For me, the game provides some much-needed exercise for both body and brain.
Obviously you don't need to be a rocket scientist to work out that walking around a golf course for four hours or so is going to be beneficial for your muscles and joints. But it is the brain workout which often gets overlooked, however.
And I'm not just talking about football and gossip here. Any manner of complex questions or issues of the day are up for discussion as we amble around the verdant pastures of our home course.
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I have been playing with the same bunch of blokes, give or take the odd addition or subtraction, for the better part of 25 years now. Our interactions and discussions provide a perfect snapshot of changing lives and society.
Naturally there is always a good dose of humour injected into the festivities as well. Some of it unintended.
But I'm prattling on. Let me explain how golf plays a part in this week's tale.
Four of us were sitting around waiting to start when I noticed a light green stain on the cream trousers of one of my playing companions. We'll call him Big Dipper, on account of his unusual golf swing.
I have been playing with the same bunch of blokes, give or take the odd addition or subtraction, for the better part of 25 years now. Photo / Getty Images
Naturally I'm not going to let such an opportunity pass without comment, particularly when Big Dipper is often the recipient of the previously mentioned humour. For the record, it has to be said he takes it all with great charity.
Anyway. It turns out the stain is from Brussels sprouts.
Perplexed, we asked for a deeper explanation.
It turns out the Big Dipper has been hiding a secret from his mummy for many years.
Like many of us I'm sure, as a child, he was forced to eat his vegetables. And judging by some of the photos I've seen of him as a rather, er, heavy young lad he approached the challenge with gusto.
But it turns out there was one particular vegetable he could not stomach – literally - And he vomited Brussels sprouts over his mother on numerous occasions.
But as was the tradition back in the day, good food was not allowed to be wasted and his mum persisted and made him eat them.
Eventually the Big Dipper grew in age and brain size and managed to work out a plan to deceive his mother.
It was a simple plan basically involving swiping the dastardly vegetable from the table when she wasn't looking and stuffing them in his trouser pockets to be disposed of later.
By all accounts mother would return to the table, see the sprouts gone and assume, while congratulating herself for sticking to her guns, that her little cherub had eaten them. And because they had all disappeared so quickly she assumed he must have liked them very much.
Now this is where the story takes an interesting turn.
It seems the Big Dipper has never had the, er, shall we say 'sprouts' to come clean and tell his mum that he really doesn't like Brussels.
Thus, the poor woman has continued serving them up for the past however many decades to her son each time he turns up for dinner.
Events took an interesting turn this week when the Big Dipper went to visit mum who now lives in a retirement village.
Brussels sprouts were served as usual and dealt with, as usual, by the guest of honour.
After a pleasant evening with mum, he returned to his own house where he disrobed before getting into bed and disappearing into the Land of Nod.
Next morning Mrs Big Dipper hurried round the bedroom scooping up any clothing on her route before hurling it into the washing machine.
Now I have taken a little bit of a liberty there ladies. I do appreciate clothes left on the floor by members of the male persuasion are never just scooped up and tossed in the tumbler.
I gather there is an inspection process that takes place, presumably all in one movement, to make sure there is nothing in the pockets. I am sure Mrs P on occasion his walked away with kilos of loose change that has eventually bought a scented candle or something similar.
Anyway.
On this occasion it appears the close pocket check would not have passed the quality control audit and six very green Brussels sprouts hiding in the pockets joined a pair of cream trousers in the wash.
And naturally, because perfect storms happen in such sequence, on golf day Big Dipper was running late and could find no trousers to wear other than the cream trousers he had been wearing when he visited his mother.
In his defence, he said he had noticed the green stain as he had been rushing to the course but had dismissed it as a trick of the light. Now he was regretting both his choice of clothing and the fact he still could not bring himself to come clean to his mum.
By this stage the rest of us were just in hysterics but we agreed with his assessment of his regrets.
We were just thankful it was not tomatoes he had tried to hide from his mother.
• Kevin Page is a teller of tall tales with a firm belief too much serious news gives you frown lines. Feel free to share stories to editor@northernadvocate.co.nz (Kevin Page in subject field).
