Hole No. 1
The one with the concrete lion in the middle so you aim to the left but your ball snags on a bit of moss and hits the lion and the world is a dark and terrible place with no vestige of hope and great is the rending of garments, but there are greenfinches singing in the trees over the way so that’s nice.
Hole No. 2
The one where you can go over the bridge or to the left of the bridge or to the right of the bridge but in the event you catch it all wrong and go nowhere near the bridge but straight into a bush which is apparently Teucrium fruticans but you’re not really in the mood for botanical trivia right now thanks very much.
Hole No. 3
The one with the overhanging Sedum that acts like a ball-magnet so all three balls are bunched together and you all get a bit hysterical and start repeating ‘Teucrium fruticans’ in ridiculous voices and it’s suddenly the funniest thing in the world and this is what family is for.
Hole No. 4
The one where you realise that nobody’s scored more than a three so far which has never happened before, and you don’t want to say anything in case you jinx it but it turns out that the thought itself was enough and the greenfinches mock you from the trees over the way the bastards.
Hole No. 5
The weird one with the tyre that if you get it just right you can do a loop-the-loop and it spits your ball out towards the hole, but it spits it really hard so the ball bounces back too far from the bricks behind the hole so you might as well just have gone to the left of the tyre, and in any case you don’t get it just right so you try again and you miss again and it all gets a bit comical and in the end you decide that 10 is a good shot limit per hole.
Hole No. 6
The one where your ball catches a dodgy bounce off the wall even though you didn’t hit it at all hard and it flies off into a small shrub so you play the second shot more carefully and it trickles pathetically about eighteen inches from where you hit it, so the third shot you hit it a bit harder again and there it goes into the shrubbery again and someone says ‘Teucrium fruticans’ like it’s swearing and it sets you off.
Hole No. 7
The one with the strange smiley concrete Easter Island family group right slap bang in the middle, and there’s a big hole in the astroturf right in front of it like a bunker and you take a six and your wife misses an easy one and your son misses two easy ones and it all goes a bit quiet.
Hole No. 8
The one where you might inadvertently have let out a little swear but it’s ok he’s thirteen now he’s heard most of them before.
Hole No. 9
The one we don’t talk about ever again GET AWAY FROM ME.
Hole No. 10
The one where your son hits the ball towards the concrete banked curve and it catches it just right and bobbles up and across at such an angle that it veers off towards the hole but it still has to get across the little rough patch of astroturf and then an awkward mound and a little dip, and you all watch with mouths agape as it does those very things and plops into the hole as if Fate intended it, which perhaps it did, and it reminds you of the time your mum got a hole-in-one at another minigolf at the age of 83 and you remember that moment even though it was nine years ago – nine years! – and it’s ridiculous the pure unadulterated glee something so simple and childish can bring but at the same time not ridiculous at all and you wish she were here to see how he’s growing up but she isn’t and that’s life.
Hole No. 11
The one where your grand plan to come back from eight shots down finally dies an overdue death.
Hole No. 12
The one where, and about time too, you hit two perfect shots and even though it’s not enough it’s still satisfying and you’re happy for your wife because she won and happy for your son because of the hole-in-one and you reflect that forty-five minutes spent in the useless pursuit of a little ball round some dodgy astroturf with people you love is a really good use of your time, and twelve jackdaws chack as they disperse from a nearby tree, and a great spotted woodpecker drums, and the greenfinches are still singing and you go for egg mayo sandwiches and crisps and ice cream, and holidays are good but still don’t ever mention the ninth hole.
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