Wamboin Community Association


Wamboin has a somewhat different golf course where the 18 fairways are spread over five properties and the Bingley Way Community Centre. All putting surfaces on our golf course are sand greens.

On the first Sunday of each month we meet at the Community Hall in Bingley Way (at 12.15pm for a 12.30pm start) to sort out the competition. First time golfers and children are welcome to try their skills. We hit off on different holes to ensure a more even finish time.

Then it is back to the hall where tall stories and presentations are mixed with nibblies and drinks. Partners, friends and relatives of the golfers also join in this social activity.


Peter Greenwood  6238 3358

December Competition Results

Sunday, 5 December. God rest ye merry gentlefolk, let nothing you dismay/Who cares our scores grow higher as long as we can play. Yes, sports fans, even though golf returned to Wamboin in November, the standard of play had slipped a little through inactivity since June. But skills were sharper for the Christmas Cup, which, like a cornucopia, runneth over with all good things such as the milk of human kindness, rare and refreshing fruit and so on and so forth. By contrast, the day, which was sponsored by Peter and Adrienne Greenwood and Karyn Gentleman, who selected stroke play, was a bit on the cold-and blustery side courtesy of a sharp Easterly and a Sun shyly peeping intermittently from behind the clouds. Nevertheless, singing carols in four part harmonies, we leaped to our sleighs and flew off over the unusual greenness of the Wamboin countryside.

Back in Santa’s workshop, as the captain, masquerading as a fat man in a red suit, flogged the elves into assessing the scorecards, we reviewed happenings in our world. And what an exciting world it is! The big news, of course, is the new razzle-dazzle Covid variant which started in Africa under the infectious title of B.1.1.529. When it got to Europe it was renamed O’Micron after the first person to contract it - a leprechaun living under a rock in the Burren. In France M Macaroon’s found someone else to hate: Boris. Manny is sending the UK loads of refugees and throwing tanties when Boris objects. France’s once-vaunted reputation for diplomacy is in the freezer or, putting it another way, sub zero.

In Australia the federal parliament has drawn the curtain on the year as ScoMo plans another secret holiday to scratch his head in bewilderment over the Italianate government he now leads: now I have a majority, now I don’t; why won’t those pesky senators stay put and belt up?; what’s wrong with a federal ICAC that meets in secret and doesn’t cover pollies?; why can’t I have a Religious Discrimination Bill which discriminates against LGBTIQ people and free thinkers?; what’s in the air conditioning?; why can’t they keep it zipped?; will there be an outbreak of bunga bunga parties in 2022?; ten of my best people – which doesn’t include the dill who can’t spell Christian - won’t be around to contest the next election; where can I get candidates that aren’t knuckle-headed apparatchiks; why can’t I say anything intelligible and informative? Meanwhile, a Chinese spy ship has been spotted slinking down the coast of Queensland gathering intelligence. We wish them luck.

And back in God’s Own we’ve had the Council elections. Your correspondent, a noted champion of the civil authority—I salute the uniform, whoever’s wearing it—almost wore himself out on 4 December, visiting all polling stations in the region to vote for Group L who are deadly serious about shifting the putative site of the Bungendore High school to Woodlawn, an easy train ride from town. This should please everyone.

Winners & Grinners

After the captain silenced the unruly crowd with a few well-chosen epithets he introduced our guests Matilda Whitney and Clint Pickin, and told Ted’s joke involving a man calling himself James Bond and a dog who really was Jack Russell. The googly ball went to the person who drew attention to the presence of several barkers’ nests on the oval and suggested appropriate action. One competitor was lucky to avoid the dummy spit when told that the reason the nine holers weren’t getting to play the Eastern Nine was the roosting migratory birds on one green. He replied that he could fix that. During the resulting furore the dummy was awarded to Rob Gorham who complained of losing six balls. (It’s an expensive game. I lost a tee.)

LD and NTP ball winners were Colin Urquhart 2, Clint Pickin, David Bailey, Glen Crafter, Rob Gorham, Dave Hubbard and Keith France. There was a tie in the juniors comp between Madison Gordon and Robert Thompson, both returning with 35 after handicap. Winner of the nine hole comp was David Thompson 51/34 from Steve Lambert 48/36 ocb Alex Gordon 53/36 also ocb. Winner of the 18 hole comp was Keith France 80/63 from Colin Urquhart 95/69 and Vicki Still 97/71. Well done all!

Why not make a New Year’s resolution to throw off the enervation of the pandemic by joining us at the community hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 2 January for the ever-dependable 12.30pm shot gun start. You’ve only got your dignity to lose. Meanwhile I want to have whatever they’re feeding political prisoners in Myanmar. It looks like a Yangon court could give the 76 year-old Aung San Suu Kyi 100 years for various “crimes”.

Larry King, golfer

November Competition Results

The 36th Wamboin Open

Sunday, 7 November. “Free at last, free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!” And so, with the closing words of Martin Luther King’s famous “I have a dream“ speech, your correspondent (sadly, no relation) welcomes the great reopening of the land and the joys that go with it—such as golf. And what an occasion to come back to: the highly-esteemed Wamboin Open when golfers throughout the region, the nation and, indeed, the world vie for the chance to get their names on the honour board. As if to share our joy, the weather gods smiled down on us with a warm and sunny day punctuated by mid afternoon rumblings from the West accompanied by a brief, gentle shower which affected only the 18 holers, and who cares about them. Sponsored by the Club itself from its vast financial resources amassed from years of usurious green fees, the Open is scored on stroke play with a subsidiary handicap division for those doing it just for the fun.

Back in the Elysium of our familiar, comforting community hall, as the acting captain tried to remember the rules, etiquette and Byzantine scoring systems of the beautiful game, we congratulated each other on withstanding the plague and remembered with affection those who didn’t. Much had occurred since last we met. Firstly, Premier Glad (bless her) picked up her ball and walked off, then Deputy Barrelo (Porky, to his friends) did the same. After that, Dom Perignon (the Premier Cru) got Glad’s job, Mr Toole became deputy premier, Mr Dick became Treasurer and Mr Ayres (Curly, to his intimates) became 2IC of the Libs. Moving right along, back home our dear leader, Tim Working Trousers, dropped the bomb that he was stepping down as captain of Queen’s Park Rangers just as his lovely wife announced she would contest the vacancy in the state seat of Monaro. Crickey! This’ll keep the thousands employed by the ABC manufacturing political trivia engaged for years. At the federal level the Barnaby Country Party, egged on by a guy who can’t spell caravan, were holding poor old ScoMo to ransom over his trip to Scotland to have a drink in the Last Chance Saloon and talk about the weather (I hope he took a brolly). When he got there he was ambushed by his old Froggy pal, Manny Macaroon, who identified him as a liar. ScoMo retorted that it was water off a duck’s back and released an elliptical email from the French Prez suggesting it was really Manny who was peddling porkies. The email said “Can I expect good or bad news tonight?” Well, we all know what a Frenchman means by that. Napoleon set the tone with his famous “Not tonight, Josephine?” (Everyone forgets the question mark!).

Now that COVID-19 is nought but a bad memory we looked back in summary: the only states where it got a real grip were NSW and Vic; our Glad (Charity Queen at the Wagga Agricultural Show) fought valiantly and well while Dancing Dan (who’s never to blame for anything) took out the lockdown record; Qld did OK but even a virus finds Queenslanders repellent; the ACT didn’t fair too badly as did the NT unless you’re a blackfella; South Australia and Tasmania are still there, as mendicant as ever; and the Golden West’s broken record, Mr McGoon, is still rattling his sabre about access for Easterners (Ah, McGoon, you’ve done it again!). At the federal level ScoMo could have done better if he’d listened to Elbow. Apparently the virus rages in the rest of the world, throwing up variants plain and fancy. But now that we’re all vaccinated, if not immunised, we’ll be fine – except for the frail aged, the halt and the lame. But that’s not all bad news. As soon as the Boomers leave the scene an enormous tax burden will be lifted off the Millennials, the Ys and the Xs who will also benefit from inherited wealth and lower house prices, win, win, win. You have to go all the way back to the Black Death to find a better distributer of wealth. (OK, Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries wasn’t bad either.) We then scratched our heads over the identity of COP 26. Who could the mysterious crime fighter be? Suggestions included Capt. Kate Beckett, Officer Jake Peralta, DI Barnaby, Officer Barbrady, Deadpool, Kick Ass, Theo Kojak, Frank Columbo, Father Brown, Robocop and Judge Dredd. The name of the cryptic sleuth will be revealed in Glasgow on 12 November.

Winners & Grinners

The a/g captain welcomed our visitors, Charles Guscott making a rare but welcome appearance, and Spanish cattle breeders, Pam and Juan Ploner. Ted’s joke concerned a 72 year old man determined to get his alcohol consumption down to net zero by 2050. The googly ball was frittered away on a dull and very ordinary comment about the water on the course. Tim Barter spat the dummy (beating Vicki Still by a nanosecond). The encouragement award went to Madison Gordon. The junior champion was Robert Thompson (destined for a green jacket). In the handicap division, the nine hole winner was David Thompson 50/33 from Ken Gordon 39/35 with Colin Urquhart 51/38 in 3rd place. The 18 hole handicap winner was Rob Gorham 84/66 from David Bailey 99/72 and Dave Hubbard 95/75 3rd. A hush fell over the crowd as the a/g captain revealed the names of the 2021 R&A Wamboin GC Open Champions. They are: Men’s 18 holes Tim Barter 72; Ladies 18 holes Vicki Still 102; Men’s nine holes Glen Crafter 37; Ladies nine holes Deb Gordon 58; Eclectic 18 holes Glen Crafter; Eclectic nine holes Deb Gordon. Congratulations to our worthy winners and all who competed.

The Assembled Participants

Next month we contest the Christmas Cup, overflowing with tidings of comfort and joy. Join us at the Hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 5 December for the usual 12.30pm start. Meanwhile you can tune into Kabul radio, Triple K (not to be confused with a Southern USA social club) to hear the current No. 1, which is the old Banana Boat Song. The popular verse goes “Come Mr Taliban, tally me banana”.

Larry King, golfer

October [Covert-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday, 3 October, two days after the shocking news that Our Glad (bless her) had resigned as boss of NSW. It’s because she is being investigated by ICAC as part of its probe into the property affairs of former boyfriend Jerry (“show me the money”) Maguire. ICAC, which is Latin for ‘I Regurgitate”, is where they spew out all the bad things they suspect you of. You then get an opportunity to defend yourself. They got a former NSW Premier, Farry O’Barrel, for accepting a bottle of Grange. Big deal. Your correspondent is showered with cases of Grange (I also accept Hill of Grace, Lafitte and Latour) to write articles supporting various causes. My policy is to accept all wines and write the absolute truth. But Our Glad will be OK. She’ll probably be represented by her new boyfriend, Moses. That’s right, Moses. Mr Ten Commandments. She has to be safe with Moses on her side, so let’s stop worrying about her and concentrate on golf.

Having missed Aunty Joan’s spring rolls in September, the R&A Wamboin GC was determined to have a traditional golf day complete with a fully-attended 19th hole. So we slipped into Sydney two weeks ago, joined the Rabittohs entourage and flew to Brisbane where we’d booked the Royal Queensland Golf Club’s top notch course for Sunday. Premier Palerskerzuk met us at the airport (she does that for all top sporting teams) and personally conducted us to the club’s beautiful riverside course. It was a ‘perfect’ day for golf (it was merely ‘beautiful’ the previous day) 26°C and fine.

Back in the well-appointed club house, as the captain passed around our tickets to the NRL Grand Final that evening, we all expressed our surprise at the sudden recall by the French government of their ambassador in Australia. We wondered what the poor chap had done wrong. It couldn’t have been for getting drunk on the diplomatic cocktail circuit. That’s standard operating procedure. A few thought it had something to do with the submarine contract. The word from Paris is that when the news filtered through, the French President, Monsieur Macaroon, was heard to whisper to his wife “Je suis ropeable ce soir, ma cherie”. But when ScoMo called to explain the change of heart, the President’s assistant, Mlle Ada Camp, informed him that M Macaroon was “tied up” and would not speak to him. So it probably had nothing to do with the subs after all.

Talking about under water warfare, the terms of the recently-announced Orcas Agreement with the US and the UK, permits us to buy eight nuclear-powered killer whales from the US. I don’t know who’s going to train them. Or feed them, for that matter. They eat a prodigious quantity of seals, tuna, squid and dolphins. You’ll never be told when they’re in port, either. The crew always carry on with this “refusal to confirm or deny” nonsense. And notice how they’re never interviewed at night. That’s because they all glow in the dark. Naturally, ScoNuke is over the moon. And so he should be. By 2040 we’ll have eight nuclear whales to take on the 90 or so the Chinese already have. And it kicks along the push for nuclear power stations to take over from Eraring, Bayswatwer and Loy Yang.

We congratulated Russian President, Ras Putin, on his stunning election victory. The irony is he doesn’t even have to hold elections, being President-for-Life, banning opposition parties from standing candidates and sending Alex Nabokov off to the gulag to rewrite “Lolita”. When asked by the media how he felt he said “I’m Stuffed”. So would you be if you’d spent the day supervising the stuffing of ballot boxes in eleven time zones. Even the Communist Party is calling foul. The good news is that Russians may now settle back in comfort knowing a firm hand remains on the tiller.

In other news, we rejoiced with Quade Cooper at the federal government’s change of heart in agreeing to make him an Australian citizen. We congratulated the Jehovah’s Witnesses for finally signing up to the restitution fund in the light of the findings of the Royal Commission into child abuse. I often invite them in for a cup of tea when they come around. And the Watchtower is always good for a hearty laugh. It beats L Ron Hubbard’s dreary tome on dianetics—whatever that is—hands down.

We approved the notion of COVID passports. Your correspondent has produced a very reasonably-priced version, guaranteed to get you through border security in all states (it got us in and out of Queensland) and most other countries, including North Korea which is the new, exciting place to go now that Kim Wrong-un has been “disappeared” and replaced by a guy with a better haircut and sharper suits.

Next month—November to be precise—will feature the annual Wamboin Open. It should be a good one with prize money donated by the PRC under the Belt and Road policy. Join us at 12.15pm at the community hall on Sunday, 7 November for the standard 12.30pm start.

Meanwhile for those who haven’t had two or even one jab, may I recommend local GP, Dr Rekkers, COVID Retardant. It’s not a cure or vaccine but it will mask the symptoms, which is handy for those runs in and out of Canberra and Russian athletes. It comes in a brown bottle and is taken internally. You can even wash your hair with it.

Larry King, golfer

September [Pseudo-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday, 5 September. Hold the defibrillator. All the watts in the world won’t start Charlie up. The 80 year old, sartorially splendid human metronome of The Rolling Stones is no more. There are many drummers who can keep the beat and many who can do the fancy licks, but those who can do both are justly famous. Charlie Watts was such a one. Like The Beatles, there are now only two of the original Stones left. When Keef goes—and some say that happened a while ago—Mick can tour by himself as “The Rolling Stone”, free of all moss.

And talking about getting around, the R & A Wamboin GC has come out of diapause now that Our Glad (bless her) is allowing us to gather in groups of five. And exercise outdoors for three hours. It works like this: groups of 4/5 go out to each tee before the shotgun is fired to start play. See? No group meets another group. When play ceases we all gather in an open field—still in our groups of five—and picnic in a responsibly-masked and socially-distanced way. We communicate by semaphore, heliograph, megaphone, bull horn, loud hailer, mobile phone, PMR and tablet/iPad. It’s tough for the captain but, leadership has its downsides. Although the course was sodden, those who turned up paddled valiantly over the Eastern Nine (that’s all you can do in three hours).

We welcomed our guests, Bill and Deidre O’Wheeler. The googly ball was won by local rhinologist John Barrelo (Porky to his friends) who can identify the source of waste products by smell alone. The dummy spit went to the 18 US intelligence agencies who accurately predicted when the Taliwhackers would reach Kabul. (These are the same guys who brought you weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.) Winners and place getters all elected to remain anonymous in keeping with these isolating, self-effacing times.

Staying with sport, we mourned the loss of Deb and Ken Gordon to Oztag in the region after 20 years association with the game in Bungendore. Doubtless, freed of that onerous burden, greater honours await them on the golf course. We then congratulated the Wallabies on regaining the Bledisloe Cup. True, the All Absence of Colours won the first two games but forfeited the series for not turning up for the third game on the agreed date and time. Maybe they need a new bus driver. I can’t see the Mudchooks being that silly.

We marveled at the cooperation being shown between the Taliban and US forces who are bombing the Al Qaeda-linked ISIS faction bent on exploiting the chaos in Afghanistan. The aphorism “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” springs to mind. It is, apparently, an ancient Sanskrit proverb dating from at least the 4th century BC but first expressed in English in 1884 by American architect, Gabriel Manigault. I pass this on for what it’s worth—which is considerably more than any deal you could strike with the Taliwhackers.

On a brighter note, Kabul radio is playing the current No. 1 hit: “The Boys are Back in Town” by The Taliband. Of course, back home the plague always gets a mention. Delta seems to be getting away from us. In Qld and WA, Premiers Palaskerzuk and McGoon are steadfastly sticking to the futile policy of containment but Our Glad (bless her) is warming us up for the great re-opening which will restore fun and prosperity.

You see, the real purpose of a lockdown is to get us vaccinated. Its motive force is fear: fear that we’ll catch the virus and die; and fear that we’ll lose our jobs, go broke and never recover. At 80% double-jabbed it’ll almost be back to normal. Let’s hope we get there by Christmas. The other 20 per cent can take their chances.

This is a variation on achieving herd immunity. Look up the Spanish flu. Without vax or cure it petered out in Australia after about two years. In essence, the variants that followed the original outbreak became progressively weaker. Let’s face it, a virus which kills its host isn’t going to survive for long. The general political response to the present pandemic has less to do with medical science and more to do with the understandable reluctance of civil authorities to be seen to be doing nothing as people die. Who can say they’re wrong? My courageous prediction is that when this is over the international death toll, expressed as a percentage of world population, will pale into insignificance when compared to that of the Spanish flu.

Why not repair your mental fabric by joining us in a paddock to be confirmed, at 12.15pm on Sunday, 3 October for the 12.30pm start. Meanwhile, think about lying by a sun-drenched tropical pool, sipping an FLA as zephyrs waft about your body. Now think about how you’re going to get there.

Larry King, golfer dreaming

August [Non-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday, 1 August. A grey day with patchy rain and a light breeze. Not ideal for golf but not impossible. Unless of course you’re in the middle of a pandemic and the course is sodden. The Greens Committee cancelled the competition.


This is getting to be an annoying habit. Fortunately your correspondent was able to quickly round up some willing golfers from the multitude wandering the streets of South West Sydney and bring them back to Wamboin—cunningly avoiding the mounted police and the sniffer dogs (trained to detect COVID Delta)—to tackle the Western Nine. The Eastern Nine is out of play pending the completion of construction of the Pfizer Bridge across the source of the Yass River (discovered by John Hanning Speke in 1858).

Back at a certain large shed, socially distanced and wearing masks (except when taking a mouthful or two of a restorative throat lubricant), we agreed there are some people you just have to feel sorry for. Firstly there’s poor Delta Goodrem. After a valiant battle with cancer she carves out a glittering career in the music industry but do they give her an OAM? No, they name a virus after her.

Then there’s that clever low security prisoner in Goulburn. His meticulously-planned escape (he opened the back gate and fled ) was foiled by the late arrival of the get-away train. And of course that chap in charge in Brazil whose name I’ve forgotten (sounds like balls-in-a-row): after ruthlessly prosecuting a policy of herd immunity by doing nothing he’s rewarded by a case of chronic hiccups after orthodontic work. With deaths at over half a million and rising, Ballsy clearly bit off more than he could chew.

But the people I’m feeling sorriest for at the moment are the poor old Afghans now that the war’s over. If you can believe the Taliwhackers, they now control a fair chunk of the country. This is not good news for peace and harmony, respect for women, education for girls, cultural monuments, religious tolerance and prosperity (unless you’re a Taliwhacker). It is your correspondent’s melancholy observation from examples of conflict throughout the ages that war can be concluded with a decisive victory in only two ways: (a) if you are willing and able to kill lots of people including yours, theirs and anyone else who gets in the way (note that an estimated 60,000 French civilians were killed in the WW 2 battle for Normandy; by the time Paris was liberated it was well over one million); (b) if the invaders just call it a day and go home, which is what we did in Vietnam and now Afghanistan.

This raises the question of what we were doing there in the first place. The conventional reason advanced was to rob terrorists of a breeding ground. I can’t see much difference between the Taliwhackers and ISIS. Still, the troops are no doubt happy to quit the land where, according to a formerly ”embedded” ABC journalist (a real one, not one of those current affairs communists), the women cannot be seen, the men cannot be trusted and the food cannot be eaten. Not to mention all those dangerous IUDs by the roadsides. No doubt they’ll relish their redeployment to fight the virus breakout in Sydney.

Meanwhile back home, tough-talking NSW CMO, Dr Gregorienne Chant, has come down hard on the Travelling Wilberries. She, like you, has read David Williamson’s play “The Removalists” in which three furniture movers travel from Sydney to Melbourne, Adelaide and back again, spreading joy and mirth wherever they go. The play’s moral is that unless we look after each other everything ends in tears, a fine uplifting thought. Dr Chant and our Glad (bless her) share that thesis. So embrace the lockdown. I can say that because my business—fearless reporter—is based on the three golden rules: no rent; no debt; no stock. I sympathise with those who carry the burden of all three. The rest of us, via the money we give to the civil authority (taxes), must help if we mean to heed Williamson’s warning.

We speculated on the name of the dimwit who signed the advice to the immigration minister to deny Quade Cooper Australian citizenship. I guess we’ll never know. He/she/it and the minister should be red-carded. Poor old Quade has only lived here since he was 13, played with distinction for the Wallabies and has recently been recalled to the squad for the Bledisloe Cup.

And talking of sport, aren’t we doing well in the Olympics! Thank god for the women. And in 2032 they’re going to be in Brisbane. I can’t wait. No wonder AOC supremo, John Outergarments, was keen to bolster the Australian presence at the opening ceremony by insisting on a good roll-up including his pal, O’Shea (I think that’s what he said). Whoever O’Shea is remains a mystery. Also mysterious is when we’ll be able to use the Community Hall as the 19th hole. Sydney’s lockdown is scheduled to extend another eight weeks at time of writing. But golf will continue one way or another. In the meantime look after each other and get vaccinated!

Larry King, golfer.

July [Non-]Competition Results

Mahogany Ridge, Sunday 4 July. That pesky pandemic deserves the green needle. Those other jabs are too good for it. We had to cancel the July comp because it’s just too difficult to hit all the requirements to use the Community Hall. We could have played the game without the 19th afterwards, but as you know, golf is only played for the FLAs at the end.

Be that as it may, your intrepid correspondent gathered a host of kindred spirits amongst his mates in the NRL—I won’t name them for privacy reasons—to contest the Eastern Nine. It was bitterly cold so play was halted after a statistically significant proportion of the course was covered. We then repaired to a certain large green shed to warm the fingers by a large gas heater. This enabled us to remove the crown seals from several Fluid Loss Adjusters.

In the captain’s absence your correspondent introduced our guests, distributed the googly ball, the dummy spit award, the LD and NTP balls, told Ted’s joke and awarded the major prizes. Again for privacy reasons, I cannot reveal the winner’s name (we later found him hiding under a bed) but it gives me much pleasure to let you know that I came second. (Please pardon the obvious display of pride. I rarely appear on the podium.)

In the course of replacing essential fluids we briefly lamented the plight of political cartoonists now that the deplorable Trump and his monkey house of sub-cretinous, misanthropic dropkicks have been turfed. Sure, he’s had a few rallies where he’s spread the same old manure, but it’s not as exciting when the man in the clown suit no longer controls an arsenal of ICBMs.

However, journos have all perked up since the return to the stage of steam-of-conscious novelist and family man, James “Barnaby” Joyce. Don’t bother reading his masterpiece, “Ulysses”. I got to page 30 before being admitted to a sanatorium. It reminds me of the first 30 pages of “Das Kapital” which I recommend as diversion therapy for all budding socialists. It’s a pity these demagogues can’t write for real people.

While on the subject of ratbags, we expressed righteous anger at the shutting down of popular Hong Kong newspaper, Apple Daily, by the running dogs of PRC Czar, She Gin Sling. They did the same in Tibet years ago to the Daily Lama. Just let them try the same totalitarian nonsense with the Independent! I’ll be the first to take up my umbrella in protest.

Poor old ScoMotose can’t take a trick at the moment. Elbow’s got him on the ropes over the pandemic. It turns out he didn’t take Elbow’s advice on how to keep it out; what to do when it got in; how to control outbreaks; why hotel quarantine would never work; what would; how to force aged care workers and others to vaccinate; when to lock down; when to open up; how to keep the economy going; how much vax to order; where to get it; what to do when Italy reneged; when to open and close the border; how and when people trapped overseas should be allowed to return; why they shouldn’t; blah, blah, blah. We should have been guided by Elbow. A person that smart ought to be Prime Minister. I’ll bet he wouldn’t have allowed Witness K to be tried behind a screen of secrecy (literally and figuratively). Just wait for next month’s report in which I reveal how the QPRC have bugged the meetings of the Save the Mick Sherd Committee. I’ll insist my trial be held in the Bungendore Memorial Hall with free admittance to all.

Having got all that off our chests we packed up and left in an orderly fashion. There was no need for the police to untangle the traffic in Wirreanda Road. Let us hope that our Glad’s (bless her) contact tracers turn up a whole pile of negatives so that the August golf day can proceed. You may then wish to join us at the Wamboin community hall on 1 August at 12.15pm to sign up for the 12.30pm start. Dress warm.

Larry King, golfer

June Competition Results

Sunday 6 June. Welcome to Winter. My old mate, Chill Blains (he really loves Winter) reckons it’ll be a ripper this year—low temperatures, biting frosts, blizzards and snows metres deep. Fortunately, it wasn’t like that for the Wamboin Pre-Solstice Frolic when all golfers, except the ladies (bless ‘em), play naked to the waist. Just a dusting of 10-15cm, hardly worth worrying about unless you’d forgotten your orange golf balls.

Short 'n Sweet

The day was sponsored by the Urquhart family whom we thank for the sumptuous spread and prizes. The order of the day was an Ambrose Scramble with “the golden egg”—a yellow golf ball. We don’t normally encourage yellow golf balls in Winter because of a past unfortunate misunderstanding. Regrettably, with our usual ADD we missed the significance of the golden egg, making the captain spit the dummy. Nevertheless, clutching our golden eggs (Deb Gordon had three! That woman must have been trained by Fagin) and suitably gluhweined, we strapped on the snow shoes, threw off the upper raiment and took to the piste.

Back in the chalet, as the captain worked the abacas with frost-bitten fingers, we discussed the federal budget. It was a short discussion. After watching the news on the ABC most of us turned over to “8 Out Of 10 Cats Does Countdown” on SBS. We thus missed the pearls that Rogan Josh Friesanburger cast before us. Obviously, there was no point watching Elbow the next night. So we unpicked the Sutton Road fiasco. Managers of major civil works are generally competent people. So how come it’s taking them so long to work out that if you’re mucking about with an arterial road for a long time the traffic into town in the morning generally equals the traffic leaving town in the afternoon. And why can’t they set the traffic lights accordingly?

We noted that 20 May was International Bidet. As none of us has a bidet (or is not game to admit it) we felt a bit left out and wondered if the UN was really a club for the wealthy, only pretending to be a sheltered workshop for shiny bums from banana republics, dictatorships and failed states.

We then turned to Pooty Putin’s efforts to put the band (i.e. the Soviet Union) back together. He’s already got Crimea and may soon have Ukraine and Belarus under his belt. This lead to a discussion of the good things about Russia, such as its famous composers. Can you name ten? Here’s how we went: Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev, Borodin, Stravinsky, Rachmaninov, Mikoyan, Tupolev, Iluyshin, Sikorsky and Kalashnikov. We excluded T 34 on the ground that she was a painter.

Next we tried to name the actors who played the original Magnificent Seven. The first two are easy: Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen. For the record, the rest were Butch Cassidy, Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Akira Kurosawa and one of the Pickens brothers but we couldn’t agree on whether it was Slim, Easy or Lousy. After that the six wives of Henry VIII were relatively easy: Catherine of Tarragon, Anne Berlin, Anne of Cloves, Anne Hathaway, Maid Marion and Bronnie of Karabar.

And now they’ve discovered a new strain of COVID, the “peripatetic variant”. All those who contract it feel compelled to travel widely interstate and even overseas, spreading the love wherever they go. Why can’t the infected just stay at home?

We rounded it off by discussing poultry princess, Zali Steggles’, climate change bill in the federal parliament. If anyone asks you what it’s about you can say it’s about 10cm thick. It’s like the road to hell: paved with good intentions but leaves the hard thinking to someone else. Fortunately, energy czar, Anguish Taylor, the Baldric of climate change, has a “cunning plan” to reduce CO2 from using oil by using gas.

Winners & Grinners

The captain then terminated the frivolity by introducing our guests, Dave and Michelle Cochrane and Val and Erik Haller. Ted’s joke involving an ambidextrous golfer was told by Keith France. He also got the googly ball for directing a ball towards the Palerang mayor-in-perpetuity who narrowly avoided brutal emasculation (see photo above). The dummy spit award was passed from the captain to Michelle Cochrane for interjections too numerous to list.


LD and NTB ball winners were Glen Crafter 3, Pete Harrison, Dave Cochrane 2, Keith France, Colin Urquhart, Tim Barter and Lofty Mason. The winning team in the nine hole Ambrose was Lofty Mason and Deb and Ken Gordon with 29.85 strokes (yeah, that’s what I said) after handicap. Runners up on 31.7 were the team of Dave Hubbard and Larry King. Winners of the 18 hole Ambrose were Pete Harrison and Paul Griffin 51.85 from Tim Barter, Vicki Still and Dave Cochrane 53.8. The captain said he’d explain the golden egg better next time.

Next month will feature the Ted Evans Memorial GST Handicap where 10% is added to your handicap and forwarded to the ATO. In case you don’t know, ATO stands for the Australian Taxation Office. I hope that didn’t sound condescending. I detest condescending people. ‘Condescending”, by the way, means displaying a patronisingly superior attitude. It comes from the Latin, descendere, to descend, but I don’t expect you to know that.

Larry King, golfer

May Competition Results

Sunday, 2 May. It was a fine autumnal day for the Wamboin Merrie Month of May Frolic. The day was sponsored by those old sailors and airmen represented by Tim Barter and Paul Griffin whom we thank for the scrumptious spread (which they had little to do with) and the prizes (chosen by people with taste). They declared the competition would be decided on the Stableford scoring system. Ah well, never mind.


Last month was a red letter occasion for your correspondent. Being an essential service worker as a reporter for this august organ of communication, he had his first date with Jabber the Hutt. Yes, I joined the conga line of masochists with our sleeves rolled up to the armpits to get the initial jab of the Astral Zenic vax. As promised, it didn’t hurt. Well, not until the needle actually went in and then it hurt like hell—a cross between the guillotine and seppuku (I hope I’m not putting you off). Anyway, I made it through the side effects period without experiencing the dreaded managerial thrombosis i.e. clots at the top.

Finn's Spotties

Back in the ICU, as the captain did the intricate calculations, we considered the news that crime stats had dropped sharply during the pandemic. Not white collar crime—that continues unabated: my ISP still bills me full price for a service delivered intermittently. No, they mean crimes like theft and burglary. It’s because we’re all working from home. Being the bleeding hearts we are, we wondered how the poor old tea leaves and their families were bearing up. It’d be a bit hard to claim the JobKeeper. We decided that they needed a community group to lobby on their behalf. Maybe the Business Council of Australia can form a blue collar division.

Conversation then turned to our hydrogen future. No one reading this remembers the Hindenburg but most have heard of it. It wasn’t a good look for hydrogen. But your correspondent, who goes to great lengths to research these articles, can reassure you that R & D has progressed since those days. This is how it works (I’ll keep it simple): hydrogen gas and compressed air are forced through a membrane which splits the hydrogen atom (that’s right!) which creates the power to drive an electric motor. You are now riding an H bomb just like Slim Pickens did in the movie “Dr Strangelove”. The bits of the H atom that aren’t needed—call it the nuclear waste—react with the oxygen in the air to form water which is released through the car’s exhaust system. I reckon it’ll be the go-to vehicle for ram raids—if you can jump out in time like James Dean in “Rebel without a Cause”.

Winners & Grinners

The captain called for order and introduced our guest, Vincent Gorham making a welcome return. Ted’s joke involved a lady with a glass eye. The googly ball was awarded to Nev Schroder for striking your correspondent with a divot while limbering up. Guess who got the dummy spit award for bringing it to the committee’s attention. Once again no LD and NTB ball winners for the Eastern Nine. The junior nine hole comp winner was Phoebe Beckett with 20 Stableford points. The senior nine hole comp winner was Deb Gordon 21 points from Rob Gorham 20 points OCB. Winner of the senior 18 hole comp was Glen Crafter 38 from Vicki Still 36. Well played, everyone!

Isn’t the year flashing past? There’s nothing like a pandemic to while away the boredom of the mundane. And golf, of course. Join us at the community hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 6 June for the pre solstice comp which will kick off at 12.30pm sharp. Stay on afterwards for the ritual pagan dancing around the fire. The shy and inhibited may retain their clothing.

Larry King, golfer

April Competition Results

The Wamboin Mini Masters

Sunday, 4 April. A beautiful sunny day for Easter Sunday. Not a breath of air, which was a shame. 28°C feels like 32°C without a breeze. Still, no one complained for fear of the embarrassment of the dummy spit award. It was, of course, the day of the Wamboin Mini Masters. This legendary competition goes back to 1893 when Rudyard Kipling donated the Great Grey-Green Greasy Limpopo Jacket to the club. 1893, by the way, was the year that women got the vote in New Zealand. And haven’t they done well since!

Unlike the US Masters, a drawn-out four day affair, the winner of the greenish coat is determined on the day, following two rounds of six holes on Bingley Way, the nerve centre of Wamboin. Those who make the cut after round one go on to vie for the afore-mentioned article of bespoke tailoring. Those of us who don’t (including your correspondent) still play round two for the handicap honours. All players then compete in the NTP novelty shots: off the ramp; off the tyre; from the bunker. Got it? OK.

The day was sponsored by the Wamboin Community Association whom we thank for the the refreshments and prizes. And so with a song in our hearts, as Heaven opened its portals for us (thank you Messrs Rodgers and Hart) we sprang to the stirrups and galloped off into the countryside swathed in its mantle of green, courtesy of the recent rains.

Back in the jungle, as Brown Owl in the guise of Lofty Mason did the tally with the technical expertise of Akela, local ICT wizard, Nev Schroder, we pondered the roll out of the anti Covid jab. We thought that Ireland’s early concerns about clots was an Irish joke until we realized they meant blood clots. The answer is childishly simple: lace the vaxx with Warfarin. Then there was the all Ordinaries Index. It started 2020 at over 7000 (whatever that means). And, roughly, that’s where it started 2021. Sure, it dropped like a lead zeppelin in the interim but the general economy, measured by Gross Domestic Product, rocketed out of recession while full time employment increased. All this suggests that the gig economy—mainly the income earned by part timers in the hospitality industry—doesn’t contribute much to the broader economy. And guess what? The calculation of GDP doesn’t really take them into account. My mate the economics lecturer at QU tells me that the composition of GDP hasn’t been revised since about 1937. It doesn’t account for informal or unrecorded employment arrangements. Of course, the gig economy is a big deal for those who work in it and will feel the absence of JobKeeper which is just part of the $200 billion the Feds have spent on pump priming and which will take about sixty years to repay.

News that police in Canberra had unearthed a haul of cannabis valued at $500,000 evoked memories of the Wamboin Rural Fire Brigade President’s smoking party of ten years ago. The brigade was called upon to burn a huge crop of the substance confiscated in the region. This was done under strict police supervision on the oval next to the hall. Some of the participating brigade members felt a mild euphoria while others wandered about saying things like “far out and solid, man”.

Winners & Grinners

The acting captain called us to order and introduced our guests, Philip Moran, Clint Pickin, Ben Hubbard (scion of a noble Wamboin family), Tony Dowdell and Lila Mason. Kathy Handel, representing the WCA, recited a poem about the shape of wombat poo. It brought tears to the eyes. The Googly Ball went to Rob Gorham for driving the course while a guy with a steel leg walked it (how lazy can you get?). Just for good measure we awarded Gorham the Dummy Spit.

Paul & Kathy

Novelty shot winners were: off the ramp, Tim Barter 2.9 metres; off the tyre, Steve Lambert 4.3 metres; from the bunker, David Bailey 7.2 metres. Handicap winner was Phil Moran 57/41 from runner-up Glen Crafter 52/42. Junior Master was Robert Thomson 39 for six holes. Runner-up in the senior Masters comp was Tim Barter 56. And as the band strikes up Elgar’s Pomp and Circumstance March No.1 we can announce that the 2021 Wamboin Mini Master is Paul Griffin 52. Well played all one and all!

Whether or not you’ve had the jab, give serious consideration to joining us on Sunday, the 2nd of the Merrie Month of May for another joyous day of golfing pleasure. Be at the community hall at 12.15pm to sign in for the punctual 12.30pm shot gun start. While on the subject of shot guns, ASIO has identified a ”nest of spies” operating in Australia. It has expelled some. Others have been “rendered inoperative”. We wonder if they’ve been rendered inoperative “with extreme prejudice”.

Larry King, golfer

March Competition Results

Sunday, 7 March. The Mad Hatter’s Tea Party. Not to be confused with the rabble that is still twisting the tail of the poor old Republican Party in the benighted US of A. No, this time it’s the gladsome Wamboin golfing spectacular.

Lambert's Leap

The day, superbly Autumnal, was sponsored by Deb and Ken Gordon whom we thank for the sustenance and the loot. And talking of loot, what about the gazillions the charismatic Mark Suckitup of Faceache has trousered through the simple ruse of not paying for anything: e.g. tax in our fair country and the work of journalists? Mark, an attractive mixture of badly disguised greed and petulance, unplugged us from the news content he’s nicked from others. Unfortunately he rolled over and agreed to cough up, so all those pictures of Lady Gaga’s ugly little dogs are back on the screen. Still, looking at pictures of French bulldogs is less enervating than trying to work out your score on the diabolical Stableford system which, I suggest, would have confounded even the great Alan Turing.

Back at Bletchley Park, as the captain struggled with the Enigma code of our scorecards, there was much to wonder at. Such as Italy’s refusal to hand over our Vaccine. Bloody wogs! (Did I say that out loud?). The country hasn’t had a functioning government since Mussolini. Actually I’m not that upset: I’m hanging out for the Perfizzer vax. As for Astra Zeneca, wasn’t she the last winner of the Sanremo Song Contest? And what’s all this hoo-ha over the colour of Harry’s and Meghan’s kids? Hasn’t anyone ever heard of Edward of Woodstock, the Black Prince? He was the eldest son of Edward III who, as far as I know, never complained about the boy’s colour. Next, we deplored those obnoxious virtue signalers who endured an alcohol-free February. Your correspondent, in conformity with General Angus Campbell’s advice to make himself less attractive, is now on the so-called “5/2 diet”: 5 beers/2 hot dogs. It seems to be working.

Winners & Grinners
Dave & Madz

The captain introduced our guests, Annie Burne, Steve Miners and Rob Gorham—the latter two returning after long absences. Ted’s Joke was told by Dave Hubbard and Keith France. The googly ball went to the person who birdied Short‘n’Sweet. Ruth Lambert spat the dummy at the news a certain member couldn’t attend because his partner was chopping wood. Phoebe Beckett scored the encouragement award. LD and NTP ball winners were Dave Hubbard 2, Annie Burne, Glen Crafter, Ken Gordon, Col Urquhart, Nev Schroder, Pete Harrison, Vicki Still and Tim Barter. Young Robbie Thompson, with 23 Stableford points, took out the junior comp. Winner of the senior nine hole comp was Nev Schroder 23 from Dave Hubbard 20 and J & L Mason inseparable on 19. Victor in the 18 hole comp was Tim Barter (yawn) 38 from Paul Griffin 36 OCB from Col Urquhart. Congratulations all.

Join us at the Community Hall at 12.15pm on Sunday, 4 April for the highly-esteemed Wamboin Mini Masters—two rounds of six holes provided you make the cut after the first six—kicking off at 12.30pm on the dot. Meanwhile, have you read “The Jew of Malta” by Christopher Marlowe, a contemporary of my old pal, W Shakespeare? No, nor have I. I’m only aware of it because of an epigraph from Marlowe’s play which begins the famous poem “Portrait of a Lady” by another old buddy, T S Eliot. It goes like this: “Thou hast committed fornication. But that was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead.” It put me forcibly in mind of the paradoxical imbroglio one of the parliament house porters finds himself in. Eliot’s poem leaves us in turmoil as to who has been misused: the woman or the man or, indeed, both. It is a conundrum which will never be solved to the general satisfaction no matter what we do.

Larry King, golfer

February Competition Results

Sunday, 7 February, the day of the Great Wamboin Liver Transplant Medal. And what a superb day it was. Thank you Mother Nature. You may be under pressure at the moment but you can still roll out a purler! The day was sponsored by the Schroder and Whitney families whom we thank for the prizes and refreshments.

Lambert's Leap

The clemency of the weather attracted a large field which included, we were happy to note, the incredibly life-like Dave Hubbard. As we walked around the course we discussed such things as how we spent Invasion Day. Your correspondent eschewed the traditional burnt protein overload for a 4pm get together over finger food and a few fluid loss adjusters to remember our late friend in whose honour we now include the telling of a joke in the formal 19th hole programme. Invasion day sends a frisson of pride down every spine as we recall the glorious battle between the British Army and the National Eora Army of Central and East coast tribes. Who couldn’t thrill to the vision of the invading troops landing at Kurnell in a manoeuvre copied by Eisenhower 256 years later? Who couldn’t marvel at the nulla nulla emplacements of the indigenous army raining spears upon those on the beach as the returning boomerangs – the home-grown secret weapon - attacked from the rear? We straighten our shoulders in pride and admiration as we recall the chivalry shown by each side to the other during and after hostilities. And finally the signing of the treaty which recognized the prior occupancy of the defenders of this great southern land.

I wish it had been like that: a clean and fair fight, (allowing for the superiority of the invaders’ weapons), followed by an honourable peace. It wasn’t but we can still repair the damage if we have the will.

Back on sacred ground, as the captain fiddled with the abacas to calculate the scores, we bemoaned the fate of poor old Burma – or as they call it these days, Myanmar (why do I think of mum?). Having spent years trying to get the military junta to step aside for the elegant and well-loved Unsung Sushi (unless you’re a Rohingya) civilians watched in dismay as the army took it all back again. The new despot is Min Aung Hiaing who looks about 40 but, based on the decorations on his chest, saw action in every war since Joshua fought the battle of Jericho. They go down the left side of his shirt, under his belt and down his leg. Everything’s there including the Order of the Ingrown Toenail. The rumour is that China doesn’t want a budding democracy on its doorstep. Your correspondent suggests that if you enjoy living in our democracy you work to keep it strong. Like making sure those pesky foreign tennis players stick to our COVID rules. Tennis is an appalling game played by the likes of Pentacostal sky pilots and angry guys with funny haircuts and lots of spare racquets. Now, golf is a decidedly more agreeable game requiring guile, cunning and good hand/eye coordination as exemplified by the former President of the US.

Winners & Grinners

The captain called us to order and introduced our guests, Tom Roberts, Mia Cullen and Trish and Michael Zebel. The Ted Evans memorial joke was told. Tom Roberts got the googly ball for twice over-shooting the green on Lamberts Leap. Karen Thompson was awarded the dummy spit on the grounds that she hadn’t got it before. The junior comp was won by Tim Nelson. All other juniors were given encouragement awards (thus encouraging the golfers of tomorrow). No LDs or NTPs because no one has worked out how to get the markers onto the Eastern course. We’re working on it. Winner of the crowded nine hole comp was Trish Zebel 46/28 OCB from sponsor John Whitney (too bad, John). Under the rules runner-up was Deb Gordon 54/31 (sorry, sponsor Nev) with Ken Gordon 3rd 37/33 (don’t you love handicaps?). Winner of the 18 hole comp was Paul Griffin 86/71 from Pete Harrison 2nd or last depending on your perspective.

Next month we battle it out for the Mad Hatter’s Teapot, so don your silly hat and join us at the community hall 12.15pm on Sunday 7 March for the usual 12.30pm start. Meanwhile, may I point out that the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated by the American media, those purveyors of fake news.

Larry King, live golfer

January Competition Results

Sunday, 3 January. So you made it through to 2021. Congratulations! One of the many great things about playing golf on the well-manicured Wamboin course is that on golf day, with the permission of the property owner, you can play at any reasonable time of the day (provided you play with someone who can be relied on to count all your strokes). This is handy if the day is expected to be excessively hot, cold or rainy. In the later case some took that advantage in January, mindful of the BoM’s advice. Unfortunately those who played early got wet while those who teed off at the scheduled time experienced mild and pleasant conditions. BoMed again!

Firebreak Fore

The day was sponsored by Matt Hawke whom we thank for the prizes and eats. We played a shortened competition of nine holes for all, in unfulfilled expectation of a hot day. The field was slightly down owing to the holiday season, many preferring the South Coast or the Northern Beaches of Sydney (some weren’t expecting to stay for 14 days). Still, that left time to work on our new year’s resolutions. Here are your correspondent’s:

  1. I will not catch COVID 19. (So far so good)
  2. I will not have a beer at the Newport Arms after surfing at Avalon
  3. I will quit smoking. Tick. (I did that in 1986)
  4. I will start wearing a mask. (I have a very attractive one from the Venice Biennale.)
  5. I will give in to my neighbours and stop using fissile fuels
  6. I will send all the money back to China
Pine Slice

Back at the Hall, as the Captain struggled with the maths, we discussed the New Year. Firstly, Trump’s still whingeing that his ”election was stolen by the Democrats”—at least I think that’s what he said. If I’m wrong he can probably get help from his go-to COVID vaxx provider. On the other hand we have a new word in the national anthem. Except they got it wrong. It should be “we are old and reasonable”. “Old” because the blackfellas have been here since before written history and “otherfellas” for more than 200 years. “Reasonable” because you don’t get us for free. For example, if you do a reasonable deal with our peerless government, you might get to set up a fracking operation at the edge of, say, the Pilliga Scrub—most likely contaminating the ground water. Not smart if you want to increase the population of regional areas. Guess what those peoples’ greatest need will be? Imagine drilling shale oil wells near Bungendore, Braidwood and our other regional townships.

Winners & Grinners

The Captain stopped us playing the “ain’t it awful” game by calling for order and introducing our guest, Gerard Ryan. Paul Griffin told the Ted Evans memorial joke. The googly ball went to Pete Harrison for a 20 metre putt from off the green to birdie Short ‘n Sweet. The dummy spit became controversial when your correspondent attempted to move a motion restricting the award to events occurring on the course. Debated without resolution. NTP/LD ball winners were Tim Barter 3, Vicki Still 2, Ken Gordon 2, Gerard Ryan, Pete Harrison and David Thompson. Winner of the juniors was Robert Thompson with 53 off the stick returning 25 after deducting handicap. The senior >20 handicap comp winner was Pete Harrison 40/27 from Vicki Still 40/28. Winner of the <20 handicap comp was Ken Gordon 33/29 from Tim Barter 36/31. Well done, everybody!

Next month’s comp will be the annual February Liver Rinse & Spin Dry Pennant. Unless otherwise advised, join us at the Hall at 12.15pm for the usual 12.30pm start. Meanwhile think about this: Trump spelled backward could almost be a phonetic rendering of “peanut” if the M was an N. Yes, I know it’s a long bow but we shouldn’t overlook even the smallest clue.

Larry King, golfer