Time marches on. In fact, it marches with such merciless purpose, it just about tramples us into the ground. Take technology, for instance. Some cutting-edge contraption you bought just two or three years ago now looks so old-fangled it may as well be housed in a museum next to such antiquities as the turnspit dog and hand-cranked mangle.
In the world of greenkeeping, meanwhile, things have developed at such a rate, Old Tom Morris, that pioneering golf course custodian of yore, would probably have choked on his own hand scythe with excitement had he been around to witness the advances.
