It was once my privilege to play a round at Pyle and Kenfig Golf Club. If you’re ever on the M4 in south Wales between Porthcawl and Port Talbot, look over the grassy dunes towards the sea and know that my balls are in there somewhere. I was playing with a friend, a retired butcher from Neath, and a couple of his mates. One of these old boys had been something to do with education; I think he had spent his working life with the local education authority. Nice chap.
On our way round we discussed matters various – his career, the weather, where the hell my ball was and so on. At the conclusion of one of our chats, he said he would give me his card. At first I thought he meant his golfing scorecard but it eventually became clear that he was talking about some kind of business card.
