Nevertheless the golfer will always remain optimistic. Never mind that the last time he played he posted his worst score ever. Never mind that on arriving home he had kicked the dog and thrown his clubs into the garage and vowed never to play golf again as long as he drew breath. Never mind that he had told his wife that if he ever so much as mentioned the word golf again let alone play it he would buy her a complete new wardrobe. Since then the penny will have dropped. He will have finally realised at long last that for all the years he has been playing his grip has been wrong; or that he has been leaning too far forward in his stance, or not far enough; or that he has been standing too near to the ball, or too far away from it; or he has had the ball too far back in his stance, or too far forward. Or that his feet have been too far apart, or too near to each other. Now, having made the necessary adjustment, things would be better.
     Or perhaps the problem might not have been physical, but mental. He may have realised that he was too tense and uptight, so had invested in a relaxation tape and had benefited from its soothing words of wisdom. Now, fully relaxed and downtight, he would finally be able to do himself justice. Or he may have realised that he was too relaxed, and to counteract it had presented himself on the first tee after first having psyched himself up for the previous six hours by standing naked in a barrel of crabs.
     Or he may have had a lesson from the professional. As was the case with Sylvester Cuddington.
     "Oh by the way," said that very golfer to his companions as he teed up his ball, "I've had a lesson since we last played."
     "I'd b-better g-go for my t-tin hat," said Jones-Jones.
     Treforest too was fully aware of the doubtful benefits of a golf lesson. He said, "Get one for me while you're at it, Taff; I'll need one if he hits the ball anything like he did the last time he had a lesson."
     "No need for tin hats," said Cuddington, oozing confidence, “Or any other protection. I'm very straight now, swinging like an Open winner, the pro really sorted out me out."
     "Tobin?" said Treforest, in disbelief. "He couldn't sort out an empty cupboard."
     Jones-Jones was quick to agree, though not as quick in conveying his agreement, due to his stutter. "I should s-say s-so. He's r-rubbish, that T-Tobin. He's m-more interested in s-selling you a new s-sweater than t-teaching you how to play golf p-properly."