Not for the faint of heart

I’m thinking of having a sex change.

Now I know this may come as a shock to some of my readers, but for those who know me quite well, it will probably merit little more than a quizzical “What’s the idiot up to now?” Well, it’s like this.

I have just heard of a men’s committee who have decided to opt out of CONGU – or at least, all the bits they don’t agree with or like.

How brilliant is that?

I know there is no point in even suggesting such a thing to our ladies’ committee, so it leaves me little other choice than to change sections.

I know there are one or two little things to overcome first– such as I’m not too keen on operations, having had three already (not for gender realignment, I hasten to add) so I’d like to give surgery a miss if possible.

I’m also not too keen on the prospect of hormone injections and pills, because I really don’t think a beard would suit me, but I’m sure there are ways round these things with lateral thinking.

Unfortunately, I have taken a real liking to a pair of my skorts, but as my horse of 26 years used to have a real affinity with finding the remotest excuse for a protrusion on which to rip her rugs, I became a dab hand with a needle and thread.

I wouldn’t say it would be pretty, but I daresay I could do a reasonable hatchet job to turn them into 
shorts.

Mind you, they might still cause a few raised eyebrows in the men’s section since I have already shortened them. (Ladies’ shorts might be subject to ridiculous length restrictions, but as yet skorts aren’t, so I shall take full advantage!)

At least they have now lifted the ludicrous knee-length-only sock rule for men, otherwise a swap wouldn’t even have been contemplated.

I admit it might feel a little strange getting changed in the men’s locker room for a while – for the men as well as for me – but opting for a name like Michael, which could be abbreviated to Mikey or Mike wouldn’t really be far away from Maddie or Mad, and I wouldn’t have to go to the trouble of changing my initials.

One of the biggest adjustments would be having to get used to playing with a woman in the mixed foursomes, and of course I would lose my own mixed foursomes partner, with whom I have established a pretty impressive knockout record.

However, we could just become foursomes partners instead, so, overall, very little would actually have to change with this sex swap.

Admittedly I’d have to opt for pint glasses instead of halves, but I know a number of female golfers who quite happily do this already, so I’d just have to spend a little more time with them.

I don’t know if things have changed now, but when I used to play in things like ELGA’s English Stroke Play competition, you simply had to tick a box on the entry form saying that you were female at birth – which would still be perfectly true. So I could have the best of both worlds for competitions. Fantastic!

By the way, I refuse to call ELGA EWGA. The former sounded like a classical composer, and tripped effortlessly off the tongue.

The latter sounds like a combination between that pink and white chewy sweet that gets stuck in your teeth and a collection of sheep!

When it comes to clubs, I wouldn’t have any problem, because I have always played with men’s clubs, so there wouldn’t be any additional expenses there.

I also happen to enjoy playing off the yellow tees – and in many cases prefer them to the reds, since I end up just short of the bunkers instead of in them. The men’s tees are also invariably larger, better aligned, and better maintained.

Men habitually seem to play for money as a sideline in their competitions, so I’m confident I could pick up a few quid here and there.

They are also renowned for giving each other putts – even in medals – so I would never have to suffer the indignity of missing a tap in (and then some!) again. All in all, it seems a splendid way to go.

And just for once, it would be really fun to set off in a fourball from the 10th tee in the middle of a ladies’ competition just as the ladies are nearing the 9th green, just to see what it feels like!

My singing partner might have the biggest shock (I’m big at weddings and funerals by the way) if I turned up suddenly singing bass instead of soprano overnight, but as for the golf, I can’t see a problem.

So, just to show you how serious I am about this, and so that I can fully immerse myself into what it’s like to be a man, as a token gesture, I’m not going to shave my legs for three weeks!

Yours sincerely,
Michael Winnett