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Extreme Golf - Golf in Extremis
A Tale of Golf-Courses, Local Planning Laws and Death
A first novel by my pal Murdo Mondane (who introduces himself below...)
In the not-too-distant future ... most of Scotland has been sold off for golf-courses and the playgrounds of the rich. American billionaire Hamilton M. Semmit II has spent considerable sums in establishing the best golf-course in the world on the shores of the River Tay, some miles to the west of St Andrews, at Wormit.
His endeavours have obliged him to overcome local planning objections and clear the land of grubby hicks and misguided ecologists.
McDonald Gunn, native of Argentina, now a lowly green-keeper at the newly-established Semmit World Academy of Golf at St Andrews, walks out early one morning and discovers, in the burn that runs past by the sixth fairway, a disembodied arm. The hand is clutching a No.5 iron, Excelsior-style. There is no sign of the ball it was trying to play.
Mr. Gunn reports this grisly find to the head green-keeper, who in turn informs the Club Secretary. However, as a lucrative Pro-Am golf tournament is due to take place at the course the following week, the police are not officially informed. Mr. Gunn and his colleagues therefore do their best to keep the lid on what follows - a growing eruption of corpses, legs, heads and other phenomena of a grim nature.
The rest of the golf-club staff are heavily involved in last-minute preparations, feverish activity which involves extra-marital coupling, sandwiches, blackmail and - of course - the hunt for escaped beavers.
On the eve of the tournament, the owner of the club arrives with his entourage. He is not about to miss the greatest Pro-Am tournament in the world, and he intends to win it as well. Mr. Semmit strikes up an immediate friendship with 'fellow Scot' McDonald Gunn, to whom he outlines his plans for an even greater golf-course to be established in Scotland, one which will outdo all other courses in concept and style.
But the three days of the golf tournament bring several horrific surprises to the participants, leading to a final round of Apocalyptic proportions.
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I, MURDO MONDANE...
I, Murdo Mondane, have lived too long in the shadow of loads of far better writers than me.
I, Murdo Mondane, will not put up with this unjust situation any longer. Never!
I, Murdo Mondane, have pulled the gloves off and throw them down, joust-style, in the face of my myriad detractors.
MY FIRST NOVEL !.
LET US SEE what the World makes of this, then: my very first novel. First in a Trilogy of four books, maybe five if I can get the time off work. It's called The Last Trump.
People what once I was pleased to name as friends - now no longer, for why you shall see very soon - advised me not to publish. "Be afraid," they said,
"be very afraid of The Mighty Trump Organisation™ !" And for why should I, Murdo Mondane, be afraid of The Mighty Trump Organisation™, is what I asked these so-called advisers and confidentes? "Because of what you have wrote in this your book!" they wailed.
Wailers, eh? Here are four very good reasons why I, Murdo Mondane, am not afraid of The Mighty Trump Organisation™:
- One, the title of the book is about trumpets and death and stuff. Not a peep about our Donald.
- Secondly, there may be an American billionaire involved in building a golf-course in Scotland, but that does not mean a thing. American billionaires building golf-courses in Scotland are two a penny. Or four a dime.
- Three, the fact that the golf-course is built on a Site of Special Scientific Interest does not mean it's like any other golf-course built on some SSSI, is it?
- For four, in any case, Donald Trump never won Scot of the Year like the billionaire did in my book. Someone else got that. Protesting against Trump. Weird, eh? Would you believe it? So: not Donald, then.
- Next, I've never once met Donald Trump, or anyone remotely like him, so how could I possibly write about him? Is there any evidence for this? I AM THE EVIDENCE. QED.
- And anyway lastly, and in short, the characters depicted in this book do not, repeat not, bear no resemblance whatsoever to anyone connected with, employed by, in the pocket of, or in charge of The Mighty Trump Organisation™.
My so-called acquaintances prefer to disagree. I cast them off. Faithless rabble. Let the People decide !
READ IT, PEOPLE ! Then weep !
O ! PEOPLE !
I haven't got much space here to tell you anything more. That cheapskate Andy Drummond - he's charging by the inch for web-space. Doesn't he know the Internet is pretty big? Is he one of those so-called false friends of mine? Am I being screwed?
It is, he is, I am.
He's even demanded that I sell this great book of mine UNDER HIS NAME! Incredible. Apparently, you just go off to Amazon and download it for your Kinder Egg or whatever. That eBook iPad Smartphone thing. And he gets the money.
I repeat: it is, he is, I am.
As of December 2016, but IN NO WAY capitalising on The Mighty Trump Organisation's™ incomprehensible accession to power, then you can also read it here in BOOK format. The old ones are the best. Down with bourgeois electronics! Long live Paper! And Backs!
 So that's about all I can afford, until my next work appears. It won't be about The Mighty Trump Organisation™ either, even though the great and mighty Donald Trump could get a passing mention.
I, Murdo Mondane, latest in a long line of minor Scottish writers, work tirelessly to bring you the truth about golf! I would like, above all, to thank my mum (right.)
I'M ON EMAIL!
Should you wish to aim plaudits and other good things in my direction - aye, even if the very lawyers of The Mighty Trump Organisation™ wish to make themselves known to me - then I'm equipped with the very latest technology: they call it *email*. My *email* address is at gmail.com, and it is "murdomondane". Got it? - like I, Murdo Mondane, but this time without the space between the two bits. And without the "I,". Obviously. And then @gmail.com to finish off.
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