Meet the Caddy: Ellie from Palm Hill Golf Club
Ellie from Palm Hill Golf Club
If you don’t mind me getting all ‘red-blooded male’ on you for a second, Palm Hills has long since held the accolade for the best looking waitresses within the Jakarta area, their long black hair falling ever so neatly over their tightly fitting uniforms and their long legs beautifully protuding from their ever shorter skirts.
The caddies ain’t half bad either, dressed neatly in bright uniforms, a walking, talking advert for why thousands of golf widows around the country are reluctant to let their husbands out onto the fairways week after week, fearing the risk of being replaced for a younger, sportier and dare it say it more fun model. A friend of mine recently likened it to the equivalent of changing your Toyota Fortuner for a bright red Mini Cooper.
Palm Hills caddy recruitment could also be helped by its location, which sits right next to the Sentul Ciruit exit, thus meaning that the girls in the area are exposed to golf from an early age, and a natural progression thus occurs from playing in the sandbox as a 5 year old, to 15 years later playing about with balls in a bunker.
One such girl from the local area is Ellie, who had the dubious honor of being my caddy for the day. She came equipped with the most and essential of equipment thus being an attractive and friendly smile, a witty sense of humor (with a surprising collection of rather funny jokes) and a vanity mirror to ensure that the layer of Plaster of Paris adorning her face remained that way for the 5 hours that we were out there.
A grasp of the English language however was not something that was present, though that actually added to the overall banter for the day as the two of us tried to work out what we were actually saying to each other; my rudimentary Bahasa Indonesia not sufficient to navigate what is rather a difficult course with incredibly complex greens.
It seems to be a recurring theme that the female caddies are averse to the angry golfer, and that was no exception here. She recounted the upsetting tale of a French golfer called Greg (yes, we name and shame in this column) who had a penchant for ‘club-thumping’ and the ‘F word’. Let that be a lesson – angry golfers are not big, nor clever and anyone who blames a caddy for not finding the ball after you shank one into the bushes should be ashamed of themselves (and probably take lessons).
Ellie also went on to say that she is not a fan of what I call the Jimmy Saville’s (if you don’t know who he is, read a British newspaper); the arm stroking and the bottom touching making her just feel uncomfortable. She did name and shame again here, but since this publication is read by all creeds and I do not particularly fancy a lynch mob after me, her secret will stay with me, until I release it on Twitter in a few weeks time.
To be honest, my score on that day was not exceptional, my putting was awful and I lost about 3 balls in hazards that had I been informed about previously (and I may have been but not for the language barrier), I would not have done. That being said, it is without a doubt that this was my most fun round of golf in Indonesia thus far and a true testament to the enjoyable company of Ellie as my other playing partners, quite frankly were…… (I seem to have run out of space).
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