Nestling in Africa's waistcoat pocket, draped in bougainvillea and hibiscus in Swaziland's verdant pine and fruit-filled Ezulwini Valley, is the Royal Swazi Golf Course. It is the regular host to the Swazi Open, a South African PGA event, of which Ernie Els is a past winner, but is also open to the casual social hacker; no golf snobs here to tut and frown as you five-shot your way out of the rough while they play through.

Caddies are a dime-a-dozen, so get one, if only to stimulate the local economy. Call it charity if you like. It's a great place to get a cart too, without feeling like a Floridanian retiree¹. You are advised not to buy balls from the caddies, but a bag of 20 'been hit once' Titleists and Pings for the cost of your first 19^th hole beverage is too much temptation. 18 holes, 20 balls, it should be enough; what does he know that you don't? Besides, the fellow selling them looks like he doesn't know where his next meal is coming from, and his entrepreneurship should be encouraged, so why not?

Then, tee-off from the first and hope to Arnold Palmer² that you manage an oh-so-slight slice (intended of course) around the dog-leg right and run on down the hill towards the green - chip on and two put for par. Oh yes, the first nine, even including the frog-filled water hazard at the ninth, are easy-peasy if you can stay out of the buffalo-grass. You are now back at the club-house, so take time with a rock-shandy or two on the balcony to wonder how you're going to play the 18^th. And be a good egg and buy your caddy a drink too.

The back nine starts off with the intimidatingly impossible tenth, across a scrub-filled ravine and over the brow of the hill - the hole is over there somewhere... wait, the caddy (good chap) is standing on the hill beseeching you to play towards him. Fat chance, and sure enough he's soon back down in the ravine rooting out your ball. He will find one, probably a different one, which you play (a Bill Clinton Mulligan³) off the tee, hopefully making the fairway at the second time of asking.

You finish off (of course) on the diabolical 150m 18^th, where the tee and the green are roughly at the same elevation, but in-between is just void. Play long and you'll be in the club house; play short, left or right, and you're back down the bottom of the hill, unless you get lucky and hit a bunker. Your caddy, who knows you well enough, is standing way below waiting to spot your ball as it inevitably finds its way towards him.

When it's all over, tip your caddy handsomely because he has served you well, and go to relax in the club house bar. Your card's got a cricket score on it, but that doesn't matter. The sun is still shining, the birds are still singing, and you're in paradise.