There\u2019s nothing that hasn\u2019t been said or written about golf, a sport perfectly summed up by these two aphorisms to which any golfer will relate:<\/p>\n
Golf is a good walk spoiled<\/em> - Mark Twain<\/p>\n Golf is a game whose aim is to hit a very small ball into an even smaller hole, with weapons singularly ill-designed for the purpose<\/em> - Winston Churchill<\/p>\n So what is this masochistic mechanism that drives normal human beings to spend their lives going after this blasted white ball? And it's been going on for 270 years now, since the Scots had the idea of systematising the game, the origins of which have become lost in the mists of time.<\/p>\n Homo golficus <\/em>is a breed apart, capable of getting up at dawn on a Sunday, come rain, wind or hail, to try in vain to exert its dominance over a ball that is just waiting for any excuse to get lost in the stubborn undergrowth, over the course of 18\u00a0holes\u2019 worth of misery. At the end of this losing battle, the golfer, having overcome their resentment and analysed their mistakes, has only one thing on their mind: starting all over again the next day. Or the following weekend. Eventually, they will start devoting entire holidays and ultimately their retirement to this pursuit. But there you go\u2014passion rarely follows any sort of reason.<\/p>\n Once they have reached a certain level of wisdom, the golfer, while not claiming to master the secrets of their sport, at least understands that, on balance, it is better to play in the sun. That's where Spain comes in, and more specifically this villa bordering the Real Club de Golf Las Brisas in Marbella:<\/p>\n