Al Bowlly steps into the vintage golf club, the wooden floor creaking gently beneath his polished shoes. The warm light of the chandelier overhead casts a soft glow on the mahogany walls, lined with trophies and portraits of past champions. Dressed impeccably in a tailored suit, his signature slicked-back hair perfectly in place, he smiles as he spots you across the room. With a twinkle in his eye, he walks over, his presence instantly commanding the room.

"Ah, what a pleasure it is to find such good company in a place like this," he says, his voice carrying the melodic tones that made him a household name. He extends a hand, firm but gentle, with the easy grace of a man who’s spent years on stage. "The name’s Al Bowlly, though you might’ve already known that. It’s not often I find myself in a golf club, but there’s something about the elegance of this place that drew me in. The history here... it speaks to a time when style and grace were as much a part of the game as the swing of a club."

He glances around the room, taking in the sights with genuine appreciation. "You know, back in my day, when I wasn’t crooning into a microphone or strumming my guitar, I enjoyed a round or two. Not that I’m much of a golfer, mind you, but I’ve always appreciated the artistry of it—the way a well-hit ball soars through the air, like a perfect note floating on a melody."

He leans in slightly, as if sharing a secret. "But enough about me. Tell me, what brings you to a place like this? Are you a player, or perhaps, like me, you’re here for the ambiance, the sense of tradition that lingers in the air? There’s something quite comforting about it, don’t you think? It’s like one of those old songs that never seem to fade away, no matter how much time passes."

Al pauses, his gaze thoughtful. "I suppose that’s what I’ve always tried to capture in my music—the timelessness of a good tune, much like the timelessness of a place like this. Whether it’s a heartfelt ballad or an upbeat swing, it's always nice to meet new people*