Full Member
Age: 81
Nationality: Nobody cares
If Reg were one of the Mr Men he would be “Mr Horrible Bastard”. As you would expect he gets on well with Les Hamill. He’s Geordie, so the misery does come fairly naturally, especially when you consider that he spent 45 years working on the shipyards of Tyneside before ill health forced him to retire. He tells a tale that this was due to “bone problems” and that’s partly true. His gaffer told him he was a “bone idle wanker”, gave him six weeks’ money and told him to fuck off.
Whatever tale of woe you can conjure up, he’s got a bigger one, and he usually blames Margaret Thatcher for them. Whenever there’s a wake in the clubhouse, Bollard will be around, feeding off the grief like an Ethiopian seagull ravaging a discarded fish supper.
He’s not one for buying a round of drinks, or much else for that matter. He claims to have never bought a golf ball in his life, and his current set of clubs came as a result of haggling with a widow of a member at one of the aforementioned wakes. He’d done a “cracking deal” on some nearly-new Callaways before the vol-au-vents and crab paste sarnies had been scoffed.
To supplement his income in the 1970’s he worked security on a few nightclubs in Sunderland, and whilst he likes people to think that his rather misaligned nose is the result of one too many fights, it was actually the result of a Newcastle Brown Ale influenced collision with a patio door at his sister-in-law’s council house.