for The Sunday Muse
I don’t know why I agreed to this. Apparently, all I had to do was bend my knees, address the ball, swing the thing, and watch it fly. Easier said than done, I can tell you.
‘Four’ they keep shouting, I’ve not even managed a five! I’ve lost a bucket load of balls, and they are flippin’ expensive. What with that and the entry fee, I shelled out a small fortune.
Okay, that last hit really was a disaster. But the stupid pigeon should have known better than to fly in front of me just as I was brandishing my bat or stick whatever it’s called.
Mind you, the scattering of feathers down the fairway did make for quite a pretty sight! Amazingly, the poor creature did manage to continue its journey albeit in a somewhat drunken manner.
That’s it, I’ve had enough. I’m going for a well-earned rest in what golfies call the ‘nineteenth hole’. Nineteenth hole? I ask you! It’s just a friggin’ bar for goodness sake and an expensive one at that. Whatever next?
No, it’s darts and snookering for me from now on. Proper sport!
Note: No pigeons were harmed in the making of this yarn.