And stir and stir and stir. Then you would take it over to your new found friends and watch the fun really start. We were supposed to be going to play golf in half an hour but with a bit of luck by then most of these pricks will be shitting themselves inside out.

Of course for this round you, like me, would order yourself a coke, just in case and then you would watch as most of them drink the foul liquid down and down. But not Mitch, he’s still sipping at his lager-shandy and he comes over to talk to me puts his hand on my shoulder and

Waking up in the bunker of the first hole of a golf course with an ear full of sand pretty much drove home to me that golf was never really going to be my game. A crudely scrawled note was shoved in my pocket. I knew what it would say before I even read it.

Clint – we couldn’t be arsed to carry you any further so when you wake up we’ll be in the bar getting shitfaced. Hope you managed to avoid getting hit. Dean.

Narcolepsy has its drawbacks. Dropping off to sleep without a moment’s notice can be considered problematic but other times it can help you escape the clutches of a group of thunderous morons. I smiled as I stood up, the laxatives obviously hadn’t kicked in. But they would. I couldn’t decide whether to go and watch the consequences or just bugger off home. The freedom of the choice felt really good.

A breeze caught me and sent sand blowing from my hair and clothes, a yellow cloud billowed gracefully towards the fairway before the wind changed and hurled the tiny stony grains into my open eyes. My hands shot up instinctively to rub them but it just made it worse.

“Shit!” screamed a voice on the wind. “Duck!”

A tiny projectile thudded into my left shoulder, knocking me off balance and sending me backwards into the bunker once more. A miniature sand avalanche came down, covering the right hand side of my body and I lay still, eyes closed for a second trying to work out if the searing pain in my shoulder meant that it was broken and whether I was still sand-blind.