“I think I’ve killed him,” the voice was shaking as it came closer. It was probably best to play along.

“Bloody hell, Smith,” said another. “With a slice like yours I’m amazed you haven’t hospitalised more.”

I breathed deeply and instantly regretted it as sand whirled up my nostrils causing me to cough, gasping for breath and struggling to stand. My assailant screamed from a few metres away as I snapped to my feet and sent clouds of bunker sand into the air.

I worked the last of the sand from my eyes and stared coldly at him.

“Ah- are you alright?” he stammered. “I mean – are you hurt? Can I help you? Wha-what were you doing in there?”

“A bit. No. And sleeping,” I deadpanned. “Is this yours?” I motioned to the golf cart that was parked on the edge of the bunker.

He just stared, his mouth hanging open gormlessly.

“Don’t mind me, I’m not dead.”

The inept golfer tapped his friend on the shoulder and pointed as I commandeered the golf cart.

“Wait! Look out!” he shouted.

My exit was not destined to be as cool and Bond-like as I’d hoped. The cart lurched into reverse slamming into a bag full of clubs, cannoning them down into the rough where the majority of them came to rest on top of what they had been pointing at. It was, and this was obvious even to my untrained eye, a real dead body. I caught a glimpse of it and then

Waking up in public with subtlety is something that’s difficult to achieve. Even with the amount of practise I get, the place that exists where your body wakes up and your mind is still dreaming can produce some mortifying consequences. And, of course, the reverse is true when the cataplexy kicks in the mind is active, the ears are listening, the nose is working but the eyes and the rest of the body refuse resolutely to co-operate.