tales from the twilight lockdown zone presents...lockdown golf

giving this some serious consideration…goany go up to the local golf course…it’s ok, I’m normally a member, but the course is closed and my membership suspended for the duration of the lockdown...before I go, goany take all my clubs and balls out my golf bag and replace them with bricks, two-by-fours, and other sundry heavy scrap…you know, get my government prescribed and sanctioned exercise for the day, push my trolley and golf bag full of building supplies around the course…while I’m at it, and to keep it interesting, goany have a pretend round of golf…you know, swing imaginary clubs at imaginary balls, replace invisible divots, walk my invisible sloth…(sepia toned memory coming in…do you remember, gentle reader, the stiff dog leads with wire in them from the 70’s and 80’s, looked like you were walking an invisible dog?)...see how long it’ll be before some local magoo-esque fucking curtain twitcher calls the real polis, the non-imaginary plod, the bona-fide killjoys, to get me lifted…hello, yes, I’d like to report someone playing golf…yes, as brazen as the sky is blue…two pandas and a black mariah on its way, you say, blues and twos, that’s excellent…got to tell you, gentle reader, this imaginary golf shit is tough…having trouble following the flight of the ball in this light, I’m topping my fairway wood, shanking pitches and blading bunker shots forty yards over the green…but, I’m keeping it real, right?...and who the fuck is this - fore right! - resplendent in shitkicker boots, high-vis and ppe? someone of my acquaintance, perhaps?...keep your distance, officer, mind your underlying health conditions…why, I’m referring to that persistent and over inflated sense of entitlement and, speaking frankly, that terminal case of self-righteousness that apparently troubles you so…indeed, and that rarefied air must be thin, officer, up there on your lofty perch on the back of your clydesdale…aye, that would be a belter…till the situation turns abusive…again…long story short, get myself arrested for my trouble, and find myself billeted in carstairs for the duration of the lockdown, my invisible sloth packed off to the dogs trust, or maybe the local petting zoo…happy days...