I start my day feeling rather energetic. Realising it is my day off, I head to the local private golf course.

My friend, Buffington Long-Goose, eases his rear end into position, he’s about to shoot his ball through the eighth hole of the course.

“So, hows the job?” he says, smoothly swinging his hips side to side, hesitating. He lunges his arms behind his head and moments later the ball is walloped into infinity. It plops down a hundred or so feet away in the green.

“Good, just raked in over fifty grand sir Long-Goose.” I waddle my white Slazengers up to the tee and prepare my blue ball for its journey.

“So, did you recover the one hundred pounds?” Long-Goose says, whilst pulling out a small glass of strong smelling whiskey from his coat pocket. The sun beats down, and half the birds hear his slurping as the cool liquid vanishes and he tosses his glass to the rough.

“No. Rather unfortunately.” I prepare, bending at the knees, locking my crooked eyes on the ball.

“Do you plan to eliminate her?”

My aim is thrown off course, the ball speeds through the air and plummets down into the sand dunes to the left. In the distance I see the waitress filling glasses of water. God, that was easy.