Wednesday, July 13, 2005

i am not an animal. i am a human being.

Despite the sweltering temperatures, such is my desire to swing, I’ve been going to the driving range of a lunch-time. Sadly, there are no swingers there, just a few doggers in the car park, so I’ve been practising my golf instead.

All was going quite well until, whilst steadfastly gripping my shaft and staring at my balls staring back at me, I felt a fly land on my left cheek just in front of my ear. Well, it had taken me so long to get into the correct position, with the right grip, head central, bouncing on the balls of my feet, club nice and straight, I though ‘sod it I’ll deal with the fly in a second when I’ve dispatched my ball up the pseudo-fairway ahead’. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise it was a horse-fly and just at that critical moment it decided to chomp into my flesh. As my ball dribbled horribly off the tee and plopped onto the mat right in front of me I removed my begloved left hand and swiped at the the fly. Off it buzzed, but too late. What’s more, still peckish it came back for afters and had a go at my chin. This time my reflexive swipe must have clipped the little angel’s wings and it fell gently onto the mat. Compassionately, I ground it into the floor with sixteen or seventeen gentle hammer blows courtesy of my virgin seven iron.

Irritated but energised I propelled the remaining balls in my basket as far as I could (i.e. not very far) and packed up to go back to work all sweaty and professional like.

Next day, I waddle into the bathroom for my daily ablutions and a fiddle with my Mach 3 only to find that no longer is the usual chiselled Beckhamesque Backroads staring back at me but something that looks more like a satellite dish. A reaction to the horse-fly has caused my cheek to swell out so far that I can no longer see my ear. As for my chin, well my manly goatee now looks like a mere postage stamp on the wide open plain of my protuberance. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that my face is as sore as hell, or that my work colleagues now have to contend with a weird carnival mash-up of Sophie Ellis Bextor and David Coulthard.