Spear-Chucker
Tour Rookie
I'll set the scene; Sunday afternoon, 'Chucker minor and Mrs C return safe and well from cub camp, your truly has had two rounds of golf on the weekend, the suns out and God's in his heaven. All is well.
Realising there's a couple of 36 holers coming up I decide to retrieve my trolley bag from the loft and move in for the summer. Double bagged bin liners still intact and looks as good as new. The move goes well even finding a few quid in change and soon I'm whistling along with the birds like Ms M. Poppins. Putting finishing touches to the ensemble, a nice new biro, and the birdsong is shattered with a Dantesque gutteral howl. A gnawed hole the size of my fist where the pen holder used to be. My lovely bag now looks like those buildings from Godzilla where's he's munched his way through.
Seems a four legged uninvited guest over Christmas ignored all the other garbage in the loft (not to mention the bin bags - obviously some kind of special op's rodent) to eat half my tee pocket and pen holder. My PEN HOLDER for heavens sake - is nothing sacred?
Thankfully the aforementioned hairy git is now an ex-rat and when I find the carcass (shed smells iffy) I'm going to mount his pointy little head on a pencil in the garden as warning to others. I realise there's a lot of suffering in the world but, this? I'll struggle to come back from this the same chap.
Rant over. Out.
Realising there's a couple of 36 holers coming up I decide to retrieve my trolley bag from the loft and move in for the summer. Double bagged bin liners still intact and looks as good as new. The move goes well even finding a few quid in change and soon I'm whistling along with the birds like Ms M. Poppins. Putting finishing touches to the ensemble, a nice new biro, and the birdsong is shattered with a Dantesque gutteral howl. A gnawed hole the size of my fist where the pen holder used to be. My lovely bag now looks like those buildings from Godzilla where's he's munched his way through.
Seems a four legged uninvited guest over Christmas ignored all the other garbage in the loft (not to mention the bin bags - obviously some kind of special op's rodent) to eat half my tee pocket and pen holder. My PEN HOLDER for heavens sake - is nothing sacred?
Thankfully the aforementioned hairy git is now an ex-rat and when I find the carcass (shed smells iffy) I'm going to mount his pointy little head on a pencil in the garden as warning to others. I realise there's a lot of suffering in the world but, this? I'll struggle to come back from this the same chap.
Rant over. Out.
