|Shortly after this photo, the banana moved to the front seat.|
Day one is hardly a thrilling adventure to make it worthy of a blog. Not a golf ball struck. In fact, not even a golf course seen. I passed Turnberry on the route north from Cairnryan but, even with the size of Donald Trump’s ego floating about, I couldn’t see the course in the dark.
The banana sat beside me on the car seat, all the way from Wexford to Stirling, in Scotland. That’s six hours of driving it survived. But, let’s be honest, how many of us have picked up a banana in a vague attempt at healthiness… only to place the fruit in a golf bag pocket where it is promptly forgotten. Banana’s are stealthy little buggers because before you know it they’ve snuck their way to the bottom of the bag, blending in with the balls and tees so that even if you do remember it, you probably won’t find it… at least not till it has rotted away, leaking over everything around it.
I will not give this banana the opportunity. No, it will sit on that seat for the next three weeks turning brown and squishy. And when I get home I shall toss it in the compost, proud that this little yellow fruit didn’t get the better of me.
As for the boot, well, that’s one of those odd things. Driving along the motorway (the M1 to Belfast) you don’t expect to see a boot sitting on the hard shoulder. There was no house, no bridge, no off or on ramp nearby. It was in the correct position, too, facing in the direction I was travelling, as if someone had been walking along and failed to notice that their boot had slipped off. Nice looking boot, too. A size 10… if you’re interested… and only have one leg. Just after Castlebellingham. It was the left boot by the way.
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