Isn’t it just as well we didn’t bring the cattle out golfing? said Jimbo.
‘Tis, I replied, considering the ferocity of the lightning storm at present bursting about our heads.
Exactly, he concurred. In a less ferocious lightning storm we’d have been ok.
We both went quiet for a minute, peacefully contemplating my dog Satan chewing an illegal immigrant.
What would you say it’s for? Jimbo said after a long pause.
Oh, I told him, it’s God’s way of killing golfers.
And cattle, he added.
True, I agreed.
Anything that damages the environment, in other words.
Jimbo is very well informed, and so I didn’t immediately sneer at him, as I normally would.
How do golfers damage the environment? I asked. Do they fart a lot?
Possibly, he replied, but that’s not the main reason. Mostly it’s by flattening tropical rain forest to build golf courses where they shouldn’t be.
I heard they make chopsticks out of the trees and sell them to the Japanese.
Indeed, he said. That’s golfers for you.
My main reason for hating golfers, I offered, is the stupid yellow sweaters they wear.
Jimbo nodded. And the silly shoes with the little fringe over the laces.
Yeah, I said. And the Argyll socks.
And the fact that it’s only a sport in the same way that darts might be a sport.
Certainly. That too. And Barbra Streisand concerts.
Jimbo looked pensive for a moment. Where do they get the most lightning in the world?
At a guess, I replied, the spot with the most lightning probably lies deep in the mountains of eastern Democratic Republic of the Congo near the small village of Kifuka (elevation 3200 feet, 970 m).
Well, said Jimbo, that’s where we’ll have to build our golf course and turn it into a top resort that will attract golfers from all over the world.
Great idea, I congratulated him. I’ll get onto my people straight away and tell them to start clearing the rain forest.