POSTCARD | Bath - Getting The Hell Outa The Way!

With the big ticket items now ticked off, it was just a matter of survival.

So from Royal Crescent, Sean Tours could now settle into what we do best. Having a wander, bit of a poke around and with the time remaining, maybe we could snaffle a pint of something?

Again the royal 'we' took the road less travelled and I found myself passing the Approach 12 and 18 hole golf course.

Hmmmm...Sandwiches. Might be the go. 'Cos I never got those bagels. The red-headed kid handing out freebies sent me on a wild bagel chase to a 'blue shop somewhere up there' and now my stomach was rueing my decision to forge ahead due to time constraints.

But hey. A UK sanger from a UK pro-shop - why not, never had one of those before.

So I sashayed in and there was no one behind the counter except for a guy who had the looks of William Fichtner and the dynamic of Neil from 'The Young Ones' - but instead of Special Patrol Group he had a dog. He also had a hang-dog expression and they both matched. The existential nature of that completely threw me when he asked was I roight mate?

Just as he summoned the energy to explain how much 18 holes would set me back, he shot out of his slumped posture exclaiming naughty words and dived out the door with the dog taking off after him.

Hmmmm....matching reactions? Who would've thought!!

For a few seconds naturally I couldn't figure it all out and I kinda instinctively turned to see through the windows where he went.

I twisted my body further and the judges marked me down for not trying a half-twist full pike. In golf it's illegal. Anyway, my eye caught a blue object that slowly materialised into the form of a Bedford-like van. It was moving very very slowly. My view was slightly obscured by a pole so remembering my scottish dance moves, I stepped to the right.

At that moment the front of the van slowly nudged into the knee-high fence and the van jolted to a halt. It ran perfectly over the ground I had treaded moments before.

In the next split second, a relieved man dressed like he was recovering from a hard day impersonating William Fichtner set foot beside the drivers side of the van.

It was empty.

He got in and reversed it.

He returned and resumed his hang-dog repose save for matching sheepish gap-toothed smile. The dog also returned, got completely confused by the sheep reference and ran out to the first tee to begin rounding them up.

"Sorry mate. Handbrake."