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He’s off the clock, checking out to check in with himself. Electronic hype music on arrival usually does the trick. The familiar carpark exchange of flip flops for soft spikes, wet the towel and he’s at it again. You can’t keep him away, the dune junkie is back for another roll of the dimpled dice. Phone in the glovie, he’s not to be reached, he’s not to be beat. He's offline and on time for a solo tee time chasing daylight. Another shot at glory, a wellness retreat. Flight mode golfer activated.

Without so much as a glance into his slim bag of bats, the marksman draws his next weapon, well before reaching his failed fairway finder. The upside down number doesn’t matter, a lofted iron will do. The hardy sack is tossed to the ground, he waggles any worries away and lets rip at the heart of the dart board.