Glamour

I was leaning weakly against a bus stop advert and when I felt the lukewarm heat of the advert backlighting reach through my 16 year old jacket, I screamed at my friend

I WANT GLAMOUR

I WANT TO CREATE GLAMOUR

They looked back and kept asking me what I wanted from increasingly distant positions, until they were completely across the street

"What do you want?"

"…………..FULL GLAMOUR"

My face increasingly well lit every time

"What do you want?"

"………………..FULL GLAMOUR"

My hair bouncing at 24 frames per second

"What do you want?"

"………………………FULL GLAMOUR"

My voice becoming crispier, crunchier, saltier

"What do you want?"

"…………………………FULL GLAMOUR"

We then celebrated our conversation like we won a lifetimes supply of vacuum cleaner

We hopped on a bus, with serious undertones of the potential of glamour we had

"How do we achieve full glamour?" My friend asked, while looking at their reflection in the unreflective surface of the litter bin.

I said "WE SWING THE HIGH LIFE AND GO FOR THE GREEN GRASS AND JET CLUB SET AROUND"

They said "What??"

I said "IS IT NOT OBVIOUS?"

They said "What??"

I said "GOLF!!"

They said "OH YES! IT WASN'T OBVIOUS"

We asked the bus driver to take us to the nearest golf course, which was the Dartford Road Crossing Country Club, glittering with the lights of passing toll paying vehicles. GOTTA PAY YOUR TOLLS!

We leaped off the roof of the bus, screaming in a panicked but a reassuringly panicked way

We landed in the forecourt, and stood up and adjusted each others ties, which were in our pockets and remained there because we were clearly casually and effortlessly glamourous

GLAMOUR REQUIRED NO TIES ON OUR NECKS

We waltzed in glamorously into the reception, and threw about 30 empty Velcro wallets at the receptionist in a heart warming and crowd pleasing display of our wealth.

We decided to book the full 18 holes and got into the changing room.

We showed off our glamourous bodies to all the country club members, both of us trying to outdo each other's nakedness.

We injected olive oil into the plumbing system and we all showered in extra virgin oil as we danced in shimmering glamour like dressed salads.

We slipped on the ever greasier floor, but we slipped in glamour, most people could only dream of slipping the way we did.

For a brief moment we saw our reflections in the oiled floor and quietly wept at the alien looking faces that looked back, most people could only dream of weeping like us.

We came out dressed in full Scottish military uniform, except it was operational military uniform so it was very functional and had no tartan or silly hats or ANYTHING.

UNDERSTATED MILITARY GLAMOUR.

My friend asked me what kind of game we would play and I tore off a flagpole from a nearby putting hole and said "A GAME OF FULL GLAMOUR OF COURSE"

My friend tore off a flagpole of their own; "DON'T YOU MEAN (g)O(l)F COURSE!?"

YAAAAS

And we began playing the most glamourous golf game of our lives, using only flag poles as our clubs.

The first hole was a conservative one, we made sure that we were hitting a safe part of the fairway in order to give us an easy chip on the next shot, and we both just managed a solid par performance.

But we CRANKED UP THE GLAMOUR FOR THE NEXT SHOT.

I filled the hole with glamorous vodka which I paid 5 times the market price for, and rested my mouth next to the hole, my friend hit a hole in one, and the splashing vodka sprayed out of the hole entirely into my mouth.

I gargled the vodka and said FULL GLAMOUR, squirting the vodka into a beautiful towering 30-foot stream.

The children waiting to putt after us stared at my vodka fountain with a clear admiration, a clear recognition of my homage to the famous glamourous fountains of Rome, the children were so stunned they didn't even seem to continue playing golf.

We rolled across to the next hole in glamourous circles, the grass beneath us congratulating us on our style, THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU we said.

We then got into a golf cart and drove it into a sand bunker, ploughing up a cloud of glittering sand, each grain flashing at us as if they were paparazzi cameras at the red carpet.

We stood up and posed in a rugged way and kept joking that we were marooned in the desert and started asking to the cameras.

WHERE'S MY BENTLEY? WHERE'S MY BENTLEY? WHERE'S MY BENTLEY? WHERE'S MY BENTLEY?

So we both got birdies on that hole.

The next hole had very poor signal and no-one could see us or receive messages from us so we decided to just diligently complete the hole.

IF FULL GLAMOUR HAPPENS IN A GOLF COURSE AND NOONE IS AROUND TO SEE IT AM I RIGHT?

If the next hole was a party, we were the life of that party.

We brought pleasure to everyone, as soon as they smelt our glamourous aroma of olive oil and freshly mown grass and vodka, they started to glow at us GLOOOOOW.

GLOOOW they'd say.

GLOOOOW

The final hole: it was a deceptively easy par 3 and I was only 1 shot over my friend.

I decided to take my tee shot in slow motion, lit dramatically by the glows coming from everyone looking on, I slowly lifted my flagpole and started to bring it back down in a glamourous swinging motion at 10x slower than normal speed, however I also let my heart rate drop 10x in speed and so I had a heart attack.

But most people could only dream of having a heart attack like us.

I fell softly to the floor, my musculature slowly being displayed in full glamour and my friend ran to my aid in slow motion too, whilst everyone around us was shouting at us still GLOOOOW GLOOOOOW.

My friend drove the tip of their flagpole into my chest cavity and screamed up at the sky.

And suddenly we heard the sound of a golf ball whirring through the air at the speed of golf.

And just as it was about to hit the flagpole that was standing proud out of my chest, a bolt of beautiful and trademarked lightning sliced through the air into the golf ball, which then crashed into the flagpole, sending a feel-good crowd pleasing shot of electric tricity through my cardiovascular.

The ball then bounced off the flagpole and landed right on top of my heart, where a fountain of overpriced vodka then shot out, as my friend joyously supped at my cardiovodka fluids the onlookers all said BEEP BEEP BEEP like an electrocardiogram having a birthday like it's 1999.

My friend admitted that I was the winner, by Charcoal of my heart stopping.

And I modestly smiled, my mirror white teeth reflecting back all the glow.

I looked around, at each tree, at each Vauxhall astra, at each drain cover, and saw them seeing me, I saw myself in the way that they saw me, as someone who has reached full glamour. And I look back at the things I see and I see how the objects see me look at them, I look at them with glamour, a glamour they feel, a glamour they experience, but yet a glamour they can't have.

I almost felt too glamourous, impossible to place in any context.

We decided to get the bus back.

It was by very far the best game of unauthorised car park mini-golf we had ever played, at least in Dartford.