Please dear Lord, one of you swinging lovers must play golf and need a cheap source of tees?

These little bastards have been a blight on my existence since they came into my life a decade ago. A seemingly endless supply of unwanted, unloved, completely surplus sporting goods. Why they existed in the first place I don’t know. How they keep escaping the skip and turning up in flight cases, pockets and down sofas, I really can’t explain. But there they always are. Hundreds of them, a sea of wooden waste. A waking anxiety nightmare, popping up to be stood on when you’re in your socks, a pointed stabbing reminder that you failed, and you wasted your money.

Please. Please buy tees.