The Ryder Cup

I noticed more fancy cars had pulled into the car park. Proper fancy ones. Aston Martins and Lexi etc. “Cannonball Run is it?” I asked Clarkson when Wellington was out of earshot. Jeremy Clarkson, nose screwed up, was watching Wellington as he walked down towards Paula. I was worried he was going to say something else horrible and that’s why I asked him if he was on a Cannonball Run. I wouldn’t normally talk to a celebrity. Clarkson eventually turned back to me smiling.

“Pardon?” He asked, his thoughts of tying Wellington to the back of his supercar evaporating.

“Are you… Cannonball Run is it?” I asked nodding to the windows that looked out onto the car park which contained all the fancy cars. Clarkson thought for a second and then laughed, “Oh no,” he said. “Cockenfest.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. “It’s illegal on the mainland, isn’t it?” I asked even though I knew it was. I was just talking. Just opening my mouth and letting words spill out. Fuck.

“What isn’t?” Sighed Clarkson shaking his head. It’s Liberation week in Jersey. Something about the war or something, anyway, to celebrate the island holds a series of cock fights. It’s not my bag really. Went to one once and didn’t like it.

Then as we both looked at the door a whole slew of celebrities plopped in. They were all talking over each other and laughing. They were having a great time. I didn’t recognise them all but I recognised most of them. Justin Lee Collins was there. Rory Beard Guy. Phil Tufnell. The one from Two Pints of Lager who was first in Hollyoaks. The one who looks like Carol who stinks up QI sometimes. That fucking idiot with the gammy eyes. Howard? Russell Howard? It was amazing. Soon the shop was nearly full of TV Celebrities. I thought about taking a picture with my phone but that wouldn’t have been cool and so I didn’t bother. I looked at Paula and Wellington and saw they were amazed too. Enrique, hearing the commotion came out of his office and nodded appreciatively at all the people in the shop but of course he didn’t have a clue who any of them were. Apart from maybe Jeremy Clarkson.

“Look at fucking him!” Shouted Rory Beard Guy. McGrath? He was pointing at Enrique. The other celebrities turned and saw Enrique and bellowed with laughter. Enrique didn’t know what was going on and he just smiled back and waved and went back into his office. I felt terrible but I managed to laugh along too.

“He always wears that,” I told Clarkson.

“Unbelievable,” he replied.

All the celebrities were picking stuff apart from Justin Lee Collins who was acting suspiciously and loitering down by the cupboard where we keep Henry the Hoover. I had to move across to the end of the counter to see him. I first thought he might be stealing something because celebrities do that. I wouldn’t have said anything if he was as it would have just caused trouble. His hands were definitely rummaging in his pocket and, you know, it looked like he was…

“He’s not is he?” I said to Clarkson as I pointed to Justin Lee Collins. Clarkson looked for a moment and then doubled over laughing before beckoning the other celebrities over.

“He’s… he’s doing it again!” Squeaked Clarkson hardly able to breath he was laughing so hard.

“Collins!” Shouted Tuffers and Justin Lee Collins looked over at us with what was at first a blank look on his face but then he seemed to realize where he was and his piggy eyes conveyed shock and surprise. He looked back at Paula who I noticed was being comforted by Wellington as they stared in horror at Justin Lee Collins masturbating in his trousers and then Justin Lee Collins half ran, half shambled down the aisle towards us, hands still deep in his pockets. We all recoiled. He did a body-swerve at the last minute and stumbled out of the doors. The one from Hollyoaks and then Two Pints of Lager had clapped him on the back as he passed. I looked at Wellington who was looking furious. It looked like he wanted to come down to where me and the celebrities were and punch the shit out them. Paula was holding his sleeve but I’m sure he could have broken free had he really wanted to which he obviously didn’t. He’s not that tough, it seems. I’d have battered all the celebrities if they’d done that to my woman.

“What a fucking sex pest!” Said Clarkson wiping tears from his eyes when he’d eventually regained his composure and then the celebrities queued up to pay for their stuff. Everybody paid except Rory Beard Guy. I told him his purchases totalled £7.80 and he handed me a five pound note. I held it for a second smiling before telling him that it was £7.80.

“Nah,  I think five pounds will cover it,” said Rory McGrath. I wondered how somebody so amusing on telly could suddenly be not very amusing.

“No!” I laughed looking at the other celebrities for support but they’d quietened down and were watching the proceedings while smirking.

“What did you just say to me?” Asked Rory McGrath. He was on that sport themed comedy with Gary Lineker. It was shit. Lineker’s a cunt too.

“Seven pound eighty-eight,” I said, surprising myself that I was sticking to my guns.

“Listen you…” Said Rory, going to climb over the counter before Clarkson stayed him with a large arm.

“This guy’s alright,” said Jeremy Clarkson authoritatively and Rory hopped down onto the floor staring daggers at me. “Just take the five pounds,” said Jeremy to me. I nodded and took the five pounds. When I put it in the till the excitement in the celebrities rose again and again the shop filled with noise. “You want to come with us?” Asked Jeremy Clarkson.

“Me?” I asked humbled.

“Yeah we’ve got great seats. Of course. Come along.”

I thought about it for a few seconds. I really wanted to go because they were all on the telly but I also didn’t actually want to go. There was no right answer.

“Nah,” I said at last.

“You’re not a fruit are you, scared of a little chicken blood?” Asked Jeremy Clarkson doing chicken arms wing dance thing not disimilar to Gob from Arrested Development.

“No, no, no,” I assured him. “It’s just…”

“Come on, it’s only sport!” Said Jeremy. He clearly was not used to people turning him down.

“It’s not really sport, is it?” I said and then to give meaning to the title of this post I added, “it’s like golf. It’s more of a game.”

“Uh oh!” Said Jeremy Clarkson moving out of the way like an opening door and pointing at what looked like a scruffy farmer. “That’s Ian Woosnam!” Said Jeremy.

“Is it?” I said not knowing what an Ian Woosnam was.

“Says golf isn’t a sport,” said Jeremy the snitch to Ian. The other celebrities went ‘ooooh‘.

“Well it’s not is it? It’s a game, like… like Tekken,” I said. I don’t like people who play golf. That’s the big message in this post. I watched as Ian Woosnam rolled his head around on his neck and then he rolled the sleeves up on his chequered Pringle jumper.

“Say that again,” said Ian Woosnam.

“Nah,” I said. I wasn’t scared though.

“Come on,” Jeremy said, ushering out his celebrities. Ian didn’t want to go at first but eventually Jeremy got him out. I watched as the celebrities did donuts then wheelspun out of the car park. Jeremy Clarkson did it while talking on his mobile phone.