My mate, the BFG and family, came over for a BBQ and to help with some furniture placement at the new place on Saturday. He had gone looking for our house on Google Earth and noticed something strange at the corner shop down the road.
I've decided that the people who run the cafe or the bottle shop are actually aliens, placed on earth to research our ways, ply us with caffeine or alcohol, and transmit the results back to their own planet. As they are just across the road from the golf club they are probably going to send pictures of my slice across the galaxy where it will be studied should it prove useful as a defensive fighting manoeuvre if they decide to begin their earthly domination on the first tee.
Nana has agreed to knit me a balaclava with built in moustache snood so that I can reconnoitre and provide counter intelligence to their evil plans.
Then again, if they're in the bottle shop they can't be all bad.