It was on the enchanted shores of Tioman that Christopher and Alwyn, armed with clubs, hope, and an astonishing lack of golfing prowess, embarked upon a round best described as “eccentric.” The opening salvo came at the 10th, where, mistaking coconuts for tee markers, our heroes sent them trundling off with all the gravitas of startled hedgehogs.

At the infamous 16th—a par three cunningly disguised as a cliffside punishment—the laws of physics were not so much broken as roundly mocked. Balls soared, vanished, and reappeared in places most unexpected.

Wildlife abounded: buffalo hosted impromptu picnics mid-fairway; chickens adopted golf balls as their own; monkeys were anarchists, gleefully relocating anything spherical.

Alwyn’s caddy, calm as Jeeves in a typhoon, guided with saintly patience. The other expressed his good humour vocally after the rare straight drive.

As the sun bowed out in a blaze of glory and Tiger beer, Christopher and Alwyn declared it the finest round never to grace the record books. Skill was in short supply, but mirth and mayhem reigned supreme. And somewhere on the 12th, a bogey was made—a small miracle in paradise.