Golf Carts and the Ageing Bladder

There is a special place in the pantheon of baffling human inventions reserved for golf. Not golf as a sport, mind you — that would imply vigour, competition, and at least one drop of sweat. No, I speak of golf as the semi-spiritual shuffle of elderly men (and, occasionally, the tragically young-in-soul) across vast tracts of suspiciously well-manicured grass, punctuated by the occasional whack of a small white ball and the urgent, unspoken need to urinate.

It was during a recent pedestrian crossing of Charmouth Golf Course — a surreal pilgrimage through a field of tartan, glacial pacing, and passive-aggressive banter — that a pressing question seized me: Do golf carts have urinals?

They should. The average age of a golfer hovers somewhere between "retired" and "waiting for the will to be read." With prostates inflated like weather balloons and pelvic floors weaker than their swing speeds, the chances of a golfer being able to complete 9 holes (let alone 18) without a strategic detour into the bushes is slimmer than the waistband on their reinforced trousers.

And yet, the golf cart — this glorified mobility scooter with cupholders — has not, to my knowledge, evolved to accommodate the needs of its soggy demographic. Why not a catheter hook-up? A discreet tube leading into a sealed container labelled Titlepiss Pro V1? Surely some innovation is in order. We live in an age where Teslas can self-drive, yet Doug from the club has to relieve himself behind a rhododendron like a Victorian stable boy.

What is golf, really, if not an elaborately concealed walking tour of incontinence management? If men’s trousers were transparent, golf would look less like a game and more like an ambulatory dialysis session.

So I say: let us embrace reality. Outfit every cart with a deluxe urination module. Call it the Forestream. Let the lads relieve themselves with dignity, without the shame of soggy socks or trembling dashes to the clubhouse. And while we're at it, add a defibrillator, a miniature pub, and a therapist — because anyone who voluntarily plays a sport that takes five hours and ends in frustration and back pain clearly has other needs too.

Golf: the only game where the hazards aren't just sand traps, but time, mortality, and your lower urinary tract.