The girl in the little red dress claps a beat as I come running, cries: “Go, go, go, you!” in a voice borrowed from a boy.
The smiling trio side-by-side are playing happy pets under their picnic blanket, judging by the denim constrictors round their ankles.
“New balls!” the elderly tennis player seems to whisper, as he cycles into the bush for some game, set, match and love.
The boardroom tiger, shades still on, whips off his tie and heads into the bush for some how’s-your-father before heading home.
These two lads need to change their bumper sticker to: “If this Golf is cooking, why not come looking?”