The purity of the turf

Favorite thing in the Times the other day: Charles McGrath is positively Wodehousean in this piece about sublimely bad golf courses:

The fifth, sixth and seventh are the apogee — or maybe the perigee — of Bristol. I used to dream about them all the time, and in my dreams, the fairways were lined on the right side with old aircraft engines. What a surprise, then, to discover that where I remembered some scattered pieces of rusting steel, there was in fact a full-fledged junk yard, with two large orange cranes dipping and poking into mountains of metal and plastic pipe like giant prehistoric birds picking up straw.