6:30 p.m. My 48-hour sentence is up, and I'm sprung. It is possible that my exhaustion has made me overly sentimental, but I am touched that Eng has dropped by to witness my deliverance. With surprisingly steady hands I pull the duct tape off the remote, and press the OFF button.
The screen does not go dark. I have merely deactivated the satellite. Eng and I are now tuned into the local channel 3, which is broadcasting Baywatch. In this episode Pamela Anderson has entered a dance competition. Before the contest she asks David Hasselhoff to "dip" her, to ensure that "everything stays in place."
As Hasselhoff obliges, the camera provides us with a close-up of the golden valley of Anderson's cleavage. Golf's magnificent arena has nothing on this.
Eng notes that there is plenty of sunlight left, enough for a quick nine, if we hurry. But I have a date. I walk down the corridor, down a flight of steps, out into the warm evening air, toward the pool.