IF there were consistently funnier TV comedy moments in the 1970s and 80s than when Messrs Barker and Corbett read spoof news stories at the beginning and end of The Two Ronnies then I wasn't privy to them.

Even now, the following - impeccably delivered by Ronnie Barker - makes me howl with laughter: "The perfect crime was committed last night, when thieves broke into Scotland Yard and stole all the toilets. Police say they have absolutely nothing to go on."

Or how about this from his diminutive partner: "After a series of crimes in the Glasgow area, Chief Inspector McTavish has announced he's looking for a man with one eye. If he doesn't find him, he's going to use both eyes."

I'll be the first to admit my comedy writing skills are non-existent, and due to my lacking a phone number for Corbett and Barker lacking a beating heart I'll never know how they might have conjured belly-wobbling mirth from the news last week that thieves have stolen £26,000 of golf clothing from a shop in Linlithgow. It's crying out for a punchline, isn't it?

Given the woeful nick of golf fashion, if you can even call it that, and the fact the shop is called Golfposer, you can only imagine the horrors being offered to drinkers in West Lothian pubs this weekend in exchange for hard cash.

Granita pink slim-fit slacks, sir? Yours for 20 sheets. No, I don't have them in a 44in waist. Or can I interest sir in a floral-print shirt, new for spring-summer 2015? This natty little number's £95 in the shops but sir may have it for a tenner. It'll make sir quite the draw with the lady members. I'll even throw in a matching cap - sir might need it to swat away the bumblebees.

My own approach to golf apparel is conservative. Trousers, shirts and sweaters should be unpatterned and a sober colour - grey is good; blue is better. Shoes should be plain white or black, sans the dreaded tassels, and should not resemble trainers or football boots.

With shorts, meanwhile, you can get away with a fine check but never, ever flowers. The latter would get you suspended sine die, and that won't wash with your matchplay partner after he's carried your inept ass to the semi-finals of the Macdonald Fraser Jubilee Quaich, repeatedly fibbing to his line manager about ongoing dental work to ensure a succession of early cuts and allow for tackling the pile-up of early-season fixtures that are the curse of the eager club golfer.

That said, Ronnie Corbett has form in the sartorial-crimes-on-a-golf-course department, and he makes me laugh like a drain. Maybe I should loosen up and embrace my inner golf twonk. Anyone fancy a pint in Linlithgow?