I never got a bag at the Dunhill this year which is not totally surprising as I’m a pretty compromised caddie, out of favour with the Links Trust, who can’t read a putt or use a yardage book.
Moreover, my man from last year, David Walsh the Sunday Times journalist, never responded. Think he was still reeling from the fact that he put a splendidly hit 7 iron safety shot, on the 10th at Carnoustie, into the drink (or more correctly, I put him into the drink). Ok, it wasn’t the best call from me, but you could have responded to my email David. I have very thin skin.
I actually saw him on the practice area at the weekend, said hello and I must say he did look a tad sheepish ( I know when David is nervous as he goes ‘yeh,yeh,yeh,yeh’ in rapid succession), asked who I was caddying for and was not able to hide the fact that he and I knew he’d asked a pretty rhetorical question.
I did, however, meet good old sound Charles who owns HK Golf in the Dunvegan, and we had a mighty chat. He is a wonderful raconteur and extremely good company.
I wrote my Ryder Cup article, hit the practice area several times, got a job for the winter, admired the building work in our wee Murrayfield venture, went to buy furniture in Pittenweem, had the best hot chocolate I’ve ever had, met lovely Ben for coffee in Edinburgh, got a couple of nice emails from American golf buddies, listened to the Shipping Forecast and wished I hadn’t, read some Tolstoy and heard some wonderful Vaughan Williams, dropped into Dundee Police Station, went to Sofology and DFS, had too much coke, considered moving to Edinburgh, landed an eleven to oner in the 7.15 at Wolverhampton, finally found the Bridge Club in St Andrews and noted that it was ladies only, talked to a few random strangers and wept over the nomination of Brett Kavanaugh to the Supreme Court and the gender specific nature of the St Andrews Bridge scene.
That means there are four ladies-only clubs here.
I feel a storm coming.