VALHALLA BOUND- Part 3

 

Following the deferrying at Cairnryan, the Regans’ Scottish leg kicked off with a café stop somewhere on the way to Ayr. While waiting for our coffees in a booth we heard a ‘conversation’ taking place with some youngish tradie locals at the counter. They were laughing, talking, laughing again, talkies etc. etc. and Kerry and I just shook our heads. We had no fuckin’ idea about the keynote topic, what the words were nor the reason for their mirth. These citizens speak a whole different language and yet it’s nominally ‘English’. The coffees were good, though.

We visited Troon later that afternoon. First rate place and the pro even gave me a couple of free cards to the two testing layouts (Portland and Royal Troon) that snake their way alongside the beach. A busload of sharply dressed yanks arrived while we were there and emptied an attached enclosed trailer of golf bags. No push buggies for these boys.

If the last lap on the ghost train or the trek to Valhalla is to have any meaning for the mug golfer, a touchdown at St Andrews should be on the waiting room’s dance card. Unlike Troon, the Royal and Ancient charged for its score cards and the princess coughed up about two weeks’ wages for said card, a t-shirt and a couple of coffees. However, there was a lot more movement allowed around the perimeters of the course, especially that section incorporating the first and second holes as well as the two finishers. A quick sprint (well, a pretty fast walk) down to the pointy end of the Road Hole was rewarded with the sound of a golf ball clattering around on the hotel roof. To me, this was the stuff of the spirit world, or Hades if you had access to a driver. Kerry and I shadowed two players who were finishing off the 17th and then the 18th holes. They must have been in their mid to late sixties and both avoided the Valley of Sin on their approaches to the large 18th green (aided by a back pin placement) and secured relatively easy pars. Good golfers- even old ones- are pricks in my humble opinion.

The surprising thing about St Andrews was how manicured the fairways were. It’s not something that you expect on a links course and even the rough didn’t look too bad.

Sometimes it’s the unexpected/ unplanned things that really stand out when the bell is ringing. We spent two days on the Isle of Skye and our base was a bed and breakfast in Uig. It was a top-notch joint but had the special ‘weirdness’ that B&Bs often display….in this case, no wearing of shoes in the house. It didn’t matter that much because the place was spotless, modern and the owners were affable and accommodating (no pun intended) except for loafers. It was the best place we stayed in on the entire holiday. After arriving back fairly late from the local pub on one of the evenings, Kerry and I inspected the night skies and, in the space of about fifteen minutes, spied four satellites passing overhead. The owners and some other guests came out and we ended up all searching for man-made projectiles in total darkness except for the stars and miscellaneous UFOs. The grog probably assisted and I’m pretty certain that I saw Big Foot lurching around near the shoreline in front of the house.

Motoring around the Isle of Skye.




Skye residents suggesting that we fuck off.

 

Edinburgh was fantastic. Spired buildings, dark colours, bright colours, very green parks and gardens, pretty decent sound lounges and a ‘long hair’ perspective that would rival even Bogan Greystanes. The gothic rocket intrigued me but we didn’t climb it. The fact that it was close to a train line only added to its allure (FYI, I love railways). The National Museum of Scotland was also fab but Dolly the sheep didn’t look too flash. Well, she wasn’t moving around much and she did appear a tad stuffed to my sharp eyes. Loved the Scottish Parliament House and the snack bar there wasn’t bad either.

Globalisation takes few prisoners and Caledonian hair parlours feature the same body building Lebs that inhabit the grand Cumberland plain. And for five quid they don’t do a bad job either. But who am I to stereotype?

-To be continued-