The Unappreciated Joy of Anticipation

Our main objective, naturally, was golf.

We organised a reunion of the Eden boys in St Andrews earlier in May for a trip that might very well be our last as claimants of the towns copious student benefits. Of course, there’s the golf with its green fee reductions. But there are also more cultural activities, shall we say, which have an expiry date for acceptability. Certain bars and late night hangouts become more and more unjustifiable as the clientele get ever further away from us in age gap, and so it was a weekend of ‘lasts’ for lots of reasons.

Our main objective, naturally, was golf. The Royal & Ancient Golf Club of St Andrews host the Local Clubs Gold Medal each year, boasting a field of the top golfers from the R&A, The New Club, The St Andrews Golf Club and the University Golf Club in the mens section. The date was set for Sunday 19th May and our eyes were on the infamous prize. Retelling the story is far less glamorous than we had hoped, but I’ll start at the beginning.

I hustled across London to Kings Cross Station on Friday afternoon to catch the 6pm train to Leuchars. I wasn’t graced with a direct train so I was acutely aware that might change of train in Edinburgh would be a taxing affair. But high in spirits and fuelled by a pint of crisp lager at the station watering hole, the anticipation to return home was growing by the minute. Almost all high quality golf trips from London start at Kings Cross St Pancras. You’re either heading north to the motherland, or you’re heading south easterly to the pristine links at Sandwich. Leaving the west of London golf aside, it is the inevitable start line for golf adventures worth taking.

Some daring folk elect to fly up to Scotland from London City airport, dashing straight from work and arriving in Edinburgh in good time. I’m of the opinion that this method is all too quick. Within the first few sips of your gin and tonic on the plane, you’re already making your descent to Edinburgh. The 45 minutes of flight time doesn’t allow for the same level of contemplation, and the crescendo of excitement and day dream that builds ever slowly on the LNER service northward is an essential part of the grounding process.

Not quite a gin and tonic at cruising altitude, my 4 pack of Beavertown Gamma Ray American Pale Ale’s were hitting the spot nicely. As the sun made its way toward the horizon on my left I threw on some Open highlights from past championships at St Andrews to get in the Links frame of mind. I’d heard from the boys that April and May had been historically dry - some 28 days of unbroken sunshine and warm weather had dried the fairways and hardened the greens. Accordingly, I needed to get my expectations back to the right place. I was wearing my new Johnstone vest from Glenmuir, newly adorned with a rather nice white Eden ring logo. A judder on the tracks sent a can of beer spilling over the rim and down the front of the vest. It spilled off in little pellets and into my lap. I was glad to have tested out the waterproofing feature in an appropriately rigorous test.

We crossed the Scottish border in good time. The Open highlights had switched to the live coverage of the PGA at Quail Hollow CC as the night drew later, and I was reminiscing about my illustrious round there last summer whilst visiting Charlotte. It was hard then, it must be impossible now, I thought. Rough like cabbage eats up the ball and snarls back at you when you hopelessly attempt to retrieve your errant drive and put the ball back in play. It was shaping up to be a good championship. Knowing that the coverage would be on late into the evening in the Dunvegan made the prospects for the weekend extremely positive.

All good trips start with some form of setback. I like to think of these as delaying ones arrival in a way that keeps the giddy anticipation alive. As we trundled along the East Lothian coastline we came to a slow halt and the tannoy speakers itched out a cryptic message. Somehow, someway, there was a fire on the tracks between Dunbar (very apt) and Edinburgh. We could not pass through until the fire had been extinguished, we were told. Fortunately, I had booked a connecting train that allowed for 45 minutes of layover at Waverley station but as the night drew on, this layover was being eaten up. Once we hit the 30 minute mark of being stationary on the platform at Dunbar station, I’d started to think of backup strategies. Staying in Edinburgh for the night and catching the early bird train to Leuchars seemed like the most likely option - though it’s appeal was far from optimal. This setback was starting to look like a minor catastrophe in the minor scheme of things for the weekend schedule. Finally, after an hour, we got moving and pulled into Waverley station an hour and five minutes later. Comically, I watched from the window as my train to Leuchars pulled out of the station just as we arrived. It was the last carriage home for the night and this didn’t sit well with me.

Uber came to the rescue. Given that we were an hour late, we were issued a full refund for the train tickets and the reinvestment into a taxi seemed like the best idea at the time. Called, hailed and sat in the back of the Toyota people carrier, my driver and I were blistering out of Edinburgh with the Grey Toon in mind. Setbacks must not define a trip. I was making it to St Andrews that evening by any means necessary.

I pulled up to The Links, our proud ‘Eden HQ’, at 1:15AM. The fresh sea air was welcomed after a long evening of travel and the Old Course lay sleeping over the fence. Despite the lack of light, you could see the burnt grass and fast conditions clearly down the 1st and 18th, both catching some nightly respite from the ongoing barrage of the warm conditions. I dumped my stuff, linked up with the boys who’d kindly stayed awake for my arrival and we headed out to the bar. A Belhaven Best was the only solution to my tumultuous evening. The couch at 14 The Links, if you ever find yourself horizontal there, overlooking the R&A clubhouse and the 18th green is the perfect bed for a golf trip to St Andrews.

The decision to arrive the night before paid it’s dividends the next morning. We had a full day planned with two tee times, 36 holes on the agenda and a mission to film as much as possible. We rolled across to the Jubilee starter ready for our 10:36 departure. The sun was blazing and the beige fairways of the Jube looked even more slick than on the Old. Dotted amongst the brown carpet ahead, jade coloured greens, watered and healthy, stood valiant. Charlie and Will pounded long irons down the middle and I hit a fairway finding stinger 3 wood to start the weekend. More of that to come, I thought.