GOLF STORY #2

Despite all good intentions to the contrary I have four hefty business proposals to finalise in the next few days and I absolutely promised myself I would spend all day today getting them started - and over and done with soonest, and into the hands of my extremely capable staff!

So I sat down at my computer:



Oh! as you can see I'm not there - that's because the sun came out and I thought, oh well, it might not come out again, Scottish weather being supposedly unpredictable, so I'll go and play nine holes of golf.

Off to Leitfie Links, the wee course at Strathmore where every hole is quaintly named after a birdie (not that I scored any): Plover, Skylark, Osprey, Buzzard, Mallard (my favourite, a par on that one), Heron, Pheasant, Partridge and Curlew. Hardly any fellow players, so I whizzed through nine holes and thought, what the hell, sun's still shining so I'll go round again.

The view from Pheasant (or the 7th/16th):



Royal Mail and all the posties have gone on strike which under normal circumstances would not bode well for my newspaper delivery. But there was a very nice note in yesterday's Courier, informing me that my papers would be left at the village store today. On my way back from Leitfie I popped into the Post Office at Bridge of Cully and thanked the postmaster and also advised that I really did not have time to read two papers each day and changed my order from The Courier and The Times to The Scotsman daily plus The Observer on Sunday. He sort of squinted at me in a way that seemed to suggest such a radical change of mind was unprecedented but only to be expected from one of my kind (Australian? woman?).

Andy - the Army major who was the fourth member on the Quiz Night team - turned up at my front door this afternoon with a golf pull buggy! He had found it whilst clearing out his garage and thought I might like to borrow it whilst I am here. Such neighbourliness.

More gentlemanly behaviour from Gordon who picked up my papers for me from the village store; printed off some documents I needed; and stored my borrowed golf buggy in his shed.

It wouldn't happen in the city ......

TRIVIA, ROYALTY & PYROMANIA

Last night was Quiz Night at the local hotel (as opposed to the local pub which is a different establishment altogether and one which I am yet to experience). Jeanette escorted me in time for the 9.00pm start, a bit of a struggle as my jet lag kicked in at around 8.45pm.

I met Gilmore, Paul and Andy (my teammates), although actually Andy and I were superfluous to requirements as Gilmore and Paul by their own admission must be pretty sad because they knew the answers to everything. Okay, so right now I am going to plead EXTREME jet lag by the time the starters gun went off. I am ashamed to say that I acquitted myself appallingly, apart from one question which only I seemed to know the answer to - which in itself is a bit embarrassing and is no doubt now the talk of the village: How is Oliver Mellors more commonly known? see end of post, no cheating. The other two questions which I was considered the most likely person in the room to know the answer to (but didn't) were:

1. Identifying a picture of Melbourne
2. Knowing how many players make up a team in Aussie Rules.

So I think that might be the end of my Quiz Night career. But whilst I wasn't invited back onto the team, Gilmore did say he would take me to his golf club, which he assures me has pull buggies for hire.

This morning I drove to Perth where Scone (pronounced skoon to rhyme with spoon) Palace is located, and which closes tomorrow for winter. A magnificent estate that has been there since 12th century and was traditionally the place where kings and queens went to be crowned. It was slightly odd, in that the house is the current home of the Earl of Muirhead, his family have lived there for 400 years, and many of the ancestors hang the walls in a typically sombre fashion. But the current Earl has peppered everything with photos of himself and his family (often just higgedly-piggedly in large glass cases), dotted amongst more sets of dinner china than one family could possibly need, some exquisite antiques and some ghastly furniture.



Back to my cottage, and with a little help from Gordon over a wee cup of tea, I grappled with the niceties of my fireplace and the complex procedure of building a fire. As a picture tells a thousand words, here are the results:







A: Lady Chatterley's Lover

GOLF STORY #1

This morning, as there was a glimmer of sun poking through the clouds, I thought I'd head out to the 'nice wee nine hole golf course just nearby' thinking a bit of fresh air, and a stroll around a short, easy course would be a good way to blow the jet lag and cobwebs away.

A good half hour's drive and I arrive at the hotel which boasts on its entry sign that it has a golf course. I'm a bit bemused because all I can see is fields and sheep and not much sign of a golf course - or golfers - but as I draw closer I see a bedraggled flag on what purports to be a putting green but I guess the greenkeeper hasn't had time today to give it a mow. Undeterred, I head for the pro shop, which doubles as the hotel Reception.

Now, I should have known I was in for trouble when the receptionist (a) told me they had no golf pull-buggies, which meant, as I had not brought a caddie with me, I'd have to carry my clubs and (b) there was no scorecard.

There was no scorecard because I suspect no one EVER SCORES ANYTHING on this particular course. Either you expire of exhaustion from lugging your clubs up and down dale or you lose all your balls in the roaring stream (stream ho ho! you could whitewater raft on it) or in the gorse/heather/local scrub.

After valiantly dragging myself and my clubs around the nine holes - having seen not one other golfer (see above for the reasons why) I fell gasping back into the hotel, slugged back a bottle of water and smiled politely when they said 'see you again' (not on your nellie).

On the way home I spent a happy hour exploring the local pottery. As soon as I set foot through the door I was offered a cup of tea 'to browse with' - what excellent customer service, of course I ended up well and truly covering the cost of my tea - these Scots aren't called canny for nothing.

The Perth Courier and The Times were delivered! But I am cancelling The Times - NOT because my friend Diane said I should be getting The Telegraph, but because I just can't imagine why I thought I'd have time to read two papers everyday.

This is the armchair I would sit in to read the paper:

I'VE ARRIVED!

Three flights, one hire car and more than 30 hours after leaving Sydney, here I am in my village (which will remain anonymous to protect the natives). The drive from Edinburgh was amazing - the countryside is just beautiful and got more so the further into the Highlands I went - and it's autumn so the colours are just incredible. I went through stone walled villages, past lush lush pastures, suddenly turned a corner to be presented with a breathtaking vista - it's amazing I didn't have an accident, especially as the locals drive at terrifying speeds around windey roads, I think a few whiskies has taken all sense of fear or caution from them.

My cottage is totally divine - it only has a back door - I've taken a pic of what I look out onto from my desk (and will post up soon when I've worked out the technology), which is tucked into a corner of the dining room. That sounds grand but it is a very SMALL dining room, complete with granny rocker (which I have plans to move into the living room - I'm nesting).

So I can report that I've been here less than a day and it has been jam-packed. Firstly I went to the village store and met Fiona and Sally (who seemed to have had advance warning of my arrival) and stocked up on neccessities (tea, wine, oj - a liquid diet as you can see). I asked about buying a paper but was told that if I wanted a paper to go to the next village's Post Office where they would order it for me and the postie would deliver it each day.

Having unpacked, I hopped back into the hire car (which I keep forgetting has a clutch. Embarrassing.) and off I went at 3.00pm to order my paper. Next village about 20 minutes drive away. Oops - it's Wednesday which means early closing at 1.00pm. Fortunately the postmaster was just locking up so he unlocked and we have negotiated a local paper and The Times each day - which I should get by midday - snow, sleet and deer crossing road permitting.

Back at my village I went next door for a quick cuppa with my new neighbour and landlady, Jeanette, who is just absolutely georgeous - and a mine of information on everything from the local hat making classes (one day, 25 pounds or 40-something dollars) to the best golf courses (Dalmunzie but not pronounced anything like you'd expect it to) and the finer quirks of my heating system. Three hours later and quite a few cuppas I am back in my cottage!

If this is village life, I hope I have the stamina!

PS - a neighbour called Ian dropped in two potatoes and someone else left me 6 eggs.