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:
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