Easter Weekend

Ohhhhh Jesus. I am so fat. I have eaten my own bodyweight in chocolate and done no exercise (save some golf) since Thursday. I'm not counting squash on Friday, as with 6 of us there really wasn't a chance to work up a sweat.

On the other hand, I did have a lovely time. On Saturday, Koi and Pro arrived in time for lunch, which we had in St Andrews at the new restaurant in the Golf Hotel. The Golf has been taken over by Hotel du Vin, so we had high hopes. Unfortunately, I could only give them a rating of 6/10. It's all very new, so they're ironing out some kinks - but I don't think it's forgiveable to have a waitress taking your order then interrupt herself to answer the telephone. For a start, I don't think there should be a loud, persistent telephone in the restaurant disturbing diners anyway. Secondly, I'm getting incredibly cheesed off with the modern notion that the telephone comes first. In shops and restaurants you're constantly being interrupted in service because the assistant takes a call. Hey, I was there first! Telephoners are constantly queue jumping. Are we not British? Is queueing not sacrosanct? Is it not one of our greatest skills? Outrageous stuff. Anyway, I ordered calve's liver as a main course, which proved a major, major error as it was downright nasty. Luckily my starter of haddock chowder was delicious, while Fisher's starter of chicken liver parfait was divine. Pro's haddock-mashed-potato on toast was downright strange, and Koi wasn't entirely impressed with her starter either. She did have a really nice fish pie as main, but it was too vast. Why give someone more food than they can possibly eat? It's just an ostentatious display of gluttony, which puts you off.

After lunch, Pro and I went off to see if we couldn't get his golf clubs sorted out. It's my 30th birthday present to him, and has taken aeons to organise. This time wasn't much easier. Auchterlonies, whom we'd visited some weeks ago to be told the fitter wasn't there, now told us we had to go to the Old Course driving range, where Calloway has a factory shop. Auchterlonies were going to set up a fitting with Ping, but it wouldn't get done until Tuesday so the helpful guy told us to chance our arm just showing up at Calloway's. So we did - and the chap there fitted us in on Sunday at 4pm. Fantastic!

In the mood for golf, Pro and I went down to Drumoig and hit some balls at the range while Koi and Fisher entertained themselves. We had a supper of cold meats, salad and cheese, then went to bed. Next morning it was all go as I set myself to preparing Easter Sunday lunch for 8. I'd told people 1pm for eating, so if people could be there any time before that, fantastic. Blarney and Spartan told Fisher they'd be there at around 12, so I knew I was safe to get the food ready to eat at 1pm. I made a couple of cracks about the fact that Spar and Blar would almost certainly not arrive until teatime - but seeing as they said 12, I was pretty sure there was enough leeway.

Not so. While I was showering and changing, getting the sweat of hot-stove-slaving off and making myself slightly smarter than PJs, Koi got a message saying Spar and Blar were 'on their way' and due to arrive 'around 1pm.'

Naturally, I was not best pleased. I sent a text to ask where exactly they were, so I could judge for myself whether 1pm was likely, but my text went ignored. So did my calls to both mobiles. I then asked Koi to phone, thinking they may be ignoring me because they didn't want a row. She was ignored too. I phoned again, and either Blarney decided she really couldn't ignore me any more or they eventually heard the ring, so we had a brief word. They were at the Glenrothes roundabout, so about 30 minutes away, putting them arriving just as I was supposed to be serving food. I duly turned the lamb down, waving goodbye to the hopes of a crispy skin, and told myself not to be irritated. Blarney told me Spartan was sure I'd said 1.30pm, and I suppose it's possible - but it's also a fact that they told us they'd arrive around 12, so I cooked with that in mind. Adjusting cooking times to fit in with when Blarney turns up is a bit of a running theme to my cooking anyway (see Phid's restaurant night post, May 2007) so I suppose I really ought to expect it by now. She informed me they wanted to kill me, also, so it's probably a good thing we didn't make a big deal of it when they turned up and got their food put in front of them at their leisure. Anyway, neither of them read my blog, so I get to let off steam about it here. Ha ha.

Despite this slight setback, lunch was a jovial affair. The lamb was overdone, but nobody else seemed to notice and I wasn't going to draw attention to it.


After a long, leisurely lunch, I went into St Andrews with Pro, Spar and Arrow to get Pro's fitting done and have a bit of a smack on the driving range. The Old Course driving range is £7 for 100 balls! Outrageous - but then, they also have hoppers in which you dump your balls, and the tee emerges from the gound with your ball on it, like some sort of telepathic miracle. Pro got a fitting for free in the funky Calloway shop, with its computer that measures the generation of head speed and stuff. Pro, without even trying, generates a head speed of over 90mph - so when he learns how to really hit a ball he's going to be goddamned impossible to beat! He'll knock it 300 yards in his sleep. If I get a ball 250 yards, with roll, I'm a very happy bunny indeed.

The driving range was fun. We mocked Spartan for taking, literally, twice as long as the rest of us.

"Sorry," he said, "but you guys are so fast!"

"Yes," Pro agreed, "but then, unlike you, I'm not an 84 year old woman with blue hair." We laughed, not immoderately.

"Really?" Spar intoned, with brows raised. "That's not what it looks like from your swing."

We laughed, even less immoderately - at which the ball-buggy drove past, two feet in front of us, picking up dropped balls.

"Here he comes now, Pro," Spar grinned, "picking up all your drives."

Two women approached and stopped in the corridor as we were blocking it, watching Spar.

"Sorry," Pro said, making room. "We're just waiting for my grandmother to finish."

Ah banter. How I love it.

After the driving range was eventually done (and, I'd like to point out that the reason Spar takes so much longer is that he can actually hit a good drive 9 times out of 10 while the rest of us flail incompetently) we popped to the Jigger for a swift pint - then home to where the others had been playing a lot of cards. Arrow and Lu went home and I fed people bread, cheese and whatever scraps were left in the fridge. I was seriously NOT hungry - but ate a vast plateful of cheese and bread anyway.

Why?

On Easter Monday, Pro, Spar and I went to Elmwood golf course for a round. It was freezing! The icy wind blowing straight from the Arctic made some of the more exposed holes deeply unpleasant. Almost as unpleasant as watching Spar's drives fizz straight and true towards the hole while my own, more often than not, skidded left right and centre. I really wasn't having a good time of it - although I did manage a few fair shots, just to keep me hooked. Spar was kind enough to praise my swing, but pointed out that I was bringing the club head too far back. I tried a shorter swing and, lo, it worked - but he only pointed it out on about hole 8, so I didn't have very long to implement the changes. Pro was hitting some very fine drives, too - especially one on 7, which went right to the edge of the green. We were, however, complained about by some officious little bastards behind us who said we were holding up play. Rubbish. They were miffed because we only had 2 bags between 3 so Spar had to run to wherever I was to pick up a club. But they only had to wait on 2 holes, and then for only a short period. The club official was quite apologetic about it - especially when I pointed out that we're adults, and all they had to do was come up to us and ask to play through, rather than sending 'teacher' to scold us. The reason they didn't send anyone was because they were never close enough to actually reach us - which means we weren't holding them up enough for a complaint. Wankers. Plus, after the complaint we never had a single opportunity where we could let them play through. There were 4 of them, and they were taking even longer than us.

Good fun, though, despite the presence of my nemesis - 'Other People'. No doubt, Spar is in a very different leage to Pro and me (i.e - he can play) but it only makes me more determined to have some lessons and actually get better.


After shivering our way round 9 holes, we went home and picked up the others in order to head into St Andrews for some lunch. Fisher had booked us in at the West Port in St Andrews, so off we went. Traffic was a nightmare. With my usual parking karma we found a 'space' right outside the pub - while Spar had to circle for ages, then discover he'd left his wallet at ours so had only 75p for an 85p parking ticket, meaning Blar had to run out and take him 10p. Luckily we were all seated by the time our food came - and it was good stuff. I'd definitely recommend the West Port to visitors to St Andrews - although I don't like the main bar, which has individual TVs alongside some of the booths. Why would you want to watch TV when out for lunch with friends? Bizarre.

After our nice lunch, Pro and I went back to Auchterlonies to give them Pro's spec and order up some clubs. They're much more reasonable than I imagined, which is great news, and should be with us in a week to 10 days. I can't wait to see them, all shiny and new! I think I'll try and organise a lesson for when they arrive, so then we can go out together and get a golf ejucation - maybe Arrow would like to come too, then go out for a round after? Genius. Sounds great. Will see if I can arrange it.


Blar and Spar headed home after lunch, so it was just Pro and Koi who came home with us. They had a cup of tea and then departed. Poor Koi was suffering with tonsilitis all weekend, and just felt rubbish. We plied her with copious amounts of my hot toddies and Neurofen, but there's really no substitute for your own bed and the comfort of your own home, so I imagine she was quite keen to get back. I hope she's feeling a bit better today, and has got some antibiotics from the doc to knock it on the head.

Once everyone had gone home, I was able to succumb totally to the headache I'd been fighting all day. I flopped in the sitting room while Fisher, bless every single on of her adorable cotton socks, did all the tidying. I really did intend to do most of it myself, but I can't lie: I was thrilled to be allowed to soothe my throbbing head with a migraine cool-strip and sit quietly watching taped footie and Lost. We were in bed by 1, and fast asleep by 1.45 (at least, I was), and I awoke this morning feeling much refreshed - and determined not to eat anything for the rest of my life. Apart from the large bowl of chocolate frosties I ate for breakfast. Dammit! Still - going to the gym in a minute or two, so at least my exercise regime is back on track.

We have an adorable (so far!) dog called Holly staying. She's a whippet cross, a rescue dog, and really sweet. She hates our wooden floors, though, and it takes some effort to get her to walk on them. Could prove mildly problematic ...

Ok, that's all folks. Sorry - not a very entertaining post. I'm still a bit brain dead.

Friends Reunited.

Against my better judgement I've just completed a personality test online, which gave the usual sort of bumf about how outgoing I am, so confident and self-possessed, yet private and not very sociable blah blah blah - and yet failed to mention at any point that I'm a raging, fury filled misanthrope. Something that, I would have thought, would be hard to miss. Then again, this test didn't have questions like: "Do you hate mankind and all it stands for?" so how it expects to catch the personality type "Hater of Mankind and All it Stands For" I do not know. A fatal flaw.

It's that time of the month. Can you tell?

Actually, I don't hate mankind in its entirity. My friends remain tolerable creatures, and we've seen quite a lot of them over the last few weeks. However, before I relate all the delightful happenings with The Cheese Board and others, I'd better do a boring rundown of training.

My last run was the 30th of June, which is most remiss of me. I have been swimming and cycling, but I was very concerned I was losing my stamina for running. I did a swim and cycle 'brick' though, which was most invigorating. 400m in a time I remember I was pleased with, but I can't actually remember, and 5 miles on the bike on 'hill' - which basically goes steadily up from about resistance 4 to 20, then back to 18, then finishes on about 14 when you fall off and drown in a pile of sweat. Anyway, I did 5 miles in under 20 minutes which I was content with but have no idea whether it's good or not. Frankly, after the nearly drowning in a pile of sweat thing, I couldn't have cared less.

That was last week, though, and owing to the joys of mates, I haven't actually done any exercise since Wednesday, when I went slightly insane. I was feeling so hyper-energetic that, after my 'brick' I decided I wanted to enjoy the beautiful sunny evening and play a round of golf at Drumoig. This proved to be a very bad idea. I think Arrow must be some kind of golfing muse, because without his presence I proved to be the most embarrassing thing on a golf course since plus fours. Also, Drumoig appears to be full of people who actually know what they're doing, so having to play behind some wildly thrashing bint whose balls whizz off at angles and who then dances round in a club-waving frenzy, obscenities flying like flies off flung shite, must have been something of an unwelcome novelty. It didn't go well, to put it mildly. By the time I reached my last hole I was ready to cast my clubs into the loch and wipe my hands of them forever. However, a glimmer of hope emerged at the very last hole. It was a dog-leg fairway, with a copse and a small loch on the right, while the left side had a much bigger loch. It was also very long. I thought Sod it! I've come this far, it's been terrible, and I feel like just cracking the hell out of one last ball. If I lose it, fair enough. I'm done. So I went to the men's tee, lined it all up, and took a massive swing. Yesssss! I thought, as the driver struck cleanly and the ball went soaring out from the tee.

Alas, just as I was rejoicing, it started to slice. Badly. Off it went, curling round like a fresh laid turd, heading straight for the right hand loch. Bye bye ball, I snarled to myself. Then I shrugged. It wasn't going as far as the loch after all - it was heading for the scrubby copse just before it. Who cares? A lost ball in the water is no different from a lost ball in thistles, thought I.

But what was this!!?? It was dropping faster than I thought. Perhaps it would land just my side of the copse, caught by the fence, and stay in play? It would be in the longer grass just before the fairway, but hell - better that than a dropped shot. I crossed my fingers, held my breath, and watched as the ball dropped ... dropped ...

... and hit the edge of a fence post and bounced five yards down the fairway! It was a peach!

It was also a sign from the gods that my time was up. I would live to fight another day, but now was the moment to call it quits and head home. I went down to where my little ball lay, some 250 yards from the tee, picked it up and put it in my pocket. I then turned and waved to the next group of players who'd emerged at the top, telling them to play through. I was done.

Beat that! I smirked, turning away as the first, elderly bloke lined up his shot. And as I headed away from the hole towards the hotel and a well earned drink, I heard the soft thud of a landing golf ball. I turned just in time to see a little white ball shooting some 75 yards further down the fairway and coming to rest in a perfect position for a chip onto the green.

Rotten bastard.

I can't say I really enjoyed the round, but it's done nothing to dent my enthusiasm. I've definitely caught the golf bug, and will be taking some lessons soon. Watch this space.

Next day, an old friend from university came to stay. He tracked me down on Facebook, and I mentioned he should drop by for a visit next time he was in the vicinity - which he then proceeded to do, bless his cotton socks. He has a very glamorous sounding life, being an opera singer in training and living in Cologne while darting about doing auditions in the UK. The day before he came to us he had an audition in Glasgow for a part in ... er ... I've forgotten. No, wait - it was cover for the part of Pistol, so it's Falstaff. Anyway - he got it, so we went out to celebrate at The Fish Restaurant in St Andrews. Lovely stuff. The whole visit was very easy-going. He didn't mind walking the dogs along West Sands, or sitting and chatting as I watched a bit of Wimbledon, so all in all it was a very lovely visit. Even the weather managed to be half decent. We finished the night off with a glass of Talisker, then retired at a not unreasonable hour as Pistol had to be up and away relatively early for his flight back home.

That was the first bout of sociability. The next was the very welcome arrival on Friday of Ceegar and Meeper, along with bearded collie Poppy who made her presence known by leaping into the pond within 5 minutes of her arrival. We headed off to Tentsmuir to give all the dogs a run on the beach, and ourselves some much needed fresh air. We then went into Dundee and got takeaway from the admirable Rama Thai, which Ceegar had to pay for owing to us leaving both our wallets behind (a cunning plan - a ha ha ha). We munched this down with the unorthodox, but always delicious, accompaniment of champagne, courtesy of our very generous pals, and then a bottle of white for the three laydeez and a bottle of red for Ceegar. We chatted merrily until well past our bed times, then hit the hay.

The next day we went to the farmers' market in St Andrews, then took a walk on West Sands. We were lucky enough to catch some seals bathing very close to shore, in the shallow waters between the end of West Sands and Leuchars air base. Ceegar took several pictures, dallying behind as the rest of us romped with the dogs. They are truly lovely creatures to watch: so playful and graceful in the water. Fisher and I are spoiled rotten by the fact Tentsmuir plays host to a seal colony, so we see lots of them almost every time we take the dogs that far up and have become almost as blasé about them as rabbits! It takes seeing them through someone else's eyes to remind us how lucky we are. (Also, going for a surf on Tiree while a seal swam beside us, watching us with bold curiosity, kind of makes other sightings pale into insignificance!)

After our walk we played the Himalayas (my golf hadn't improved but this was much more fun) and Meeper kicked all our arses. It's such good value for money! 18 holes of semi-crazy putting for the bargain price of £1.50 each. Or was it £2.50? Well, hell, either way it's cheap as chips for a good hour's entertainment. We followed it up with lunch at Ma Bells, then tootled home for the Wimbledon Ladies' Final (Venus Williams won in 2 sets, very emphatically), a nap, then buffalo steaks from the farmers' market for supper. I was feeling horribly sick, however, owing to eating too much during the day, so only had a taste or two of Fisher's steak. I'd never had buffalo before. It's good. It has a richer, bloodier taste to it than beef, and a slightly stronger aftertaste.

Despite afternoon naps for Ceegar, Meeper and Fisher, everyone seemed as tired as I was after supper, and we were all in bed just after midnight. What rockin' young things we are. Still, Fisher and I had to get to Glasgow the next day for lunch with the Cheese Board, and we didn't want to be hungover or too tired to enjoy it.

Next day, we left Ceegar and Meeper to let themselves out and headed to Glasgow in glorious sunshine. We were off for a Cheese Board Only lunch at - no kidding - The Cheese Café. It proved easy enough to find, although it was a long journey for us owing to T in the Park traffic clogging Kincardine and surrounds. We were the last there, and greeted with cheers - which was only excrutiatingly embarassing. Anyway, a merry couple of hours were spent in amiable company, eating rather a lot of cheese and having a giggle. Whether The Cheese Café was worth a 2 hour car journey or not was quite beside the point. The Cheese Board is always worth it. (Just in case there are people reading this who don't know, or if I suffer dementia at any time, The Cheese Board consists of: Me, Fisher, Koios, Blarney, Phid and Janus, and are in the photo I use in my profile).

After a leisurely lunch, we drove home. Luckily, the traffic wasn't nearly as bad in that direction and we made it back in an uncanny hour and a half. Plus, none of our snooty Edinburgh friends turned into gnomes from the Glasgow taint, and Helga's hubcaps were intact upon our return. I, of course, having a healthy dose of Glasgow blood, had no cause to worry anyway.

Back at home I watched the Wimbledon men's final - which Federer won after a 5 set battle with Nadal, to equal Borg's record 5 titles. It was the best final I've seen since Rafter v Ivanisevic in 2001 - although the crowd wasn't a patch on the 2001 lot, which was made up of a swathe of members of the general public, who were let in because the final had to be played on Monday. I'm not usually snobby about who gets tickets to things - I don't think being rich should count against you - but I have to say, Wimbledon could really do with more oomph when it comes to the supporters. Fewer corporate boxes, please, and more rowdy, partisan fans. It doesn't need to be like the crass US Open, but a happy medium would be perfect.

That was Sunday done for (after also watching highlights of Jamie Murray and Jelena Jankovic winning the mixed - hurrayyyy!) and I slept like the dead.

Monday was a day of mundanity, but I did go to the gym and run my fastest ever 5k at 33 minutes and 13 seconds. I know, it's rubbish in comparison to people who can actually move their legs - but I was very pleased. Fisher also managed her fastest 5k, at just under 27 minutes, so I was quickly put in my place - but I refuse to have my spirit dampened. I was worried that cutting down on my running would seriously affect my stamina, but it looks like the swimming and cycling have not only kept my stamina up, but improved my speed. So hurrah!

That evening, we went into Edinburgh to see Kois and Protagoras and try The New Bell restaurant. It was a lovely evening, with chat free flowing and the food good save for the steaks which were horribly overcooked. Why is a rare steak so difficult to find? Both Prot and I asked for them rare and got them medium at best, and well done in places. The chunky chips were great, though, and everthing else passed muster. On the plus side, the wine was great! We had something neither Koios nor I had ever heard of before (doubtless revealing our appalling ignorance), and if I can just remember what it is, I'll order a case! It was deliciously rich, dark and chocolatey, and I would have sworn it was much older than 2003 from the brown meniscus (sp?). I'm going to have a think and try and remember the name.

SANGIOVESE, Step Rd, Australia.

That's what it was, and most delicious it was, too.

Anyway, we had a most gigglesome meal (particularly entertaining being suggested Christmas gifts of baked loaves ... but that's a private joke) and despite it's shortcomings, The New Bell is somewhere I'd go back to - and not order the steak.

This all brings me up to date, thank god. If anyone has the patience to read all the way through it, god help them. It can't be particularly rewarding - so if you're still with me, thanks! Have a glass of Sangiovese as reward.