Bunkered at Lytham

Imagine, then, my reaction to a call from a friend earlier this year asking if I'd like to play Royal Lytham & St Annes immediately after the Open. We would play the same tees as the pros, my friend said, the pin placements would remain as they did for the final day of the championship and the grandstands (minus the spectators of course) would still be in place. Wow! I was going to be at Lytham in any case covering the event. It was one of the easier decisions I've ever had to make.

During the Open itself I followed the world's greatest around what was an unquestionably demanding yet magnificent test of golf. Lytham, as we all know, bore its teeth that weekend, with poor Adam Scott coming a cropper over the closing stretch when the Claret Jug was all but in his grasp. I spent the night prior to my round going through each and every hole in my head. As far as goals went, I had two: avoid the bunkers (easier said than done at Lytham with its 206 dastardly pits) and try and better Scott's final four-hole score of four-over-par. I didn't get much sleep.

The next morning I arrived at the clubhouse to find workers dismantling the tented village that had housed the concessions, the merchandise stands, the sponsors pavilions and the media centre. However, even with the trucks and teams of workers milling around, there was still a sense of reverence and almost a hush as they went about their business. A stroll past the Dormy House and putting green to the Pro Shop of Eddie Birchenough (the club pro for the past 25 years) and then on to the first tee situated just behind.

I’ve played Carnoustie in remarkably calm conditions and I’ve also played it in remarkably foul conditions and that made it clear to me that if I’m playing any course, I want it to be in “typical” conditions. I once played Machrihanish, that wonderful links at the Mull of Kintre, with the wind blowing in the exact opposite direction to what it normally does. It was a soulless experience. I spent much of the morning wondering why there were so many irrelevant bunkers and swales as I boomed shots over them or landed well short of trouble. Luckily, the wind switched around during lunch, and I found myself buried in the self-same hazards, but knowing I was now getting the authentic atmosphere that had been missing earlier. Alright, so we finished that day in weather worse than the bishop encountered in Caddyshack but what a magnificent experience.