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Closed?
Having spent 22 of the last 48 hours at the Open Championship I’ve come to realise the truth of an observation my son made some months ago.
I saw a lady from the Cooncil, Angela Leitch, the chief executive, no less, holding forth on telly a couple of nights ago about the contribution, an alleged £70 million, that the event is making to the local economy. That’s not what I’m hearing.
Where local businesses might have expected to benefit, and have invested accordingly, they have found that the footfall has been far less than expected. I’ve even heard it said that our local Co-op is doing less business than it would in a normal week. Why? Because, as AJ predicted at the start of the year, the vast majority of visitors to the Championship never set foot in Gullane. They are brought in on buses to the public entrance to the course, from Drem railway station and from Park and Ride facilities, and taken away by the same fleet at the end of the day. At the entrances, they are greeted by a small army of people from London, amiable employees of the notorious G4S of Olympics fame, very few of whom seem to have the faintest idea where they are. Other visitors to the event, and even local residents with little or no interest in the Open, are positively discouraged from going anywhere near the local shops by a fairly aggressive traffic management plan, implemented by East Lothian Council and Police Scotland.
As a result of this, all of the visitor spend is being directed into the avaricious grasp of the R&A, who have ensured that it goes on a very limited range of over-priced Open-branded goods, from which only they and their main sponsors profit, and on very expensive food and drink served up by the R&A’s own bars or by concession stalls, all of them staffed by people with no local roots at all.
So you see, Ms Leitch, you’ve been stitched up like an idiot. Very little of that £70 million is going anywhere near the local economy. Instead it’s going into the pockets of a crew of carpet-baggers from St Andrews in shiny-buttoned blazers. This is doubly annoying, because the Open Championship could not be staged without the volunteer marshals from the county’s golf clubs who control spectator crossings, stand access, ball-spotting etc., and are paid off with a few vouchers, exchangeable only in the on-course facilities, that will no doubt be written off against the tax on the many, many millions that the R&A are trousering. They’re the real heroes of this week, and they will go unnoticed and unrewarded.
Is it a great event? Yes it still is, even if admission prices have doubled since it was last in Gullane in 2002.
Are people enjoying themselves? Yes, they appear to be, not least because of the willingness of most of the players to interact with them whenever they can.
Is it as good as it was? No, because it’s being strangled by corporate greed.
Family photo
Mr angry
Changing sports for a little, I was angry and confused when I read this morning that Wayne Rooney is allegedly angry and confused by his situation at Manchester United. If that is true what the hell has he to be angry and confused about?
To any half-knowledgable observer Wayne has been a world-class player only in his own mind for a year or so now, since the arrival of Van Persie in Manchester sparked his discontent. He seems to be saying that he expects to stand above and beyond the rest of a squad that is made up almost entirely of international footballers at the top of their game, with a couple of genuine legends thrown in. If so he has to realise that such a status can be earned only by performance, and that it has to be constantly maintained. I’m sure that Ryan Giggs has told him as much, but I’m equally sure that he isn’t listening. As things stand he’s just another player, just another employee with a new boss to impress. He should concentrate on that rather than on planting stories in the media. If not, he should be sold on. For me that would be the smart thing to do. Wazza will never be a better player than he is now; he has plateaued, and the other side of the hill is within sight. If he still has market value, if the choice was mine, I’d cash in.
Not cheap, but nasty
One small note of disgruntlement about the Gullane extravaganza this week.
In days gone by one of the highlights for the golfing visitor was the exhibition tent, where all the major equipment manufacturers could be found, and where visitors, or patrons as they call punters at Augusta National, could spend a happy hour if the weather was really foul. In the modern era, that’s all gone, replaced by something called The Open Shop. There you are greeted by security guards and young people offering you a basket. Once inside you are funnelled through a series of departments, some designer but mostly just expensive and tacky souvenir crap. You might be able to buy a Rolex in there without the Claret Jug logo on it, but that’s all. The place has all the charm of IKEA on a busy day.
If you are enthusiastic enough to buy something, you will then be directed down a zig-zag line akin to an airport. After you have finished paying through the nose, you will then be directed to the exit, where another security guard will wish you a nice day . . . without a trace of insincerity in his tone.
Star of the show at Muirfield
Luuuke
Luke Donald was alongside Rors at practice, working away as unspectacularly as ever. Low ball flight could be an advantage this week: hit it under the wind and get lots of run off hard, dry fairways.
Unfancied
The second greatest golfer on the planet on the practice ground. I will not be having a wager on young Rory McIlroy. He didn’t look very impressive. Go on son, prove me wrong.
Under way
The greatest golfer on the planet, on the ninth green at Muirfield, early afternoon, Sunday July 14. And that’s Jason Day behind him. I didn’t expect Tiger to be there today. Last time the Open was in Gullane, he didn’t turn up until the second practice day. By the way if you’re wondering why the great man is putting with the flag in, it’s because he, Jason and Dustin Johnson were merely pissing about. They couldn’t have been playing for money. Then it would have been serious.
Open for business
It’s begun.
The Open Championship may last for four days, for those competitors who make the halfway cut, but for the communities where it is played the circus lasts twice as long. Gullane has become Traffic Cone City; a plan is in place which is confusing many people, but I am sure that its authors know what they;re doing and that it will work. (They may not get all the cones back, but I don’t suppose they’ll be too worried.) I’ve done my morning book shift and shortly Eileen and I will venture out to the tented village, before it becomes too crowded later in the week, and to see who’s on the practice ground.
Early good news is that local businesses are adapting to the situation. For example, Falko, our famous German baker and coffee shop owner, is serving dinner from six till midnight. If you like schnitzels it’s the place to go; if you don’t know whether or not you like schnitzels, it’s the place to find out.
Closed for the Open
I’ve just done a Tesco run to North Berwick, pre-emptive in nature. With the first official Open Championship practice day set for Sunday, Gullane is becoming a community under siege. No Parking signs have gone up all over the village, and a traffic plan that will allow only certain people into the village is about to be implemented. Let’s hope it works, or we are in for a long eight days. My own traffic plan is simple. The car is parked, and it’s not moving until Monday, June 22.
10%? Not enough.
A pay rise for MPs of £6,000, taking their salaries up to £74,000, been recommended by the Independent Parliamentary Standards Authority. We can expect howls of protest. Here’s mine. I don’t believe it’s nearly enough.
The Parliamentary expenses scandal owed much of its origin to evolution of a system which was created to ensure that no person of ability was prevented from becoming a Member simply because they couldn’t afford it. There’s nothing wrong with that in principle, but if the needs of the job are recognised, surely it is logical that they should be met through the basic salary. I’d rather see Members’ salaries doubled, and the expenses system abolished for everything except travel, with defined personal costs being chargeable against tax.
Quote of the day
‘The best time for planning a book is while you’re doing the dishes.’
Agatha Christie
I wouldn’t know about that, but this I concede; that Agatha, she never got above herself. This too; she must have had a large family.
You get all 25, you may be a sad git
Too clever by half: 25 highbrow jokes
1. A photon checks into a hotel and the porter asks him if he has any luggage. The photon replies: “No, I’m travelling light.”
2. “Is it solipsistic in here, or is it just me?”
3. What does a dyslexic, agnostic, insomniac spend most of his time doing? Staying up all night wondering if there really is a dog.
4. A TCP packet walks into a bar, and says to the barman: “Hello, I’d like a beer.” The barman replies: “Hello, you’d like a beer?” “Yes,” replies the TCP packet, “I’d like a beer.”
5. An electron is driving down a motorway, and a policeman pulls him over. The policeman says: “Sir, do you realise you were travelling at 130km per hour?” The electron goes: “Oh great, now I’m lost.”
6. Pavlov is enjoying a pint in the pub. The phone rings. He jumps up and shouts: “Hell, I forgot to feed the dog!”
7. How many surrealists does it take to screw in a light bulb? A fish.
8. There are 10 types of people in this world. Those that know binary, and those that don’t.
9. When I heard that oxygen and magnesium hooked up I was like OMg.
10. The barman says: “We don’t serve faster-than-light particles here.” A tachyon enters a bar.
11. A Buddhist monk approaches a hotdog stand and says: “Make me one with everything”.
12. What do you call two crows on a branch? Attempted murder.
13. An Englishman, a Frenchman, a Spaniard and a German are walking down the street together. A juggler is performing on the street but there are so many people that the four men can’t see the juggler. So the juggler goes on top of a platform and asks: “Can you see me now?” The four men answer: “Yes.” “Oui.” “Si.” “Ja.”
14. Never trust an atom. They make up everything.
15. How many programmers does it take to change a light bulb? None, it’s a hardware problem.
16. A student travelling on a train looks up and sees Einstein sitting next to him. Excited, he asks: “Excuse me, professor. Does Boston stop at this train?”
17. Did you hear about the jurisprudence fetishist? He got off on a technicality.
18. Werner Heisenberg, Kurt Gödel, and Noam Chomsky walk into a bar. Heisenberg turns to the other two and says: “Clearly this is a joke, but how can we figure out if it’s funny or not?” Gödel replies: “We can’t know that because we’re inside the joke.” Chomsky says: “Of course it’s funny. You’re just telling it wrong.”
19. A Roman walks into a bar, holds up two fingers, and says: “Five beers, please.”
20. Did you hear about the man who got cooled to absolute zero? He’s 0K now.
21. An infinite number of mathematicians walk into a bar. The bartender says: “What’ll it be, boys?” The first mathematician: “I’ll have one half of a beer.” The second mathematician: “I’ll have one quarter of a beer.” The third mathematician: “I’ll have one eight of a beer.” The fourth mathematician: “I’ll have one sixteenth of a…” The bartender interrupts: “Know your limits, boys” as he pours out a single beer.
22. What does the “B” in Benoit B Mandelbrot stand for? Answer: Benoit B Mandelbrot.
23. Jean-Paul Sartre is sitting at a French café, revising his draft of Being and Nothingness. He says to the waitress: “I’d like a cup of coffee, please, with no cream.” The waitress replies: “I’m sorry, Monsieur, but we’re out of cream. How about with no milk?”
24. A classics professor goes to a tailor to get his trousers mended. The tailor asks: “Euripides?” The professor replies: “Yes. Eumenides?”
25. A programmer’s wife tells him: “Run to the store and pick up a loaf of bread. If they have eggs, get a dozen.” The programmer comes home with 12 loaves of bread.
No way to run a railroad
We’re sneaking in an extra couple of weeks in Spain early August. We are flying from Newcastle to Girona, so I’ve just booked return train tickets, Dunbar to Newcastle. The cost was £32, return, each. I also booked one-way tickets, Dunbar to Newcastle, for a later August date. They cost £6 each. I know from recent experience that the walk-up one way fare from Newcastle to Edinburgh, virtually the same journey, is £47.
The same people who privatised the railways are now going to do the same to Royal Mail. God help us.
The perils of social meeja
I do Facebook mainly because the marketing people at Headline want me to, but there are times when I wonder whether it’s worth it. Yesterday was one of those days.
My (real life) friend Michael Robotham posted a funny about the potential aftermath in London of Andy Murray’s win. Shortly afterwards this drew a comment from a woman who chose to insult my nation by labelling us xenophobic. I should have known better, but I got involved. When I attempted to correct her . . . gently, I thought . . . she then insulted me, by calling me a bigot. Shortly after that, her posts were deleted; by her or by someone else, I know not. I haven’t forgotten, though. I have blocked the lady on both Facebook and Twitter, and if she ever shows up on this blog, I’ll block her here also. Why have I done this? For her own good.
For the record, I do not believe I am a bigot. I was brought up surrounded by bigotry, in a part of Scotland where it was all too common, and I loathe and detest it in all its forms.
Let-down
Just when we thought it was safe to clean the garden paving, the pressure washer goes silent on us. It’s all a lot of Bosch really!
Prophetic
By the way, on July 1, I posted the following:
‘One small distraction from the work routine. Eileen and I are bidden to the Royal Garden Party in the Palace of Holyroodhouse, tomorrow, 4pm to 6pm. It’s bound to rain.’
I was right; it did, in great big constant lumps. Her Majesty was there but like most of the 3,000, we couldn’t see her for the forest of umbrellas. However I did bump into an old colleague, Mr Sandy Sutherland. Good to see you, chum. How has ageing managed to pass you by?
QJ in the lion’s den
At the weekend I was a guest at a private function in England, and found myself at a table with some very nice people, none of whom I’d ever met before. It seems that you can’t be Scottish in England just now without the referendum question coming up. My mind has been made up since I was 17 years old, and I never apologise for my stance. Yet I was surprised to realise, if my lunch companions were an accurate reflection of the broader view down south, as I believe they are, that there is a strong feeling of disquiet about the 2014 vote, and about the fact that it’s happening at all. I’m not sure what’s behind it. They know nothing of our history or the issues, so why the negativity? Is it resentment that we should even consider leaving Westminster and resuming the full nation status that we had before the Union of the Parliaments in 1707, (one highly intelligent professional man on Saturday had never heard of that event) or is it fear of the consequences for England? One thing it is not based on, and that is any love of the Scots. One of my companions remarked . . . pleasantly I must say . . . ‘If they asked the English to vote on it we’d all say Yes’, and I don’t doubt that is the truth . . . one that will have been underlined, I suspect, by Alex Salmond waving the Saltire in the Royal Box at Wimbledon yesterday.
I was asked how I thought the referendum will turn out. I said I believe that if it was held tomorrow there would be a No vote, but that next year, I expect the position to have changed.
My resolve hasn’t been weakened by Saturday’s civilised discussion; in fact it has been strengthened. As I’m coming to see it, the majority would probably be happy to kick us out of the Union, but they don’t want us to take that decision for ourselves. I believe that the more that English sentiment is known the stronger the Yes camp will become.
The Devonport
On Friday I went back thirty years in time. That’s how long it is since I last visited a hotel called the Devonport, in an appropriately-named hamlet called Middleton One Row, just outside Darlington. Needing an overnight stop in that area, and having had some good times there, I booked us in, wondering how much it woud have changed over the years. The answer turned out to be ‘very little’. It’s under different management, but it remains a comfortable, welcoming place, with an excellent kitchen, a well-stocked bar, and a host who can’t do enough to make his clients feel at home.
Thanks, Anthony.




