4th Day, 18th Green

Probably the most famous clubhouse in the world. Or so they think, hereabouts.

Crossed the 18th green on the way back from the beach this morning with the dogs, taking my life in my hands and dodging speeding white bullets. The caddies were all in a huddle behind their offices, smoking and talking tips. The group of arriving golfers was American. How do I know? Well they had American accents when they wished me a good morning... but I knew before they spoke. How though? It's hard to say. The particularities of dress, perhaps - greater attention is paid to the uniform and more money spent on it. But it's also down to body language, and something unmistakeably foreign but familiar. The town is full of Americans - they are buying property here too, according to the papers - and also the restaurants, which makes eavesdropping very rewarding. (If Democrats play golf they're not the sort who travel to Scotland to do it).

Golf's good fun. I played it once, on holiday in Elie. I was terrible at it. Younger brother of best friend, who was showing me the ropes, grew exasperated and finally silent, his jaw fixed in a tight line. I disagree with Winston Churchill when he said that golf's a waste of a good walk. But playing here on the Old Course is another matter. People gather to watch at the 18th. Derisory laughter mightn't be good for morale.

In any case I could only play here as a guest. Women are barred from joining the Royal and Ancient, and top women players have only been accepted as entrants to the Open since 2005. Tradition isn't always a good thing.

At any rate I far prefer the 19th hole.

(PS: whisper to non golfers - that's the BAR).