I remember well the moment when I decided to buy tickets to The Open. Tracy and I were in our study in Sydney in February sorting out our affairs and contemplating our post work travels. On a whim I checked the details of the event and found that it was at Liverpool, not too far from where Tracy's mum Elaine lives and on a date that we could make, just after my birthday. The only available tickets were in the corporate hospitality at a price that I have decided it is better to forget. You know when you are a kid and you decide you really want something when it is around the time of your birthday, so you ask for it as a present even though it is more expensive than in your heart you know is reasonable. Well that was the tactic I employed as a 57 year old and it worked! 

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In that moment I imagined what an amazing experience it would be to see the world's best players battling it out shot by shot. The lead would be changing hands and the atmosphere building to the point at which crowd favourite Rory McIlroy sinks a 30 foot putt to win the Championship as the sun goes down over the Irish Sea on a beautiful English summer day. Well that was the plan.

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The first reflection I have to share is that the Royal Liverpool Golf Club is a bit on a misnomer. I have no idea why it is referred to as Royal, there was certainly no sign of Charles, Camilla, William or the clan. Not even Andrew turned up, although I'm not sure if he still counts. To be fair I was not really expecting to see any actual Royals at the Royal Liverpool Golf Club but for reasons that I think would appear rational  to most I was actually expecting it to be in Liverpool! Good job Tracy had some local knowledge and was able to point us in the direction of Hoylake on the Wirrall, some distance and a Mersey Tunnel away from actual Liverpool. To be fair if they had named it 'God Foresaken Windswept Golf Club' it might have affected ticket sales. Which brings me onto the weather.

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I grew up in England, I know what a British Summer day can be like. Although as a 'soft southerner' I was not quite prepared for the day we got. Two jumpers, a raincoat and a large umbrella turned out to be the order of the day. Our spirits were not lifted by my Mother, in the 'soft south' messaging to say what a lovely sunny day it was on the south coast. Thank goodness that we had remortgaged our property to acquire corporate hospitality tickets which included surprisingly good breakfast, lunch, afternoon tea and free alcoholic beverages all day. Oh and a position to watch the 16th green from a terrace with a roof. All we had to do was stand back sufficiently far from the edge to stop the rain being blown from the roof landing in our champagne.

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The other key element that my imagined experience included was the sporting battle, despite the rain this was what us and the 260,000 other spectators over the four day event had come to see. And what a close event it wasn't! Whilst it is lovely for him, and I am sure he is very pleased with himself and his mum and dad very proud, some American left hander called Brian who nobody had ever heard of turned up and spoiled the fun for everyone. I exaggerate for effect of course, he appeared in the programme so they must have known he was coming, but nobody expected him to win, let alone run into a 5 shot lead and remain a distant target for others to chase. I did notice that the champagne brigade made the effort to actually tear themselves away from their prawn sandwiches and free bar to brave the terrace as Rory went past. As he dropped a shot in front of our very eyes and sloped off to the 17th the crowd returned to the warmth of the dining room and watched the rest on the telly. Tracy and I, being hardened sports fans, remained on the windswept terrace to congratulate the diminutive party pooper as he went past playing conservative but effective golf en route to collecting the trophy.

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We did have a win at the end of the day when we managed to successfully drive our car out of the car park past the cars that had sunk into the mud and the crane which had come to rescue them but had sunk even further. To be honest it was a bit disappointing that the day failed to live up to my imagined expectation but after we aquaplaned our way home down the M53 it was a relief to arrive home safe if not dry. At least our new brolly will come in handy when we go to the Oval for the Ashes on Thursday...

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