Gleneagles: That swing thing

Published on Saturday 14 November 2009 13:48

GOLF has one unique attribute that no other sport can match. Unless you are a sporting hero, you will never be able to play football at Hampden, nor tennis on centre court, nor cricket at Lords. Only in golf can mere mortals walk in the footsteps of the gods.

So it was that we peered through the driving rain on the first tee at the PGA championship course at Gleneagles, and saw – instead of banking clouds, growing puddles and a lone starter warming himself in his hut – the crowds, the TV cameras and the presence of the Ryder Cup, which will be played for here in 2014. On this same tee, Tiger Woods will soon be standing. But now here was I. And my dad, my brother and my brother-in-law.

And, oh Lord, were we mortal. The previous afternoon, playing the King's course in gorgeous autumn sunshine, Tom, my brother-in-law, had resorted to blaming the squawk of migrating geese high above him as another wood wobbled down the fairway like a wet firework. The trouble with us is that we are worse than bad golfers. We are bad golfers who think we are good golfers. And give us a patch of earth like this beautiful slip of Perthshire land and our fantasies take wing.

Back on the PGA course the following day, at least the rain is there to remind us of our earthbound status. At most normal courses, it is days like these that turn golf into an absurd ordeal. You stand over your little white ball, look out at the mist and are forced to confront your existential demons. Here, however, the pleasure of the course shines through the gloom and, for once, the rain doesn't ruin it.

The people at Gleneagles have had to take some stick over the Ryder Cup course in recent years. But they are now putting in huge efforts to show it will be up to scratch (they are even thinking of altering the 18th hole so that the setting sun hits it at the right angle). Their hard work has paid off. The course's greens are unbelievable; after 12 hours of constant rain, almost all were clear of standing water and still playing true. And the layout, particularly of the front nine, is exceptional. They now have a hard balancing act to maintain: the course cannot be preserved in aspic ahead of the Ryder Cup, as some, such as Loch Lomond, can be. It must remain open for the thousands of guests who will hack up its fairways every week of the year. It is a tough ask, but there will be no lack in effort.

This also provides golfers with a fabulous opportunity: play the course now and you will have five entire years to bore your friends and family about how you've already taken on a Ryder Cup course. You may even have a special story to tell, like my brother. Coming up the last – a long par five – after 35 holes, well over 200 shots and dozens of horrible shanks, he finally connected perfectly with an eight iron. The ball flew up through the rain, its trajectory inevitable. It carried on going up. It did not suddenly veer off to the left, like every other approach shot he had hit, like a dog that had just sniffed something in the bushes. It just kept going on. It landed an absolute mile away. We wandered up the hill to the green. The pitch mark was less than a foot from the hole, the ball a little further. And then he rolled the putt back in for a birdie – a birdie at the last.

The vast open landscapes of Perthshire have always been my favourite part of Scotland. And Gleneagles, with its emphasis on the majestic, sits easily within it. Wandering around the hotel gives a sense of being on an old ocean liner, except with all mod cons (it is hard to imagine passengers on Titanic lolling around in their swimming costumes in the freezing air, enjoying the heated outdoor spa pool).

Our rooms, likewise, had undergone a recent and stylish renovation, with the kind of squash-court-size bathroom that is now bog-standard for five-star establishments. Of course, the place is notoriously pricey. Two rounds of drinks after we'd finished playing could have paid for my children's Christmas presents, but Gleneagles is by no means only for the super-rich. Sunday-night winter B&B deals start at 250 for a room, including golf or a spa – dinner is extra.

Top of the list for dining is Andrew Fairlie's two-star Michelin restaurant, but we ate at the Mediterranean-style Deseo bistro, where dinner for four with more wine than was necessary topped 200. The food was only so-so, but the wine was superb and the service, as in the rest of the hotel, was first-rate (indeed, the staff are an absolute credit to the place: the surly Scottish hotelier of popular imagination is nowhere to be seen). Don't over-eat, however. On coming down for breakfast the following morning we were presented with a spread that would not have disgraced the Tudor monarchs.

The previous time I had been here, as a reporter, I spent most of the time watching a crowd of protestors waging battle with most of Scotland's police force during the G8 summit in 2005. This time round, I was overcome by the sparkling peace of the place, by the grandeur and the history. The gods await you.

Facts: Gleneagles

Gleneagles (www.gleneagles.com) has a special Sunday offer, which runs until 30 April 2010 and costs from 250 per room – overnight accommodation, a full breakfast and the choice of a round of golf or a spa treatment per person are included.