Another seasonal dip into the writings of Bernard Darwin deals with those precious games arranged between Christmas and the New Year. In his essay "Green Christmases", Darwin describes the boyish thrill of packing his clubs and then picking up other members of his group on the long train journey from London to their destination in the west.

All of which happened in "an infinitely leisurely and dawdling train", which chugged over the Welsh border. Sometimes we start in frost and even snow," he continues, "and then what delight to see it disappear to find warmth and a soft grey sky and a gentle wind as we near our haven.

"When we are nearly home, there is a certain hill up which the train pants more laboriously than ever. Once over the crest, we feel that we can almost snuff the salt in the air and the train rattles joyously down to the coast. It has happened to us once to travel through a white, snow-clad land all the way from London till we reached that hill-top and then, on the other side, to find a green paradise awaiting us."

The scribe went on: "That was truly a moment when life was worth living; a better moment perhaps, since anticipation is always better than reality. And yet the golf is wonderfully pleasant. Ours is a fine piece of natural golfing ground, even though the best has never quite been made of it, undulating and rippling in a hundred grassy hummocks and hollows and noble sandhills, crowned with spiky bents, and little dell-like crater greens that nestle among the hills." Sounds a lot like Lahinch: Heaven!