So
here’s the thing: I’m not a big golf fan. I’ve never played golf. I do enjoy
watching it on television though. I will admit that I did once enjoy a
glorious day in LA with two artist-managers on a golf course. But my enjoyment
was entirely down to the fact that they let me drive them around the course in
a golf-buggy. I should also admit here that I’ve never driven a car in my life,
so that’s why it was such a buzz. Maybe I should have forewarned them that I am
a big Formula One fan. Either I scared the Bejesus out of them or they were
actually crap golfers. I have to say they did talk a great game and knew
exactly where they were going wrong. So fair play to them.
But,
let’s get back to my reason for being in Portrush. I’m a big fan of Rory
McIlroy. It’s
partly to do with the fact that a) he’s world class in his chosen arena and b)
he is an Ulsterman. For the exact same reasons I’d also include in that list:
George Best; Alex Higgins; Seamus Heaney and Van Morrison.
One
of my fictional detectives, McCusker, was originally from Portrush. He was a
social golfer, so social he lost his first wife and all his property over the
game. McCusker is also a big fan of Rory, Alec and George. Musically speaking
he’d be more of a fan of Rory Gallagher, Planxty and Christy Moore. I’m
currently working on the third McCusker Mystery, Hi Love, You Just Dropped
Your Glove. In the course of this mystery, McCusker is based in Portrush
and I’ve been visiting “The Port” - as I used to do most of the summers of my
youth with my family - to do some catch-up research. When I was there last
summer for a few days, working out locations and trying to discover the locals’
favourite haunts rather that the tourist trail, I heard all about the town
being rebuilt (pretty much) for this year’s Open Golf Tournament when
the game would return to Portrush for the first time in 68 years.
I
decided I would return this summer myself and visit the Open as McCusker might
have done. Which was all well and good, but instead of booking accommodation
last year, I left it to spring of this year by which time not only were all the
hotels quadruple their normal price, and you have to book for a min of four
nights, but they were already all booked out and when I asked a few of them if
I could go on their waiting list, I’d hear them laugh as they set the phone
down.
What
was available though was Glamping; glamorous camping, luxury under the canvas.
It was also affordable. But those two facts should have been clues; Big
clues.
On
Thursday morning (18th July 2019) at crack of dawn I caught the Red
Eye to George Best Airport, Belfast, stopped off for a visit with my dad in
Magherafelt and then, late in the afternoon I travelled on up to Portrush. I
arrived at the Glamping site in the wind and rain at five o’clock. The entrance
to the site was ankle deep in muck and the grass on the way to the tent was
calf-long and soaking wet. The tent was very primitive. Very unglamorous dare I
say, even very un-luxurious. The father and son owners however were extremely
nice and helpful. I left my case in the tent and caught the shuttle down to the
outskirts of Portrush. I had planned to stay in my tent for an hour or two to
settle in before heading down to the Port, but to put it purely and simply,
there was absolutely nowhere to sit in the tent and the bed was an air bed and
quite impossible to sit on. I was later to discover it was even more
uncomfortable to sleep on, but more about that at lights out.
I
was going into Portrush so all was good.
Every
time I go to Portrush I get very excited. There is just something magical about
the Port. There always has been from when I was a kid and it still hasn’t worn
off. This time was no exception. In a break between the showers I passed the
hive of activity that was the Royal Golf Club. I continued on into the town
along the East Strand beach, past what used to be the entrance to the Arcadia
Ballroom where I’d spent manys a happy night listening to the likes of Billy
Brown and The Freshmen. The Freshmen were one of the few great showbands - so
great in fact that the dancers used to stop dancing and just listen to the
band. No mean feat nailing all those feet to the floor. Now all remains of the
once glorious ballroom is the entrance-hall section, which before it was the
entrance hall to a ballroom used to be the ladies changing rooms for their
outside pool.
I
was, as they say locally, famished, so I stopped off at the 55 Degrees North
restaurant to get a quick bite. The food hit the spot and the waitresses were,
as usual, extremely friendly. Now I was properly equipped to head off for a
dander around the town. Portrush, thanks to Rory McIlroy’s efforts in helping
secure The Open’s visit, had enjoyed a complete facelift - a long overdue
facelift. I stopped off at a wee antique store. The owner told me that the
council had paid for every shop owner (who wanted) to have the front of the
store done up.
To
be honest I had quite expected the town to be heaving. This was not the case.
The streets were relatively empty. All the people who were visiting for the
golf were still up at the Royal Golf Club. The Club had a strict no-pass out
rule that the local business people were up in arms about. “How can we make
money if none of these people are allowed to come out and do a wee bit of
shopping?”
The
owner of the antique store, like a lot of the traders I spoke to, felt that
even with their own numbers down this weekend, the actual benefit of The Open
was going to be more of long term project.
Anyway,
in an effort to lift their spirits I did a wee bit of shopping myself, then
made my way across town to Barry’s Amusements, which over-looked the West
Strand and the picturesque harbour. Barry’s Amusements Arcade is the most exciting
place in Northern Ireland… or so I once thought.
It
was empty!
I
mean it wasn’t actually empty as in
absolutely without punters. There were (literally) a few people. I’m talking
thirty patrons at the very most. I’ve been visiting Barry’s since the early 60s
and I have never seen so few people in there in my life. I couldn’t believe it.
“Where
is everyone?” I asked the man in the information booth. Well that’s what an
information booth is for, isn’t
it?
“I’ve
worked here for over eleven years and I’ve never seen it this empty,” he
replied.
“But
what about the golf influx?”
‘They’re
all stuck up at the Royal and once they leave the Royal there are no pass-outs,
so they can’t return to the course for the remainder of the day. The ones who
are coming out are more used to the likes of Disneyworld, so Barry’s isn’t
really high on their bucket list.”
I
offered my condolences and said hopefully it’ll be better over the weekend. He
said he hoped so but doubted it.
“Is
there a chance it’ll have to close,” I asked, fearing if they can’t pull a
crowd from the influx they might be in danger.
‘Heaven’s
no, not at all. This is just one weekend, every other weekend Easter to
September, we’re absolutely heaving in here.”
I
walked further along the beach in the direction of the harbour, all the time
shocked by the lack of people, while at the same time scouting out locations
and characters for my McCusker Mystery. I came across the town’s new super
duper big wheel. It was merrily spinning away. On closer examination I realised
it was devoid of people, aka customers. It was as empty as it would have been
on the streets of Bodie, Califonia.
There
were absolutely no people in the big wheel’s buckets - or whatever it is they
call those pods that humans sit in.
A
man licking a 99 infused ice-cream cone saw me staring up at the wheel in
amazement.
“Why
do you think they have it spinning with no people in it?” he asked.
“As
an advertisement to potential customers,” I offered hopefully.
“Nope,” he replied, “if
you go further down to the green there you’ll see that the BBC TV One Show is
broadcasting on location tonight, and if they have the wheel spinning in the
background then people out there in TV land will think Portrush is thriving and
want to visit here. It’s all part of a cover-up”
Oh
I do love a good conspiracy theory.
I
wandered on chatting to people as I made my way over to the crowd gathered for
BBC TV One Show recording. People are so friendly and easy to talk to in
Portrush. Not just that, but there are so many brilliant characters on your
doorstep, which is one of the reasons I’m bringing McCusker back to Portrush
for this mystery. I eaves-dropped on one of the judges from Strictly Come
Dancing going on about Ballroom Dancing in Ulster in the 1960s “It was huge”,
he declared. I think he might just have got the wrong end of the stick there.
What happened was that yes people did use to dance in ballrooms, such as the
Arcadia Ballroom, in Ulster, in the 1960s but, believe you me, it was not
Ballroom Dancing, as we know it today, they were attempting. Their main step
was not the quickstep, but more likely the shimmy-step, where you would try to
subtly sidle closer to a girl and risk all by asking, “Do you come here often?”
Eventually
I reluctantly left the town centre and caught a taxi back out to the Glamping
site. The driver was moaning about how the entire town’s road system has been
laid out by the people who designed the track layout for Barry’s Ghost Train.
The end result, he claimed, five minute journeys were now easily taking up to
an hour. He kept going on about how badly everything had been messed up; having
said that, we did reach the tent site pretty quickly.
Once
again I tried to sit on my air bed and once more I nearly fell off again. It
was ten-thirty, too early for bed so I wandered out of my tent and over to a
communal area covered with a large canvas canopy. The sides of the Henley
Regatta type of sun-shelter, if they’d ever existed, had been removed so you
could see the amazing soulful views over and beyond Portrush. In this area,
which was empty of fellow glampers, the site organisers had kindly supplied
bales of hay to sit on. By lamp light I wrote up my notes for Hi Love You,
Just Dropped Your Glove. Eventually, task completed, the cold air drove me
back to my tent. When I was back in my tent I realised it was colder in the
tent than it was outside. It was also dark and dank. I found that attempting to
sleep on an airbed was comparable to trying to sleep on a tightrope. You move
an inch either-way and you risked falling off altogether. Not that I’ve ever
slept on a tightrope but I think next time I’m offered an airbed I just might
opt for the sleeping-on-a-tightrope option. It couldn’t be any more difficult.
On
Friday morning, even the news that the electricity was off and there were no
warm/hot showers available didn’t dampen my mood. For starters I was so
cold I figured that even a cold shower would warm me up a little bit and I’d
still breakfast to look forward to. But then I hear you say: surely if there
was no electricity there would be no power for kettles and coffee-makers and
toasters etc., etc. And of course you’d be right. Oh well I was heading down to
the Royal Golf Club and there would be everything I could dream off down there.
Ah…
but the guy who was trying to fix the power was also the guy who drove the
shuttle van, so that was going to be delayed for a wee bit. He was really a
very nice guy and you just couldn’t get mad with him, it wasn’t his fault.
Eventually,
just before eight o’clock, the shuttle van dropped a few of us off and, quite
literally, a couple of minutes after that I was inside the Royal Golf Course in
Portrush, surely the speediest and easiest entrance to a mass-audience, event I
have ever experienced.
There
was a strange air of calm about the site. Maybe an aftershock might be a better
way to describe it. Everyone seemed to be in a zombie like state and whispering
about Rory’s massive meltdown on the course on the previous day (Thursday). It
appears he just couldn’t get into the rhythm of his round. Everything that
could go wrong went wrong and the short, least depressing, version of the story
is that he was a massive seven over par going into Friday’s round. Could his
massive dip in his game be put down to the pressure of being the local hero?
All I can offer by way of explanation is: if it took genius to be as brilliant
as he had been in the past – and he still holds the course record for the Royal
Portrush; he went around in 61 when he was just 16 years old – then when you’re
not in the best of form, or suffering from Rory’s Blues, or even nerves, the
complete opposite can happen. When he’s on his game he does tend to make a
round of golf look deceptively easy. Well that’s McCusker’s theory on the
matter - and he discusses it in great detail with his partner D.I. Lily
O’Carroll in A Day In The Life of Louis Bloom (the 2nd
McCusker Mystery published by Dufour Editions).
Whenever
Rory is allowed to keep to himself and focus entirely on his game, McCusker
muses, he always delivers. However, also according to McCusker, when he’s
distracted with lots of media requests and is cornered into predicting how on
form he is and how brilliant he’s going to be, he mostly has a bad day at the office,
or in his case, on the golf course.
Tiger
Woods - who would have enjoyed top billing in Rory’s absence - at 6 over par
had also experienced a disastrous first round. Now we were faced with neither
Tiger nor
Rory making the cut by the end of Friday’s play. The cut is where all players
who manage at least 1 over par are safe and go into the 3rd and 4th
rounds (played on Saturday and Sunday). Everyone from 2 over par and above got
to go home, leaving 70 golfers for the final two days.
Who
would the local crowd then get to support? We’ll have more about that later as
well. In the meantime I had a date with my breakfast in one of the Hospitality
Pavilions, the majority of which were on the right hand side of the first
green. That’s as you face up the green and away from the tee.
According
to one of the greeters in the hospitality suite, it took 4 months to build the
Pavilions and the rest of the plant in order for The Royal to host The Open. He
guessed it would take around the same time to remove. The Suite I was in didn’t
really have any atmosphere. Maybe it was a case of the room being so spread
out, it made the ceiling appear lower. The numerous TVs relaying the current
action out on the links were very small. The volume of the TVs was painfully
low. To truly enjoy golf on TV there are two basic requirements. You need to
have a nice comfortable chair and to
be able to hear the commentators. The seats looked like they’d been hired from
a school canteen, or, put another way, they were hard and uncomfortable.
Failing ideal viewing of the TV, I always find it best to just turn the darn
set off. But the TVs needed to be on because there were already players out on
the golf course. The first trio, Tom Lenman (US) Joaquin Nieman (Chile) &
Miguel Angel Jimenez (Spain) had teed off at 06.35 that morning.
The
overall feeling from our group of people was of everyone was waiting for
something.
Perhaps
they were waiting for the bars to open (at 11.30 due to Ulster Licensing laws)
or awaiting a legendary Ulster Fry served up to kick start our day.
In
the hospitality suite,
the friendly staff’s two most popular questions of the day were: 1) Where did
you travel from this morning? And 2) Who do you fancy to win this?
With
their first question, the words fitted together so well and the delivery was so
word-perfect you had the feeling the question must have been listed in a
tournament directive. On the other hand the second question was a very clever
way of avoiding the elephant in the room: Rory’s Blues.
In
these circumstances I’ve learned it’s always good to have a name at the ready.
I have to admit I still fancied Rory playing a blistering round and getting
back in the race. Nonetheless, I felt it was prudent to examine the options and
have a few names up my sleeve. Tiger, in my eyes, still couldn’t be ruled out.
Tommy Fleetwood (England) seemed to be an easy name to remember, he seemed like
a very nice chap, had played a brilliant round on Thursday and didn’t he nearly win something major recently? Oh yes, I
remember now, he nearly won the US Open last year but Tiger Woods pipped him to
the post. Tony Finau (USA) was a distinctive name and he had made a decent
start earlier that morning. Justin Rose
(England) perhaps? Shane Lowry had played a brilliant round on the Thursday. On
camera he was always smiling and looking like he was really enjoying playing a
round of golf and he was just one off the lead. At times - when he took
his hat off – he looked like he could have been Wayne Rooney’s brother. JB Holmes (USA), the leader from round 1,
looked like he knew what he was doing and was very enjoyable to watch but Tommy
from Carolina (at my table) assured me he wouldn’t last the course. I decided I
needed to hedge my bets and came to the conclusion it was just too early to
decide. I had a quick day-dream of Rory starting off his round with a series of
holes-in-one (a physical impossibility) and getting back in contention. I
shared this with Tommy from Carolina who didn’t take it as the joke I had
intended but seemed to spend a few seconds going through the scenario in his
mind. Then I noticed what he was actually doing was checking where the closest
exit was.
A
few minutes later at 10.09 Tiger Woods arrived at the 1st tee on
this the second day of the tournament to loud applause. His compatriots for the
day’s play were Mathew Wallace (England) and Patrick Reed (USA). I decided that
as the weather was holding and the rain was meant to come at 2.00 o’clock in
the afternoon, I’d nip out and walk the round with Tiger. Don’t get me wrong, I
wasn’t being rude, or even familiar. He doesn’t even know me, let alone that I
exist. What I meant was I would walk with the crowd who followed Tiger & Co
from tee to tee.
The
first thing I discovered was how solidly some of these guys are built. That
doesn’t come across on TV.
A
completely opposite view was offered from a wife to her husband walking
directly behind me.
“They’re
not big are they, they’re all wee men.”
Wallop!
“Great
strike,”
a fan cried out and the rest burst into applause.
On
one of the big screens around the course, we could see Rose teeing off; he was
6 under
par from yesterday. That means he was then 12 shots ahead of Tiger on the
leader board. This also meant he
was 13 shots ahead of Rory.
That’s
one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve,
thirteen shots ahead of Rory. Or, as they’d say in Donegal, “That’s a massive
mountain to climb.”
And
the trio of golfers, Woods, Wallace & Reed headed off down the fairway.
“Welcome
Tiger,” someone in front of me called out.
“Thank
you,” Tiger
replied without breaking his stride or his concentration.
Their
golf balls had all reached about midway up the fairway. By the time we caught
up with the location for their next round of shots, I realised we were directly
across the road from Kellys where the other Rory (Gallagher) played his
version of the blues with his sublime band, Taste. Fruupp (my first
professionally management client) also played a few great gigs in there.
I
was having great difficulty getting near the first green to see Tiger & Co
concluding their work on the first hole. My mantra while scouting vantage
positions for better views from then on was: always walk on that wee bit
further. It didn’t let me down all day. I noticed on the big screen - viewed in
the hope they would show the lads putting on the green - that on another green
Jon Rahm (Spain) had a weird looking 4 inch square putter. I figured it must be
like hitting the ball with a bar of chocolate - just saying this in case anyone
out there sees it as a marketing opportunity; remember where you heard it
first.
On
the next hole, the 574 yard, par 5, 2nd, they all enjoyed great
applause as they teed off although… two of them didn’t fair very well with
their shots. For this action I’d a much better view and all three golfers
hunkered down in a near perfect (seemingly) synchronised move, just off the
green. The trio - who very nearly formed a straight line across the fairway -
eyed up the ideal path for their second shot. As Tiger Woods walked up to take
his turn, I could see clearly he was genuinely in pain. You could see from the
regret in his eyes that he wished he could be enjoying this moment more. He
dropped his first shot of the day at this hole.
“Must
have been cling-film over that hole,” an Ulster fan muttered to
himself as he headed after the players to the 3rd tee.
Overall,
as was visible on the big screens, the going was getting tough and when the
going is tough the balls tend to get going… into the rough. It wasn’t a great
omen for Rory. On top of which, he was due to start his round at 15.10, by
which time the predicted rain would have worked up a head of steam; also known
as teaming.
By
the time we reached the 4th green, Woods and Co were looking like
they could have done with an elevenses pit-stop for coffee and snacks. Luckily
enough there was a wagon which was parked up ever so close to the green,
selling such items. Professionals that the golfers were, they soldiered on,
although it has to be said, a lot of their followers were happy to partake in
the refreshments available.
After
five holes and finding myself distracted by the action on other holes I decided
my intel might be of better use elsewhere, so I peeled off the pack and headed
on around the course dipping in and out of play from game to game. I also found
that as the ground is rather bumpy it is much better for your ankles, in
particular, to keep on the move. On top of which I found it just too sad to
watch Tiger painfully trying to hide his limp. More selfishly I thought I could
feel the first spits of the predicted rain.
Tommy
Fleetwood was playing well and moving up the leader board. He was great to
watch if you didn’t look at his face. What I mean is, from the look on his face
you got the impression he was having a disastrous round, whereas his actual
play, not to mention the leader board, proved otherwise.
Some
of the comments from the fans I found very amusing
“It’s
like he’s got a magic wand rather than a golf club,” one guy (wearing a Motorhead
T-shirt) suggested to his mates, after a particularly magnificent second shot
on the 194 yard, par 3, 6th hole. This hole was also known as Harry
Colt’s (named after the course designer) and was right beside the Atlantic
Ocean with spectacularly inspirational, jaw-dropping, views.
I
imagined McCusker maybe being mates of the guy with the Motorhead T Shirt, and, after witnessing a couple of subsequent
bad shots suggesting, “If I was him I’d return the Magic Wand to the Harry
Potter gift shop and consider using a golf club again”
“That
2nd hole just needs to open up,” another armchair expert had
offered.
“Aye
to the size of a dust bin.” I imagined McCusker adding.
“He’s
on great form, he’s dropping everything in, I bet you he got a ride last
night.”
“He,”
now
meaning Tiger, “just needs to get on the range and bang a few in.”
I
swear to you but I must have seen about a dozen Graeme McDowells in my travels
around the course.
By
the time I’d made it back towards the 18th hole (474 yards, par 4) I
happened upon another bigger, much bigger, refreshment area, which according to
my site map was called the Secondary Village. I slowed to a stroll feeling like
Randolph Scott happening upon the town limits of Laramie. I felt I could take
my time a wee bit now as the spits of rain hadn’t actually developed into
anything. There was a massive big screen out on what looked like a village
green with a lot people sitting around and drinking and following the action.
Overall this group of people were giving off good vibes. I noticed a top of the
line pavilion with its own balcony. It was very classy. It looked very
expensive to my eyes. I thought I’d dander over to it and see what the story
was. It turned out that it was a Mastercard Pavilion and on close inspection
the sign outside it claimed: “Open to all Mastercard Holders” Good old
Mastercard, I thought. I’m a Mastercard Holder. They mean me. Not only did they
get me a discount in the merchandising shop this morning, but here they were
also providing some hospitality FOC (free of charge). The two ladies at
reception were very friendly and they said welcome and put a band around my
wrist as they asked me where I’d come from this morning. I went upstairs which
was incredibly welcoming, homely even, with ultra-comfortable chairs and a
floor to ceiling big screen. The crowd were very good natured and really
enjoying their golf.
I
found a seat and a drink and a bite and watched the screen to notice that my
earlier tip of Tommy Fleetwood was doing very well. I’d been correct, Tommy
Fleetwood was the perfect name for a golfer. The net result was that he was now
only one stroke off the leader, JB.
I
wondered if anything could be made of the ping of the contact the club/putter
makes with the ball, as in do the golfers know from this sound if they’ve
played a good shot or bad one. If so, could that be taken even further and
could someone work out some sort of logarithm or develop an app that predicts
the final score from sound of the club hitting the ball over say the first
three holes? If so please remember where you read about it first.
At
12.53 Shane Lowry enjoyed a mighty cheer as he teed off on the first hole.
On
seeing Shane Lowry sink yet another long putt on the giant screen on the
(secondary) Village Green someone in the crowd said to his mate: “With putts like that, if I was him I’d be
carefully crossing the road tomorrow; his luck is sure to change any time
soon.”
At
the 18th Hole (second round) a big cheer went up on the screen and
in the room as Tommy Fleetwood holed his final shot of the day to go top of the
leader board.
“Is
the rain just getting that wee bit heavier?” someone offered as one by one
the umbrellas started to go up. One of the Sky Sports cameras picked up
on this activity and it was flashed up on the big screen. The people on the
green seeing themselves (well at least their umbrellas) up on the big screen,
started to open and shut their umbrella to acknowledge the attention and pretty
soon we were all enjoying a special moment with hundreds of umbrellas, of
various styles and a multitude of colours, fluttering like butterflies.
Hopefully it looked as stunning out in TV land as it did on the Secondary
Village Green.
Shortly
thereafter at 15.10 Rory McIlroy came out to the (adjacent) 1st tee.
There was an almighty roar from the crowd that was way beyond the reaction any
of the other players received. Most players enjoy varying levels of
cheering/applause when they ventured onto the first green; after the final shot
on the 18th green or whenever they hit a great shot. But Rory was
unique in that he was applauded and cheered the entire way from the tee up the
fairway and onto the green for each and every hole on his round. You could work
out exactly where he was on the course from the Rory Roar following him around
the Royal Golf Course.
There
was such an almighty Rory Roar following his final putt on the 18th
that I’m convinced that every single person, man, woman and child on the acres
of the Royal Golf Course at Portrush in Northern Ireland paused in their tracks
to acknowledge his genius.
He
had played a blinding round. In adverse weather conditions he shot a 65, which
would prove to be the 2nd best round of this year’s
competition.
If
the weather had been on his side, or like it had been earlier in the day when
Tiger was playing his round, then Rory most likely would have broken his own
course record. But then tournament score cards do not have a column for the “if
only” scores. The sad but undeniable bottom line was that Rory failed to make
the cut by a single shot. He was gracious and emotional in his defeat as he
thanked the crowd and wished Shane Lowry all the very best for the following
two days play.
Shane
Lowry went on to win the Open at the Royal in Portrush during a wet July
weekend in 2019. He was the first bearded golfer to win the open since Bob
Ferguson won the third of his successive victories in 1882. Shane and his
bearded caddie, Brian Martin, looked like they’d just happened on a round of
golf at the Royal by accident and that they were trying not to giggle too much
just in case they were found out. Shane Lowry deserved to win this year’s Open.
He consistently played beautiful golf and he took maximum enjoyment from his
own playing. That is such an infectious quality: the ability of great athletes,
or musicians for that matter, to visibly enjoy their own work.
JB
Holmes who was in the lead the first day was still in with a shout on the
Friday and Saturday. However he took a disastrous 87 shots on the final day. To
put this in perspective every player had a bad day on the Sunday. But few had
as poor a day as JB. Shane Lowry for instance shot a round of 72 the same day.
JB finished in 70th place. I make this point not to try and shame
poor JB, who was clearly having a bad day, but to confirm that Tommy from
Carolina was spot on with his prediction.
Tommy
from Carolina had another prediction he shared with me.
“This,”
he started expansively, and opening out his arms around the room and pointing
out beyond and on to the golf course, “this is all going to put Portrush on the
map as an international touring attraction. Everything has been wonderful and
so professional, so top class and the local people so warm, funny and friendly
that tourists are going to be coming here in the droves from now on.”
After
Tommy from Carolina’s first successful prediction, and with my local knowledge,
I certainly wouldn’t be taking a bet against him.
So
see youse all next year then?
Cheers
pc
p.s. I should also mention that Departing Shadows, the eleventh Christy Kennedy Mystery, is published by the good people at Dufour Editions on Oct 22nd this year.
Paul Charles © 2019
