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Here I am, on a four day business meeting in a place that’s full of crazy people. I am in St Andrews, where Golf (that’s the sport, not the car!) was born. Apparently the rules of this game were sizzled in 2 semiprecious stones at this very location, sending humanity from the dark ages into civilization with a mighty swing. A Golf holy place.

Pelgrims at the 19th hole are steaming up old heroic rounds that were battled down on what they reverently call “the Old Course”. Tales of bunkers so deep, that half of the Scottish lake-monsters could house here undisturbed. Winds so fierce that drifting balls slammed into the bells of the lost land of Avalon, angering the Lady of the Lake.
Tasting a single malt Highlander I can truly feel it: this is a sacred place…

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