Dunhill dog.

As everyone knows, it's pretty warm right now in UK. I can imagine that small talk with sales assistants has gone through the roof. I wouldn't know, though - I've been inside for most of the day. Because that's the way I roll.

I did nip out to get a coffee at one point, in an effort to try and wake up before work. But I only had 4p in my wallet. So I changed direction to do some celebrity snapping at the Dunhill Pro/Am competition down at the Old Course.

All along the left hand side of the 18th fairway, above shops and hotels were exclusive balconies. Perched upon them were suit & cravat wearing old men who gabbled to each other in that way that the upper class do. The women between them wore stuffy, matching, bland trousers and jackets and had stuffy, bland, plastic faces, too, that I feared may melt in the sun.

Quite a funny atmosphere, a golf game. It is so quiet that you become self-conscious about how you're acting. You debate the necessity to move. Or breathe. You don't want to stand out or do something out of line. So I didn't hang around for long.