London, GB | Formerly of New York, Buenos Aires, Fife, and the Western Cape. | Saoránach d’Éirinn.

Walking the Dunes

Three sausages for breakfast, followed by reading from Gordon Brook Shepherd’s life of Empress Zita. Purchased my usual sugar doughring from Fisher and Donaldson and the latest Country Life from J&G Innes (all about London this week). The options for luncheon in hall were of asiatic origin so I boycotted and ate about half a loaf of buttered brown bread instead while reading Country Life in the Common Room of Canmore. There were a few people there; Adrian cataloguing the Catholic Truth Society pamphlets out of nothing better to do, Stefano sitting around waiting for his next tutorial, Liam lurking about, and “Ishmael” came in just to be social.

For a while we savaged Stefano because of his desire to show dirty films about Venetian courtesans in Canmore. Canmore, the Catholic Chaplaincy mind you, and Stefano is President of the Catholic Society. “Ishmael” and I slagged him off for being a dirty continental, which he just sort of brushed aside. We thought he was being a bit imperious, perhaps even episcopal, so we decided to turn the chair he was seated in into an impromptu sedia gestatoria. “Ishmael”, Adrian, Liam, and I each took one leg and raised His Foppishness aloft, processed him out of the Common Room, into the hallway, out the door, and into the street. We made as if we were going to give him the old heave-ho but eventually just put him down and ran back inside. Earlier he had taken off his shoes, and thus was stuck in the chair, in the street without any shoes on. By then we had gathered in the window to witness the poor man, yelling at us to carry him aloft “back into the palace”, gesticulating wildly, pointing out his lack of footgear. And we laughed. Oh, how we laughed. Eventually he got tired of our churlish manner and hopped back into the building, avoiding a puddle or two. “I hate you all,” he said, “and you didn’t carry me high enough,” then descending into ramblings about how at the next Catholic Society meeting the president should enter the room in a sedia. We resumed savaging him, and I had another slice of brown bread.

A little while later, I looked out towards the sea and the West Sands and felt them calling me forth. I had not gone for a walk along the beach yet this term, and it seemed as good a time as any. Though the sun was out I brought along my umbrella, just in case, and headed down past the Royal & Ancient Golf Club, past the putting green, and onto the Sands. Walks along the beach must be done at a very relaxed and leisurely rate. Every now and then I came across some driftwood or other such things that wash up on the beaches of Fife and gave them a little prod with my brolly and then, curiousity satisfied, carried along. I travelled about two thirds of the way down before seeking shelter from the breeze in one of the little dales within the dunes, took out some Marcus Aurelius that was hiding in my jacket pocket and had a little read. When I felt that my thirst for the wisdom of the ages was at least temporarily quenched, I decided to head back into town along the dune route. The beach is, as you would imagine, flat, whereas coming back along the dunes is a constant up and down through narrow sandy crevices with lots of reeds and tall grass on either side of you. If you ever visit St Andrews, you must go for a walk along the West Sands, and it’s advisable (if suitably agile) to walk at least partially along the dune paths.

Heading back into town, a Japanese couple asked me to take their photo in front of the R&A, and I duly obliged before slipping into the Quarto bookshop. The Quarto sells used books, and I had a good look around to see if there was anything new to peruse. I had a little read through a book on the history and traditions of the Channel Islands before heading back to hall, and here I am now, transcribing the day’s journey to you. Nothing left today but circuit training for the Boat Club, followed by a meeting of said august body. Hope it doesn’t last too long, else I’ll miss dinner. Some sort of pasta dish tonight; should be at least edible.

Previously: The West Sands

Published at 10:56 am on Thursday 3 November 2005. Categories: Journal St Andrews.
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