AH, the glitz and glamour of the Open.

The diarist and his colleague are billeted in the shimmering surrounds of Pontins this week.

One does enjoy the quirks and absurdities of a chalet in a British coastal resort.

Being handed a cheery Welcome Pack which did not include the bed linen merely added to the dewy-eyed romance of the experience and gave our cosy little abode the same kind of old school charm, bijou elegance and alluring, fading grandeur as the cells of Alcatraz.

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You can’t beat a grand entrance. And no, we’re not taking about the doorway into our Pontins bolthole.

Henrik Stenson arrived at Birkdale the other day to hand back the Claret Jug in a futuristic, driverless Mercedes Benz F015.

This all-singing, all-dancing motor, which looks as extravagant as Liberace’s dressing table, boasts open-pore walnut wood interiors and ice-white nappa leather amid its shimmering array of lavish fixtures and fittings.

“The core elements of the design philosophy combine to create a unique, progressive aesthetic appeal,” trumpeted the engineers.

“It’s just like the Herald’s editorial pool car,” we nonchalantly snorted before asking them if we could borrow a foot pump to blow up the wonky front left.

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GOLF fans are a stoic, loyal old bunch.

Here at Birkdale, they don’t come much more stoic or loyal than local member John Perrins.

The 83-year-old has been to every Open that’s been held at Birkdale stretching back to Peter Thomson’s maiden win over these grand links in 1954.

Things have changed a bit since those days, of course.

Well, with the exception of Pontins which has soft furnishings dating back to the Cretaceous period.