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August 1, 2003 |
Whatever became of the PHC European Tour? In times past, the highlight of the social calender for those of us on this side of the Atlantic was a visit from our friends from Minnesota. But lately we feel abandoned. You have not come to visit. We feel like we sat all day in the rain waiting for you, and you did not arrive. Will you ever come back to see us?
My dear Ian,
We've come to Edinburgh so often in the past that we feared exhausting your hospitality. There are limits after all. It's a handsome city, and the thought of going there is pure pleasure—flying into Heathrow and taking the Flying Scotsman north through Yorkshire, my father's ancestors' land, and into Scotland, my mother's parents' country, and climbing into a majestic cab and riding up the hill to St. George's Hotel and going to a cash machine (a big pleasure for an American) and putting in an American cash card and getting out a little wad of Scottish money! Miraculous! — But in this business, you seek to avoid wearing out the audience. Everyone's act is of limited appeal. So, rather than risk yawns in Edinburgh, among Scots whose approval we desperately crave, we have trotted the act around to the provinces, Chicago, L.A., Washington, New York, trying to learn new embellishments, and when we've poked up our confidence, we'll return to Scotland and try to sneak one past you again.