Back from St Andrews But Not Really

On 11.02.09, In Hamilton Hall, Scotland, St Andrews, Travel, United Kingdom, By Mike

On Wednesday morning when I arrived in Scotland’s Edinburgh Airport slightly knackered from my overnight 2-legged journey, I privately sighed. I was now back in a country that I not so privately love. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, I love America too. But if America owns my heart, for some reason, and one I can’t truly articulate, Scotland owns my soul.

The purpose of my visit was to meet up with the Monarchs House (our home in St Andrews) team of Angus and Kevin. Kevin has been the chef at the house since we bought it in 2001. If well over a thousand visitors to Monarchs House can be trusted, Kevin is St Andrews’ best chef. I wholeheartedly concur but his demeanor, in addition to his cooking, make Kevin a treat to be around. Angus Mitchell, our general manager since taking over from his daughter Amanda six years ago, is the best go-to-guy one could ever dream up. He has lived in St Andrews for his entire life and knows where all the bones are buried, no small feat in medieval St Andrews. Angus is knowledgeable, thorough, trustworthy, loyal and hard working. If you’re an absentee homeowner and this fellow was looking after your interests, you could sleep at night. He is also retiring at the end of November. Figuring out what to do without Angus in the mix was the meaning behind the trip. BUT it was far more than that.

Waiting for me as I came around the corner signage proclaiming Edinburgh’s beauty was Club Cars, the taxi company Angus had sent to retrieve me. The driver was a familiar, friendly face that was keen to know how long it had been since I last visited. After a few comments about the fate of Hamilton Hall, the iconic red sandstone building I was involved with, the conversation turned light, warm and breezy just like the weather that day. As much as I talked and listened, my eyes searched the rolling hills of Fife as we made our hour’s journey into St Andrews. Farms, distant ruins, and a steam billowing train running vein-like through the middle of the county made everything seem so familiar. It was familiar because not much had changed since I last made this journey 2+ years ago and 33+ years ago. Would St Andrews be the same? I had very little time ahead of me to before I could bear witness.

As we circled the Guardbridge roundabout for the final leg of the ride, I noticed my breathing. It was shallow. Once I saw the Eden Estuary, I knew it would be moments before I saw the church spires and the Hamilton Hall dominated St Andrews skyline. And then, there it was, in the distance, the building that was my dream project, Hamilton Hall. I shook my head in a final indignation at how unceremoniously the restoration had abruptly ended for everyone but it was right there in the taxi that I decided to put this disaster behind me once and for all. Of course, it wouldn’t be easy because everyone I saw in the ensuing 4 days had questions and lots of them. But it was a starting point.

Monarchs House was the final destination and as always, Kevin was there to greet me with a toothy smile and a warm welcome. Though I wanted to crawl into bed for a short nap, I also wanted a Monarchs House French press coffee. I was exhausted and I knew that if you are over tired, you can forget about getting sleep. (There’s your special bonus travel tip du jour.) Shortly afterwards, Angus walked in displaying the warm Scottish hospitality that Monarchs House is known for. Both Angus and Kevin looked precisely as they did when I last saw them. It was like my ride into town. Nothing changes. We agreed to meet at 1 PM and Kevin would join us at 3 PM. We needed to get Angus outfitted with the sloped shoulders that retirement would bring him but we needed a plan for Monarchs House. I went upstairs to the Robert the Bruce bedroom and quickly released myself into the arms of Morpheus. Visions of Scotland danced through my head.

After meeting with Angus and Kevin, I decided to go for a walk around the town. It was a cracking day and unseasonably warm, perfect for exploring. Directly to the left of our house is Lade Braes Lane, a ten-foot walled in passageway into the town. On occasion, it is used as a smoking outpost and hideaway for the young students of the next-door Madras College. The really great thing about the lane is that it starts in town, runs by our house and ends 2.5 miles down the road at the Botanical Gardens.

Town is exactly like I remembered it, which is not to say there wasn’t changes, it is just that the changes were small and subtle. Things move glacially at St Andrews on purpose. If it went any other way, you’d see a McDonald’s on the corner. I noticed that many shops had closed and more storefronts than ever before were now available for let. After much resistance, the town has parking meters now. They installed the tower system, which serve multiple parking spots replacing the archaic voucher system. Another change I noticed is that it appears like St Andrews has become the coffee-drinking epicenter of the free world. There are coffee shops everywhere. In a town of over 15,000 university students, you can now get coffee or beer at multiple locations on any street in town. One pub that did close was the ubiquitous Aikman’s on Bell St. KT Tunstall used to gig there in the early 2000s but after 20+ years, it seems shuttered. On a further look around, I did see a couple of new buildings but all in all time stands still in St Andrews.

All of that walking made me a bit thirsty myself. I could have stopped at any of the many pubs that I passed on my way around town but I wanted to put in an appearance at the St Andrews Golf Club where I am a member. I knew that I would be interrogated at the Club but I wanted to drop in and say hello to my inquisitors. After entering the club with a swipe card, I walked into the main room where there is usually epic socializing taking place. I glanced down at the blue couch to my left and sitting there, as expected, were the four horsemen of the apocalypse, my drinking mates for that early evening. I will spare you their names only because they would hate to get a reputation for being nice to me. But being nice to anyone without a couple of well-considered and good-natured digs is the modus operandi of this group. After greeting me with “we were just talking about you 10 minutes ago,” I was then told that my (new) haircut was “poufy” and that the “extra weight looks good on you.” Welcome back.

Later that evening, I met up with an old friend and one that I have kept in touch with for years. Since he had something else on his diary that evening, our best option was for drinks at 9 PM at the Russell Hotel. My friend suggested it, though he knew it was my favorite local place, in order that we could be in the company of the lovely and friendly manageress there, Helen. Later in the evening, my friend’s wife popped in for a final drink and some final laughs. What a great way to spend my first day back in St Andrews.

Rather than bore you with a day by day accounting of my travails, I will leave it at this. My trip was everything I expected and more, just as it always is. When I paid my final visit to the St Andrews club on Saturday, one of my friends there, the most curmudgeonly of the lot, came over to me and hugged me as he was leaving for the day. He leaned over and quietly said so that no one else could hear, “next time, don’t be as long, lad.” It was like the first time I had been to St Andrews 33 years ago, when a total stranger invited me off the street and into his house to have supper with he and his wife. Nothing changes. And I like it like that.

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Whatever Happened to Hamilton Hall?

On 10.12.09, In Real Estate, Scotland, St Andrews, St Andrews Grand, This Time It's Personal, United Kingdom, By Mike

It was time to write this story. It has bothered me for so long that I need it off my chest once and for all. This is the (very) brief accounting of what happened to my partner and my purchase of Hamilton Hall.

Sometime in 2004, my business partner and I submitted the winning bid to buy Hamilton Hall from the University of St Andrews. While we were clever enough to recognize a great building, we had no real estate development experience. Our cleverness ended there when we failed to select the right partner. We are responsible for bringing this wonderful, Victorian landmark to Wasserman Real Estate Capital (WREC). That was our grave error.

Hamilton Hall

While the possibility of a economic score seemed possible and probable, our primary concern was that the project was done properly and with consideration for St Andrews, Scotland and the world of golf. If this happened, everything else would take care of itself. We were, after all, homeowners in the town and long time visitors to St Andrews and Scotland. Although Hamilton Hall has many constituencies, this was completely lost on WREC. Until the time of purchase, the WREC principles had been to Scotland once and that was on a boondoggle hosted by Bentley Motor Cars. Seeing Scotland through the eyes of a luxury automobile company hardly qualifies one to develop one of Scotland’s most important and iconic buildings. In retrospect, Wasserman Real Estate Capital wasn’t remotely qualified to develop this building. They didn’t have the necessary capital, the knowledge or the experience to turn this into a success for all. They expected it to sell itself. And while this is not a viable strategy, it almost did sell itself.

For months on end, I sounded like a broken record. “It’s a great building but what are we selling,” I asked repeatedly. “When people/members arrive here, what type of experience are we delivering to them?” I was not alone. In the course of 18 months, WREC hired and fired not less than 11 sales/marketing/public relations companies, all of whom were saying exactly the same thing. This was not a good message to send to the marketplace. Deadline after deadline was missed. Bills weren’t paid or were delayed indefinitely. Lies were the order of the day. David Wasserman would constantly tell us that if we got more members to sign up, then we could spend money on marketing material and amenities. I have email after email where he would blame everyone but himself for the lack of sales. Yet, he said he would handle the sales exclusively. But think about this for one second, how can a project be set up for success if sales were needed to drive the expenditure for marketing materials? David Wasserman ensured his own failure and those around him.

His lips are moving...

Today, the building stands vacant, a shell of its former glory as the Grand Hotel. Nothing has been done for over two years. I remember hosting a series of cocktail parties at my home in St Andrews where David Wasserman presented his plan to the local citizens. Not one word of his plan ever came to fruition. He constantly told people that work would begin, only for that deadline to uneventfully expire.

I couldn’t be more sad about a project that started with so much promise. I am convinced that in the right hands, this project would have not only worked but flourished. Now, it is the perfect Harvard Business School case study…for what not to do. I do not expect WREC to be the lead developer on anything that goes forward with this project. They don’t have the resources. Their professional staff has left and the bank holds the mortgage for the total of the purchase price. Shortly, the bank will determine the future of this wonderful building by announcing its new owner.

Though I am sad that I am no longer involved in my dream project, I am thrilled to hear that the building will be resold. My fondest hope is that Hamilton Hall’s new ownership understands the building’s importance to the town, Scotland and the world of golf. This grand building deserves to be restored to its former glory and once again be a source of great pride for the people of St Andrews.

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Photo Hunter #24 – Sports

On 10.10.09, In Golf, Golf In Scotland, Photo, Photo Hunt, Photo Hunter, Scotland, Sports, St Andrews, Travel, United Kingdom, By Mike

This week’s theme is sports and I maintain, if you’re walking, it’s a sport. If you are riding, it’s a game. Just my opinion, you don’t have to agree with it.

For years now, I have traveled to Scotland on a regular basis with a group of seven other guys. There is nothing better than golf buddy trips. This photo was taken of me in the mid-nineties standing on the Old Course’s Swilcan Bridge in St Andrews. It was a great black and white shot that I have since PhotoShopped to give it an early 1900’s “colored in” postcard like feel. (you are wondering, I’m the guy who looks like a fridge with a head!)

Visit TNChick.com to see the PhotoHunter photo of the week,

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Tagged with: Fridge • Game • Golf Buddy • Mid Nineties • Old Course • Photo Hunter • Photo of the Week • Photoshopped • Postcard • Scotland • Sports • St Andrews • Swilcan Bridge

Photo Hunter #20 – Reflection

On 11.22.08, In Golf, Golf In Scotland, Photo, Photo Hunt, Photo Hunter, Photo of the Week, Photography, Scotland, St Andrews, United Kingdom, By Mike

Like last week’s Photo Hunter, this picture is also from St Andrews, Scotland. The bench and the building belong to the Royal and Ancient Golf Glub of St Andrews (R&A). It sits directly behind the first tee of the Old Course. The window above the bench shows the reflection of a setting sun over the Old Course. It’s my favorite reflection shot at my favorite place.

I look at this photo with great melancholy. It seems now like my 47 year run of visiting the UK will stop this year. I can’t even believe I said it. If anything changes I will keep you posted.

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The Singer Not the Song

On 11.20.08, In 70s, England, Mind the Gap, Music, United Kingdom, By Mike

In the United States when you ask a young boy what he wants to be when he grows up, the answer is the expected: “I want to be an Astronaut, Cowboy, Fireman or the President of the United States.” Maybe you’ll get the odd outlier who says he wants to drive a truck or something similar but those are the professions of choice at age 5. I’m guessing that in England the response is quite a bit different. I can even imagine that most young boys say that they want to be a singer in a rock ‘n’ roll band. How else could you possibly explain the stories of Paul Carrack, Paul Rodgers and Tony Burrows. Even the Stones knew in 1965’s December’s Childrens (And Everybody’s) that it is The Singer Not the Song. Leave it to Jagger to understand that.

Although he began recording in the 70’s, Paul Carrack enjoys a successful solo career today. His 2003 album, It Ain’t Over, is a gem. But long before Carrack decided to pursue a solo career he was a voice for hire. He sang the megahit How Long for the one hit wonder band, Ace. You could also hear Carrack’s vocal on Mike and the Mechanics songs like The Living Years and Silent Runnings and Squeeze’s best remembered hit, Tempted. He also sang for Roxy Music but there were quite a few egos in that band and Carrack slipped into deep background.

Paul Rodgers’ career path was similar to Carrack’s but he was much more of a creative influence in the bands he was a member of. His guitar playing and songwriting were only exceeded by his vocals for the bands Free, Bad Company, The Firm, The Law and now as a replacement for the departed Freddie Mercury, Queen. I’m certain that you can imagine Rodgers’ vocal in your head for All Right Now, Feel Like Makin’ Love and Radioactive. To this day, Paul Rodgers has one of the greatest and most distictive rock voices in history.

The story that interests me the most is the Roman candlesque career of Tony Burrows. He was truly a voice for hire. He wasn’t the man for the decades of the 70’s, he was the man for 1970. You likely have heard of Paul Rodgers and Paul Carrack but Tony Burrows is another story all together. Tony Burrows is the answer to one of the greatest trivia questions in music.

Who had four top 10 hits on the UK charts at the same time with four different groups?

These songs were all hits in the US. In 1970, Burrows charted with the preposterous novelty tune, Gimme Dat Ding singing for a band called the Pipkins. He also reached a wide US audience with the AM hits, Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes) by Edison Lighthouse, The Brotherhood of Man’s United We Stand and finally, The White Plain’s hit, My Baby Loves Lovin’. Tony Burrows was a one hit wonder four times and all at the same time! None of these bands went on to chart another song. And for Burrows, he captured lightening in a bottle one more time. This time it was for yet another band and another one hit wonder, First Class and their number 4 hit, Beach Baby. Tony Burrows never charted or recorded again.

It’s the singer not the song.

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Boris

On 10.30.08, In Eccentric, Government, London, Politics, United Kingdom, By Mike

If James Spader and Donald Trump were British and could somehow procreate (crikey, what am I saying here), their male offspring would be the spit and image of Boris Johnson. Johnson is the Mayor of London. I will spare you the details of Johnson’s resume but it is broad and deep but it hardly gives you any sense of the man. If one said that Boris Johnson is quirky, it would be akin to saying Usain Bolt is speedy. Usain Bolt? He’s really fast. Boris, and he hates being called by his surname because he doesn’t want to be perceived as likeable, was in the news this week. As usual, he was in the news because the man just doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut and for Johnson, political correctness never applies.

Johnson, a former journalist, still likes to write though he is a busy mayor of one of the world’s largest cities. He always has something to say and he still likes to memorialize it. On Tuesday, Johnson scribed a piece for the (London) Telegraph about the financial crisis. On one hand, his words look commonsensical, on other hand he misses the point that we are in the soup because we spent our way into it. The consumer cannot get us out of this problem given what has happened to real estate, retirement plans et al. But this is Boris at his best.

I don’t want to seem indifferent to suffering, and I don’t want anyone to accuse me of minimising the likely effect of the recession, because the coming months will very probably be a lot tougher – for millions of people – than the boom times we have all recently enjoyed.

But after reading the BBC’s special market crisis website, complete with its jagged red arrow pointing at the floor, and after hearing the pornographic glee with which we are told that another small country has gone up the spout, and after Mr Bean, the Deputy Governor of the Bank of England, has informed us that this could be the worst financial crisis in history, I am afraid I want to thrash my FT on the table and shout, Whoa! Come off it, folks! This isn’t the Black Death. Pinch yourself. Are you still there? Got a pulse? Thought so. Look out of the window. Those aren’t zombies. They are men and women engaged in the normal business of getting and spending.

This isn’t some disaster movie about a virus from Mars. It’s a recession, a downturn, a correction of a kind that is indispensable to any kind of human activity, and it does not require that we all go around under a special kind of credit-crunch pall. It does not mean we have to cancel all parties and talk in hushed credit-crunch tones. It doesn’t mean we have to line our rooms with newspaper, get in the foetal position and live on tins: in fact, it means the opposite.

Classic Boris. Have a read of the rest of Johnson’s bylined story here.

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Another Icon on Life Support

On 10.23.08, In Beer, Drinking, England, Ireland, Life, Scotland, United Kingdom, By Mike

First, it was London Bridge that was sold to unsuspecting, dolt businessmen in Lake Havasu City, Arizona who thought they were buying Tower Bridge. Later, British Telecom, during their privatisation, began selling off the ubiquitous British red telephone boxes before someone realized that they might be culturally significant. Today, London’s black cab is being manufactured in Shanghai. And now…the greatest horror of all… pubs are closing at an alarming rate in England, Scotland and Ireland.

Public houses or pubs, were the hub of village life in the United Kingdom for centuries. In many respects, they helped to define British life. Families and friends gathered in pubs to celebrate life, laugh, commiserate, eat and mostly, to drink ale. The family dog could always be found in front of the pub’s well-used fireplace. This way of life, an important aspect of British culture, is on the way out. Today, 35 pubs a week close across England. Over a 1000 English villages are now without pubs where at one time, those villages had 2, 3 and sometimes 4 pubs. There are projections that in Scotland, 12% of its pubs will shutter in 2009. Ireland has closed 1500 pubs since 2001. On top of all of this, the pub closures are costing thousands of jobs.

There are many reasons for this pandemic but the biggest reason of all is pure economics. If you read my fellow blogger, Katie from Long Aye-Lander, she wrote a post yesterday about the cost of beer in the supermarkets versus the price in a pub. As Katie points out, you can buy a can of Skol lager for 23p or less than 39 cents in the supermarket. Admittedly, Skol isn’t fantastic but compare 23p/39 cents to £3/$5.70 for a pint in a pub. Her Majesty’s tax collectors add approximately 30% to the price of a pint in a pub dependent upon the percentage of alcohol in the beer.

The government has made a well meaning move to focus on health throughout the U.K. but combined with pub economics and the smoking ban, pubs are now in more trouble than Tom Cruise’s acting career. The government has come to realise that with every action there is a reaction and now they have taken up the cause for the pubs. Can it be long before all hell breaks loose? Where will I get my McEwans 80/?

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Photo Hunter #15 – Family

On 10.18.08, In Friends and Family, London, Photo, Photo Hunt, Photo Hunter, Photography, United Kingdom, By Mike

I knew which photo I was using for this week’s Photo Hunter as soon as I saw this week’s theme. The photo below is of Mum & Dad’s wedding day in 1954. The ceremony took place in the Catholic Church, Our Lady of the Seven Dolours in Peckham, London. (It is now known as Our Lady of Sorrows.) This photo, along with Mum & Dad, represents my maternal relatives all of whom still reside in London.

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Passed Unanimously: It’s RTT

On 09.30.08, In Barack Obama, Blogging, Business, Common Sense, Election, Financial, Gadgets, Government, John McCain, Life, Music, My Wife, Patriotism, Politics, Presidential Candidates, Quote, Random Thoughts, Reading, Religion, Ron Paul, Science, Short Story, Song of the Week, Stock Market, Taxes, Technology, Television, USA, United Kingdom, Voting, Women, By Mike