Few things are as special as a Ryder Cup in Scotland – even if you don’t understand sport

Words and photographs Tess Paterson

It all started with a casual conversation over lunch. Someone was heading to the Ryder Cup at Gleneagles in Scotland. I thought they were talking about horses, and fortunately kept stumm. A hasty internet search by my golf-mad husband revealed that we might still get tickets. Just. Prices were scary – of the mortgage-extending variety – and the only way to acquire them was as part of a hotel package. “Yolo,” my teenage godson said, eyes glued to a PlayStation game. Well quite. As a one-off adventure, there simply was no better place to see it than its rightful home in the Highlands.