The Tournament Players Championship in Hamburg was sprinkled with stars from the US Tour last week. The invited elite were, of course, here for the money and not the challenge of Gut Kaden. The "appearance fees" were probably as much as the total prize money of Stg£1.6 million.

It was a well-run tournament, with efforts made since the last event here two years ago to improve the course. The attempts were fruitless. Even with the best patch-up job on this course, it does not take long for the cracks to reappear. Gut Kaden is situated some 30 kilometres north of Hamburg, and most caddies stayed in small towns near the course. There was a particular restaurant that became our local last week, where we would congregate most evenings. Naturally the dinner table was usually "covered with divots" (full of golf talk). We also had some reminiscences of travel in the good old days.

Scottie Gilmore, a veteran of over four decades porter service, is a Scot with a strong hint of an American drawl. He has many stories, and tells most of them with bravado. A caddie reminded him of the time they travelled through Europe with a South African caddie who required a visa to enter most countries, t but, of course, didn't have one. So they used to cover him up with bags in the boot of the car whenever they approached border control.

"Was that the time I had the blue Jaguar?" Scottie inquired with a deluded air of grandeur. No

"No," came the immediate and predictable reply from a room filled with caddies and alcohol. "That was when you had the red .Lada."

The caddies descended upon the German event from all angles in varying modes of transport.

Superstar invitees Jesper Parnevik and Nick Price flew in from the US with their respective caddies, Lance Ten Brook and Rickie Roberts.

As his player had just won the Byron Nelson tournament Lance was more inclined to stay around in Dallas, Texas for the celebrations, but he had already accepted the invitation of the plane's owner, Nick Price, to join him for the Hamburg trip. His revelling would have to be postponed, but the luxury of a private jet, door to door, was too good an offer to refuse.

While Lance was guiding his man to victory in the States, Kevin Woodward was boarding a bus at Victoria station in London for his journey to the same ultimate destination as Lance.

As Ignacio s Garrido's load lugger, Kevin was destined to avail of a slightly less grand mode of transport. Kevin had just returned, unscathed, from some farm sitting in his native Zimbabwe. As he had not been working over the past few months he decided that the bus journey would help recoup some lost earnings.

At a £77 round trip, he later realised that some highly-organised caddies had got return flights from London for less. Never mind, the bus journey would be a pleasant one in comparison to weeks on end under siege in an isolated Matebeleland farm.

As Kevin awoke with the vibration of the s bus window rattling against his head somewhere around Antwerp at an ungodly hour of the morning, Lance was relieved of his luggage at the air-conditioned private jet wing of Dallas International airport and ordered a cocktail as he waited for a limousine to bring him out to Nick Price's Gulfstream jet.

Kevin had been advised upon boarding his long-haul bus - the journey was to be 19 hours in all, including stop-offs and minor delays - that the toilet was at the rear of the vehicle but it would be appreciated if passengers would restrict their visits to only. It "number ones". Lance and Ricky had no such limitations on the private jet. In fact the toilet was the type of place in which you could have spent the whole trip across the Atlantic, with its mahogany finish and extra-thick toilet paper.

Nick Price .The guest caddies had also made sure the guest caddies had their steaks well done, and the Oregon red, chosen by the host, complemented the meal wonderfully.

Meanwhile, cruising at a considerably lower 60 m.p.h., in order to maximise the fuel consumption on their 10-hour drive into the heart of Schlezwig Holstein, the Duncan brothers had averaged 54 miles a gallon on their last tank of petrol.

Ian and Lorne, both bagless, were anxious to arrive at Gut Kaden by early Monday morning as economically as possible in order to join the other caddies searching for work in the car-park.

They didn't have to worry about choosing a wine with their evening meal, which constituted a couple of bratwursts at an autobahn stop near the Dutch border. They washed their German delicacy down with a tepid bottle of fizzy water. While Kevin was adjusting his caddie towel to support the small of his back - which after eight hours in seat 10B was becoming decidedly rigid - Lance and Ricky had handed their dinner trays back to Nick Price. They polished off the rest of their wine and reclined their spacious leather seats to an almost horizontal position in preparation for a good night's sleep.

The Duncans arrived at the rustic German clubhouse in time to secure the bags of Ross McFarlane and Robin Byrd.

Kevin had slept adequately and a shower on Monday morning in the clubhouse refreshed him sufficiently in preparation for a days looping for Garrido.

Ricky and Lance were whisked through Hamburg airport, into awaiting courtesy cars and on to their pre-assigned hotels.

Each caddie in his own way was satisfied with the various modes of transport to last week's venue. We are all equal out here, some just arrive in more style than others.