The British Open Championship is the melting pot for all things golf. It is the Mecca, the shrine for people who are interested in the game. Judging by the Bollinger champagne tent on Saturday it is also a focal point for socialites who wouldn't be able to distinguish a golf club from a polo stick. It's all part of Open charm.

Standing outside the main entrance to the Royal Lytham & St Annes clubhouse last week just looking at the world go by is like taking a trip down memory lane.

All sorts of people spring up from the past, making their yearly pilgrimage to the best major of the year.

The authorities gave the Open toter full access to the locker room which involved marching through the main atrium to the clubhouse. We got to move through the blue blazer brigade in the hallway.

On the final day of the 130th Open experts expounded without any real clue as to who was going to raise the silver claret jug that evening.

My own boss, Paul Lawrie, went into the weekend like everyone who made the cut, with quiet expectation. He was only seven off the lead with two rounds to play. As it happened we got to play with the eventual winner and runner-up at the weekend.

David Duval gave a clinical performance on Saturday. Golf can frequently be an infectious game, both good and bad. By the time we had reached 14, Duval and Lawrie had amassed a total of 11 birdies between them without a bogey. The cameras had started gathering en masse after Duval's birdie on the 12th.

Despite a weak finish Lawrie still found himself in a position to win going into the last round. Some of Saturday's good luck seemed to rub off on Sunday's partner, Niclas Fasth. Always buoyant and optimistic Niclas wished everyone in earshot luck before our 12.35 departure and said that we should try to enjoy the experience.

Fasth had tried six times previously to qualify for the Open and failed on each occasion. This time he was exempt through this year's order of merit. Now that he was finally participating he was going to make the most of it.

The crowds, the course and the whole spectacle filled him with a sense of excitement. Judging by the amount of times he headed for the sparsest of cover to relieve himself, he was excited. Three visits to the bushes in seven holes.

Enjoying a round of golf for a professional golfer is easier said than done, the enjoyment naturally tends to be performance related. Fasth's 67 made it easy for him to achieve his goal.

Walking down the fifth hole after he had crunched an eight-iron 210 yards downwind, Fasth explained that he can get pretty pumped up when he is playing well.

Enjoying yourself has its problems when it comes to distance control, the ball can go for ever.

His experience of being in contention in Madeira earlier this year had taught him to recognise the "pumped up" syndrome.

As Fasth climbed to the top of the leaderboard after a birdie on 11 the world's media gradually amassed to form a full platoon by the 13th hole.

It was hard not to become enveloped in his unlikely quest for the Claret Jug, despite the fact that I still had a job to do myself. I asked Niclas if he was enjoying himself.

He beamed a big smile and replied: "Yes I am, and I still think I am in control too."

I didn't say much to Dave "Magic" Johnstone, his caddie. "Magic" is a good smoker at the best of times: he wasn't without a cigarette for most of the back nine.

When Fasth made his final attempt at a birdie on 18, which just shaved the hole, he tapped in and acknowledged the huge applause from the appreciative crowd. He took off his cap and faced the spectators with the serene dignity of a Shakespearean actor.

He had achieved his goal of enjoying himself, finished second in his first Open Championship and put himself in serious contention for the Ryder Cup team.

He would be a surprise member of the team but extremely valuable, judging by Sunday's performance.