He was at the eighteenth green and it had come down to this moment; he'd waited two years. Surrounded by crowds numbering tens of thousands, Jack found himself wondering if this was all there was to life.
In the end, he reasoned, it came down to inserting a smallish object into a roundish hole. But missing the target was unthinkable in front of such a crowd.
Shut your eyes and do it, Jack told himself silently. He slowly guided his cornish pasty into his mouth and bit.
Nothing escaped, no crumbs fell. The pasty – costing five pounds – was exquisite.