THEY say that to make the most of your once-in-a-lifetime experience of playing the Old Course at St Andrews you need a caddy.

Which is how I came to meet Jimmy Bowman, who had carried the bags of top pro's such as Jack Newton and Steve Elkington, not to mention lesser known personalities such as Bill Clinton and Clint Eastwood.

But his greatest achievement had been to assist a country and western singer named Clay Walker, who two years ago played in the Dunhill Links Challenge off a handicap of 11 and went round in two under par gross.

"He was very upset when people started shouting 'bandit'. We shot 84 in practice, then in the first round he just had one of those days when everything went right for him," said Jimmy.

"It was tremendous. He was going so well he kept me on my toes and we had three nett eagles. He hit the par five fifth with a drive and a 9-iron and they tried to cut his handicap in mid-round but I told them they couldn't do that.

"They cut him by four before the next day's round at Carnoustie, but he was worked up because of the accusations and he lost it."

Among the legendary tales about St Andrews caddies is one about Brian Barnes becoming irritated by a spectator jingling the coins in his pocket. He asked his caddy to have a word and he shouted over: "Hey, you, can't you play with your bollocks like everybody else?"

Jimmy's funniest experience was caddying for someone who was standing with his shadow over the hole at the first as his brother lined up a putt.

"His brother kept asking him to back up until his shadow was out of the way," said Jimmy. "And it ended up with him toppling over into the Swilken Burn."

Ah yes, I remember the Swilken Burn. The flag was only about four yards over it on the first green the day we played, and having taken too much club to make sure I cleared it in the first place Jimmy wanted me to chip back down the green with a 7-iron.

"Land it there," he said, pointing to a spot just on the green "and it will run down to the flag."

It ran down to the flag all right and kept on going into the burn. "Damn," said Jimmy, "I thought it was perfect."

It wasn't the start I'd dreamed of, but when you are paying £35 (plus optional tip) for the services of a man who has been doing the job for 29 years and knows every blade of grass you have to trust him implicitly.

Given that St Andrews is not a difficult course as long as you stay out of the bunkers, it was invaluable to have him giving me a precise line off every tee. And he was always spot on with his lines on the greens.

"Two cups to the left" or "one ball on the right" he would say and I got the impression he was as gutted as I was if I missed. So it made me want to do well for his sake, which creates a kind of pressure we're not used to in our Saturday morning fourballs.

Still, I'd waited until I was well into the back nine of life to visit the home of golf, which is such a Mecca these days that market forces allow them to charge £105 a round. At that price it's not something I'm likely to repeat, so relaxation wasn't the aim. There would be time for that in the Jigger Inn afterwards.

The pressure of wanting to do well both for myself and for Jimmy was quite intense and I've probably never concentrated as fiercely over 18 holes.

Somehow I missed all the bunkers. Watching others trying to get out from under a vertical face, it struck me that they were unnecessarily penal.

"How would a pro get out of here?" one of my group asked his caddy. "He wouldn't be in there in the first place," was the cutting reply.

The Old Course has only two par threes and two par fives and on the second par five Jimmy wanted me to play safe to avoid Hell Bunker, a huge crater compared with the many little potholes in which there's barely room to swing a cat, never mind a club.

It was the one time I didn't take his advice and fortunately I cleared it.

Two holes later we came to the famous Road Hole, the 17th, where you have to hit your drive over a green shed attached to the luxurious Old Course Hotel.

Without a caddy you wouldn't have much idea what line to take, but Jimmy said: "Hit it over the V," and following his instructions to the letter produced the most satisfying drive of my life.

From the middle of the fairway my second was drawn like a magnet towards the most famous bunker in golf, known as the Sands of Nakajima after Japanse golfer Tommy Nakajima took 14 to get out of it during an Open.

Thankfully, my ball pulled up short, otherwise I might have been there yet, even though they have tinkered with the bunker apparently to make it easier.

It has been the subject of much controversy and visually the result was, frankly, disappointing. But not half as disappointing as failing to get through the Valley of Sin with my attempted bump and run at the last.

You've seen it done so many times on television and finally here you are. You've got one crack at it, the crowd (well, the previous fourball) are waiting behind the green for you to lay it dead. And you come up short.

Jimmy tried to lift my spirits by observing: "Anything Rocca can do we can do," referring to the monstrous putt Constantino Rocca holed out of the valley to get into the 1995 Open play-off.

But it wasn't to be. No chucking my ball deliriously to the crowd, just a quiet feeling of contentment that I had finally done what every golfer wants to do and thoroughly enjoyed it. And Jimmy added immeasurably to the experience.