Burnham & Berrow (Championship)

The first hole gives a good introduction to the landscape you will play through on most holes

The 3rd green is set in a slight punchbowl over a series of undulations and swales

The first of the one-shotters comes at the 5th, the green surrounded by well-camouflaged bunkers

From the 6th to the 11th you play mostly through more open, flat linksland - with the par four 7th a great example of smart lay-of-the-land architecture, a central ridge dictating the strategy

Burnham Church stands just yards from the 12th green, one of the hardest to hit on the course

The greensites don't come much better than this at the 15th, which offers plenty of ways to get home, either by air or land

The short par four 16th is slightly beyond driveable for most mortals, but that just makes the second shot - likely to be played from 30-70 yards out - all the more tricky... and fun!

Course name: Burnham & Berrow (Championship)
Location: Burnham-on-Sea, Somerset
Four Word Course Review: Thrilling routing maximises dunes

I can't remember exactly when it was that my then-girlfriend (now fiancee and within the next month my wife) and I decided that rather than just go on another holiday to Europe we would move there for a few years.
What I can recall is, the very same day we decided we were moving to London, stopping by the newsagent in my home town on Sydney's outskirts to buy a British golf magazine so I could see what awaited me.

Having selected the current edition of Golf International, I got back in my car and started to flick through. Within a few pages I came upon a double page spread - a monthly feature where Ronan Rafferty highlighted an unheralded British links. That month: Burnham & Berrow on the Atlantic coast in Somerset.

"There it is," I thought. "This is going to be amazing, all these incredible courses I have never even heard of and I'll be living within a few hours of them!"

I vowed at that moment that somehow, during my stay in the UK, I would play Burnham & Berrow.

After having several intended visits scrapped during my time here, more than two years later - closer to three, I'd say - I finally did, having made the trip down from my south London home.

The Gods clearly knew this day was special: it poured from the time I left my house at 5.30am until I met a friend at Fleet train station at 7 o'clock. It rained that soupy, annoying rain England specialises in for the two and a half hours it took us to drive from there to Burnham.

Arriving, I walked past the club notice board on my way inside the clubhouse and there it was: my article! That same spread that had excited me more than two years ago pinned between entry forms for open days and draws for club knockouts. My host told me it was a photo of the first green taken from the second tee. I resolved to get a matching photo with me in it!

It rained a constant, taunting stream as we ate breakfast in the clubhouse (food can be eaten in the bar, clubhouse rules dictate, unless the meal requires cutlery or, somewhat arbitrarily, contains chips - in which case it must be consumed in the dining room...), until, having already lingered for an extra half-hour in the hope it might clear, we made for the door to face our saturated fate.

But then, just like that, it stopped.

We played nine holes on the Channel course (nine greens, 18 tees) in completely dry weather and as we moved through the last four holes back towards the clubhouse I experienced some of the great landscape and quirk that would make the main course a highlight of my extremely fortunate portfolio of UK golfing memories.

We went inside for a pint (the local brew is called Butcombe. Careful ordering a pint of that after you've already had a few!) before tackling the main course and it returned. No sooner had glasses clinked to celebrate an enjoyable warm-up, the floor-to-ceiling windows that give those inside a perfect view of the 1st tee and 18th green told the sorry tale... the rain was back.

The pints were drained and we decided there was no delaying the inevitable. Out we headed and again the rain stopped.

From the first hole Burnham is something special, twisting and turning through the dunes with greens set at choice locations, many using the natural slopes to either feed the ball onto the green or swat it away.

While short on blindness, as is the favour post-World War Two, Burnham still manages to be quirky at ever turn, with the land making the surfeit of bunkers you see at many links wholely unnecessary.

A case in point are the two par fives on the front, which each provide brilliant interest and challenge with angled drives and greensites that sit frustratingly within reach, but of such design that hitting and holding them with a long club is just far enough beyond most golfers that you're still inclined to try, despite the expectation of almost certain failure.

Turning for home brings several holes of flatter land that give you just enough time to realise what amazing terrain you have been traversing for the past hour or two, and then you're back into it: the sensory overload of Burnham Church standing sentry by the dramatic 12th green, the narrow path of the par five 13th through the dunes, the transfixing bunkerless green on the one-shot 14th, where we spent 20 minutes putting from all corners of the putting surface, shaking our heads at the turns our balls took heading up, down and across the slopes.

The final stretch was maybe the best on the course, providing us firm ground, ample undulation and enough wind to make links shotmaking necessary.

As if to ice the cake, I chipped from a rough-covered ridge 50 yards short of the 18th green to within a foot to secure my par. My friend matched me by holing a 40-footer. The day was just as special for him: he has been visiting Burnham regularly (but not regularly enough, I'm sure) since he was 11. Our host made it three pars for the group by tapping in a three-footer that we would have conceded were we better guests!

I arrived home close to 19 hours after I had departed, exhausted but elated. Birdie or bogey, the smile hadn't left my face all day. I had realised a dream that evolved almost 20,000km away.