Golf lessons

Golf. The mere mention of the word conjures up all sorts of memories. An enforced session of hitting shots at the airfield at 17 before I got the much-desired driving lesson. Sandy Lyle, Nick Faldo, Seve Ballesteros. The Open. Hours of droning commentary on the TV. High Tea at the Royal Montrose as a family treat. Edzell Golf Club. My mother's annoyance and upset when Dad didn't appear home in time for tea or buggered off to practice as opposed to helping her get their four kids fed and ready for bed.

Golf permeated my childhood. With a father who thought about being a pro and is still a very good golfer, it was never going to be any other way.

As a result, I've stayed as far away from it as possible. So I'm still rather surprised at even going for my two golf lessons. I'd volunteered to hit balls on Sunday, basically because I thought it might be an opportunity for a bonding session with Euan's new girlfriend. However, my father took this as a green light to introduce me to his beloved game.

Yesterday was spent on my swing. Today on chipping and putting. This afternoon I've been left with the swing setter, a gadget to help me get my hand position right and feel the rhythmn of the swing. I must say - and I can't believe I'm writing this - I can see the appeal. It's a mind game.

It's all about skill and the ability to harness that skill, to remain calm and centred when you're hitting those little white balls everywhere apart from where you want them to go. There are definitely parallels with skiing which Dad has cleverly tapped into in his lessons. "Stay centred over your feet. Good, you're not collapsing into your swing which most beginners do. You'll have strong legs from the skiing." He knows me too well. Make a link with skiing or praise my skiing ability in any way and I'll automatically pay attention.

It's been fantastic weather the last couple of days. The Links is a great place to be in the sunshine; a light breeze, the smell of the gorse, sunshine, blue sky and the sound of the sea.

Golfing. Me. I can't believe it. The lengths one will go to when one is not gainfully employed.