Emmaprovement Continues...

The truth first: I have some abandonment issues. You see, initially it was just my Dad that left our family for the rolling green golf range, then my mum took up the game, clearly to save her marriage.

Then, even my sister - my sister, people - started spending all her days at the golf club. She was the drinks girl; driving around on a golf cart selling beer and water to the golfers. Still, she says - when she is feeling a little insecure - she will think back to those heady days of constant male attention, flattery, and massive cash tips.

But me, no. Even though my parents, at one point, belonged to three golf clubs; I never set foot on the green, though I was partial to the Club sandwiches. So when TrainerJonny suggested that I try Urban Golf for this column, I jumped at the chance.

Clearly, clearly I'd be great at it, since every TV, DVD player and electrical device in my parents house has been won from various golf tournaments. Also, any sport where you can simultaneously smoke, drink, and spark up a joint, while playing, is one I'd like to support.

I made an appointment with Steve, an instructor, at the Smithfield branch of Urban Golf. Walking in to the discreet facilities, I realised: Damn, I probably screwed up on the dress code. A DVF summer dress and four inch heels might be fine for the UJ office, but certainly not the proper attire when I'm learning to swing.

But, Steve assured me, it would be fine - though I would have to learn in my bare feet. The place looked a bit like a karaoke club, with large booths scattered around a central bar. It was surprisingly full of exactly what you'd expect - corporate and banking suits in their 30s and 40s. A sausage fest, basically. Golf: it's a good thing.

But was I going to be any good? Well, actually, I'm not bad. I got the grip down in a few goes (there's a joke here, but we'll take the high road) and by the end of the hour lesson, I was hitting the ball with relative consistency.

Now, unless some poor schmuck is willing to pony up for the left-handed ladies golf clubs I'll be needing to take the sport seriously; I doubt I'll be hitting St Andrews anytime soon. But golf is - like fancy cars, household staff, and plastic surgery - something I think I could really get into in my later years.