I am standing at the notorious ninth tee on the Ailsa course at Turnberry, preparing to whack a golf ball towards the slate grey waters of the Firth of Clyde.

Of course, that's not its desired destination. I'm meant to drive the ball into the buffeting wind and 200 yards across the sea to a tiny ribbon of fairway - a manoeuvre that led John Daly to joke at the 1994 Open Championship: "Now, who the heck stole the golf course?" But I'm a complete beginner, so no one's holding their breath.

Still, I'm feeling confident. The opportunity to strike a ball into the icy waters - with no risk of having to retrieve it - seems deliciously naughty; and, with photographic proof, I'm sure to impress my male colleagues, who have been relentlessly dismissive of my chances of even hitting a ball since I began boasting of my visit.

I concentrate, swing the club upwards, while muttering "vodka and tonic" - my mantra aimed at getting the crucial timing - and drive the iron downwards. My aim is spectacular. The club hits the pristine turf, taking a divot, a huge strip of grass, that flies off down the cliff. The ball, needless to say, remains on the tee, not even wobbling. Beside me, Stephen Walker, the resort's amiable sales and marketing director, turns slightly ashen as we stare at my vandalism. "Can I have another go?" I ask. To his credit, he lets me.

This is, admittedly, the only time I am allowed out on the championship course - rated the 19th best in the world by Golf magazine, and the venue for three Opens. And, in my defence, it is the worst divot I have taken. Twenty-four hours earlier, I'd never picked up a golf club so I'm quietly chuffed when, on my second attempt, I at least manage to drive the ball into the water, though it soars just a matter of metres. Twenty-four hours later, I even manage to complete two holes of the Academy course - though, admittedly, I take more shots than would usually be permitted.

I've come to the Colin Montgomerie Links Golf Academy at the Ayrshire resort to test out the "Back to Front" golf course for beginners, a new scheme of four lessons plus a mini-tournament that guarantees to get you round a nine-hole course by the end of a weekend. Given that I was the girl who was always picked last for rounders and who has never got the hang of tennis on account of my appalling hand to eye coordination, I figure that if I can do this, then anyone can.

Lesson one is a breeze. My biggest anxiety had been that I wouldn't even be able to hit the ball - a fear realised when the pressure got to me on the ninth tee - but the course aims to dispel this fear and to boost confidence by beginning with putting, the relatively gentle strokes that come in to play once the ball is safely on the green.

Putting accounts for 43% of the game, I soon learn, and is something that appears to come more easily to women, who are less likely to try and achieve a result through brute force. "Gentlemen amateur golfers should learn from lady professionals," explains Tony Marshall, 28, the ever-courteous pro tasked with teaching us, as he takes us from the swanky Academy classrooms - with their retractable doors that roll up to reveal the course, their computerised videos, simulators and swing analysers - and on to the "Cairngorms" putting green. Proving the stereotype - that women are more delicate of touch than men, or perhaps that they're more cautious - I gently putt away, sending each ball merrily into the hole from a distance of all of two metres.

Things continue swimmingly during our second lesson, when we learn about chipping, a longer version of putting that involves handling a more lofted golf club. It's a complete fluke, but I feel ridiculously elated when my third shot soars straight into the hole from about 25 metres away.

But such satisfaction can't last and things get highly frustrating when we're taken to the driving range - a row of 16 covered bays with spectacular views of the volcanic Ailsa Craig and the lighthouse, to practise driving shots and to "develop our swing".

"The two most difficult parts to learn are grip and posture. Neither feels natural," says Tony, as I struggle to achieve the correct distance from the ball while questioning how anyone could come up with a stance that feels so alien.

After years of being told to tuck my bottom in while windsurfing or skiing, I can't get used to being told to let it stick out, and persist in flexing my knees too much and remaining too upright. "Stand to attention, stand at ease, bend from the hips and flex the knees," I mutter, repeating a mantra of Tony's, and, miraculously, for the first time, I achieve the right angle which enables me to strike the ball in precisely the direction I want it to go.

Now all I have to work on is "moving through" the shot, bringing the club up and over my left shoulder so that my legs are contorted, the front one at right angles to my body, the back facing forwards. Then, there is my grip. "Squeeze it like a tube of toothpaste," advises Tony, whose teaching skills shine as he gently contends with my catalogue of mistakes and increasing frustration. I look down to see my knuckles white with tension. "Super," he says as I correct this, and it's sweet praise.

When I concentrate on every single aspect I can do it, I reassure myself, but such concentration is exhausting. And worse is to come, when Tony films us, produces print-outs of us, and then proceeds to gently analyse our failings. Of course, this proves invaluable. I can see precisely how reluctant I am to jutt my bottom out. This analysis picks up a new fault, too: I'm now bending my arms so as not to allow them to swing towards my right shoulder. Back on the course the next morning, the benefits are evident - my game, if I can call it that, has improved immeasurably.

In between lessons, I take myself off to the spa for the ultimate sybaritic activity. The 20ft pool is stunning, with its ceiling-to-floor windows offering uninterrupted views of the Irish Sea. I splash around before almost falling asleep during a detoxifying aromatherapy massage. Had I felt more active, I could have played lady of the manor, indulging in falconry, archery, game-fishing, shooting or just riding along the beach.

Refreshed by such indolence, I approach my final lesson in a better frame of mind - a mood that improves still further when we are taken out on to the Academy course to test out our technique. At last I can see the point of this as the autumnal sun beats down and tempers the chill, west-coast wind, and I thwack my ball off the tee and on to the fairway. The prospect of a little friendly competition improves our game, and soon we're behaving like proper golfers: concentrating fiercely, curbing our swearing and hankering to play a few more holes - something that would mean we would miss our flights.

It's all highly civilised - each of us congratulating one another for having improved so much in such a short space of time, and realising that we've done precisely what the tuition course pledged we'd achieve. I may not have metamorphosed into a scratch golfer, but I'll have gone some way towards silencing the office cynics - and making my performance on the ninth just a distant memory.

Way to go

Getting there: British Airways (0845 7733377, ba.com) flies to Glasgow from a number of regional airports from £59 return inc taxes.

Courses: From May-October, the Westin Turnberry Resort (01655 334136, westin.com/turnberry) offers a Golf Weekend for Beginners for £550pp (two sharing), or £860 single, including two nights' B&B, two days of golfing tuition at the Colin Montgomerie Links Golf Academy, lunch each day, a golfer's goodie bag and swing video. Other courses available. Road transfers from Glasgow airport available on request.

Further information: visitscotland.com.