MARION SAUVEBOIS finds that golf and croquet are not for her... but champagne, saunas and butlers most definitely are

“BUM out... Not that much,” instructed Matt, our very own golf pro at Bowood Resort. “Tummy in, arms stretched. Relax a little. Hands around the club. Can you see two knuckles? So twist them slightly. Knees bent slightly? Now swing your arms.”

Whoosh, thump. My arms were in the air, club raised above my head, right foot ever so slightly pointed like a ballerina about to take flight.

The ball disappeared into the horizon.

After nearly 20 minutes of exertion, it was nothing short of a miracle. Even my partner interrupted his flawless swinging to peek over my side of the driving range and witness the ‘landing’. Time seemed to slow down as we peered into the distance, scrunching up our eyes to spot the expertly expedited ball. And... nothing.

I looked down. The wretched ball had not budged a fraction of an inch from the tee.

So, this was golf.

An infinitesimal miscalculation, weak posture or a twitchy foot and I was doomed to a soul-destroying stand-off with a plastic ball refusing to be whacked off its almighty pedestal.

Having had the misfortune of falling head over heels for a Scot descended from a long line of golfers (or so he tells me), and whose one claim to fame is hauling the scoreboard for one of the champs at the Saint Andrews Open as a gangly teenager, I have whiled away countless hours watching tournaments on television to ingratiate myself with my in-laws.

With very few exceptions, players seem to be universally pudgy older men (albeit very rich pudgy older men) hefting impressive paunches around the golf course, staring at a ball for the best part of an hour before actually bringing themselves to hit it.

So when an actual golf weekend was suggested and my partner launched into yet another list of the Campbell/Cameron clans’ credentials in the field I was far from convinced.

Only the lure of a stay at Bowood Hotel, Spa and Golf Resort in Calne persuaded me to give the ‘sport’ a try (and only for an express tutorial, mercifully).

Golf, it turned out, would not be my only brush with Britain’s mystifying obsession with sticks and balls during our mid-week getaway.

Keen to prepare us mentally, I expect, for the following day’s golfing endeavours, Bowood Estate had proffered not a mere room in the hotel but the palatial Queenwood Lodge, nestled a few yards away at the heart of ‘champions’ golf course’.

With interiors stylishly designed by Lady Lansdowne herself, the stunning Georgian cottage is a perfect blend of country chic and uniquely modern flair. Far from a modest retreat, the labyrinthine mini-mansion boasts four bedrooms for up to eight guests, a dining room, spacious living room and snug study - all brimming with charming period features and open fireplaces - not to mention private gardens and even a secluded patio area. If this was the golfing lifestyle, I was inclined to embrace it.

No sooner had I had settled on the lawn ready to snooze in the sunshine than my partner spotted a trunk of croquet paraphernalia. After some laborious hammering, which effectively ruined our manicured lawn, I was dragged away from my cup of tea and garden chair for a “quick” game. In his eagerness to play, my partner had omitted one small detail: neither of us had any basic notion of croquet and the match (?) soon descended into a fun but fraught round of mini-golf with cumbersome mallets.

Having received a thorough thrashing - as far as I could make out - I headed for the spa to sweat my sorrows away in the sauna. Given my natural ability to haphazardly whack balls only for them to veer off course, nothing short of a radioactive spider bite was going to turn me into Super Golfer. But after a leisurely tour of the rock sauna, crystal steam room, aromatherapy shower and a lingering soak in the infinity pool marvelling at the uninterrupted vista over the golf course, my dread of the humiliation (or boredom) to come vanished into lavender-infused oblivion.

Back “home”, more treats awaited in the form of champagne and canapes served in the study. Curled up on the comfortable couch we sipped our drinks while our butler for the evening took care of supper.

We were soon ushered into the dining room and sat down to a veritable feast of picante mussels, raviola of salmon, pancetta chicken ragu and delightfully creamy prawns and cabbage stuffed sole.

I indulged in a large cheese plate while my partner polished off a tiramisu before retiring to the living room, each of us colonising a comfy tartan print sofa.

Morning arrived far too soon and after a hearty breakfast of eggs Benedict, French pastries and fresh fruit in the dining room, we (well, I) braced myself for golf.

Boredom was definitely not going to be an issue and there would be no faffing around in a big field. Half an hour into our lesson, I was still getting into the nitty gritty of posture and arm dexterity.

“Many beginners never so much as touch the ball in their first lesson,” Matt kindly lied as I gave in to despair.

As promised, putting in the effort paid off. By the end of a 60-minute emotional journey which ran the gamut of rage, denial, depression and at last acceptance, I had successfully smacked - the technical lingo went out the window the moment we left the driving range - the ball in the general vicinity of the flagpole five times and counting.

My partner did his forebears proud with his golfing exploits, which I’m sure would have seemed far less grand were it not for my glorious incompetence.

“See, golf isn’t so bad,” he beamed.

It wasn’t... and news of my modest efforts at the range have done wonders for my street cred north of the border.

TRAVEL FACTS

A stay at Queenwood Lodge includes a hosted dinner and bed and breakfast. It starts from £140 per person per night based on eight people sharing the lodge. For more information or to book call 01249 848298 or email resort@bowood.org.

 A 60-minute golf lesson with a PGA level 3 golf coach at Bowood Hotel, Spa and Golf Resort is £45. To book a golf lesson call the Proshop team on 01249 823881 or email proshop@bowood.org.

 Bowood Hotel Spa and Golf Resort, Derry Hill, Calne, SN11 9PQ. 01249 848298. www.bowood.org.