Playa del Carmen, Mexico

The poor creature didn't see it coming! But it can't have been the first time that a novice golfer quite literally scored a birdie. And as Coman sheepishly looks around to see if anyone else noticed the stunned wildfowl he's just scored a direct hit upon with an errant golf ball, I line up my own shot praying I don't knockout a flamingo or concuss a parrot at the bird sanctuary next door.

We've taken a morning's golfing lessons with a golf pro at the local Jack Niklaus Academy of Golf, partly because we have all sorts of 'resort credits' to spend, and partly because Coman will be overseeing the PR for Ireland's world-famous golf courses in his role at Tourism Ireland. We've not got off to the best start.

The Playacar Spa and Golf club is about 20 humid minutes walk from the hotel, along the same strip of condominiums and hotels that we've been running along most mornings. Once we've finally convinced the guy on reception that we genuinely are here to play golf (we've even dressed especially for it and brought proper caps and our own golf balls, courtesy of David and Lynne from last week), he eventually lets us out on to the course and a professional called Adan Alvarez draws the short straw and has to teach us the basics of how to hold the sticks -sorry, clubs! - and hit the damn balls.

As he tries to take us through the notions of grip, position, alignment and swing he keeps repeating, "I don't wanna see that!" at each infraction we make on his sacred sport. Sadly he has to see a fair amount of things he'd rather not by the time Coman and I have sent turf flying, balls spinning and chalked up avian casualties as we go.

We start with the basics of putting, Adan instructing us to use only our arms and shoulders and swing like a pendulum, rather than indulge in the wrist-flicking, body-turning action we're more prone to. "I don't wanna see that!" he keeps telling Coman as balls sail past the hole in all directions except the correct one.

I seem to make faster progress, but by the time we've got to pitching and exhausted an entire basket of balls, Adan decides he needs a drink of water and departs for the club house. Considering he loaded up big bottles of water on the golf buggy he drove to the first hole, and is gone for almost 20 minutes, it's not water we think he's gone for but a lie down to escape us. He wouldn't even let us on the buggy, instructing us to walk instead!

It's while he's gone and Coman and I are mastering the act of hitting the ball into the air from a tee that Coman scores his birdie. The whole golf course is landscaped and apparently stretches for 7km but we're only allowed to see the practice areas, not the full 18 holes, I presume for fear of upsetting the serious golfers. But there's a lovely lake and beautiful planting all around us nevertheless, and of course the lake plays host to the ducks.

As the ball flies into the air Coman is elated to have struck it with just the right angle. Sadly, after describing a perfect arc through the air it makes contact not with the ground but with an unsuspecting ball of feathers that makes a startled quack before toppling over.

Once it regains consciousness and waddles off we're at least reassured that no long term damage is done (although duck does strangely make its appearance on tonight's menu for the first time), but we're fairly certain that the dazed victim is no doubt less than enthusiastic about Coman's new found prowess.

Adan however is more impressed upon his return and declares we're ready to go the whole hog and swing away on the driving course a bit further along. He insists the grip and pendulum technique is the same, but now we need to swing and turn with a lot more balletic flair.

We're given a big new basket of balls and Adan, with regular comments on our progress that are a mixture of faint praise and the more frequently despairing, "I don't wanna see that...", watches us lay waste to the grass with Coman creating such a mound of divots you'd think there'd been an infestation of moles digging up the lawn.

I manage to send a fair few balls flying down the green, swinging away with gay abandon, but after 20 minutes or so we call it a day. It's bloody hot and humid, the odd tropical raincloud making its presence felt here and there, and we've learnt enough for one day. Adan is delighted, and probably highly relieved, but he does tell us we've done really well and gives us his email address if we want further instruction or lessons.

I don't think that's going to happen somehow. I'm sure the RSPB wouldn't allow it, although our executive chef may be quite happy!