I HAVE never been particularly good at sport. What little athletic activity I do just reminds me why the car was invented and we pay footballers so much to do all the hard work for us.

Today, though, I am going to have to don my sporty hat, and literally get my feet wet, to try out one of the fastest-growing sports in Scotland.

Surfing is the hobby of more than 5000 people in central Scotland alone and its popularity is still growing. With the strong winds and open beaches of the British coasts, people from all over the world now come here for their fix.

My mission is to give it a go, and see what all the fuss is about. Surely filling your mouth with saltwater and spending most of the day in the freezing North Sea can't be worth the few seconds of standing on a board?

I've travelled to Coast2Coast Surf School in Dunbar for a day's lesson in how to ride the waves and live the Baywatch dream. It is a beautiful day for it, too, and as I squeeze into the compulsory (but essential) wetsuit, I begin to think maybe this might just be a bit of fun.

That is until I look into the blue yonder beyond the breaking waves and see the rest of my class floating there, bobbing, waiting and looking worryingly casual. The young surfers of tomorrow, all so young they make my 21-yearold self seem oddly out of place, appear to be a lot better than I expected them to be.

I get a crash course from head instructor Sam Christopherson, who I later learnt is one of the highest-rated surfers in the country. As he runs me through the basics I ask him if it's a good day weather-wise to learn, perhaps subconsciously looking for a future excuse if things didn't go well. Unfortunately he replies that the conditions are "perfect".

The instructions seem almost absurdly simple. In four easy steps you go from bobbing human into flying surfer dude. Fantastic. He then warns me to watch out for the surfboard when - yes when, not if - I fall off, as it can knock beginners unconscious. Oh dear.

But despite the quiet voice telling me to go home to my couch and my TV, I give it a try.

So, after wading out, there I am: bobbing up and down watching out for the magical tsunami-like wave. A long line of us, all about 30ft from shore, wait patiently. I cannot help but think of that Guinness advert and smile.

Then the more experienced ones perk up like meerkats. They see an advancing swell approaching. In an instant, as though some loud signal has been given that I've obviously missed, everyone turns around, mounts their boards and paddles like crazy.

Like a water-bound lemming I follow, expectedly waiting for whatever is about to happen. Then, as I try to go through the instructions I was given earlier, paddling my legs in a frantic egg-beater motion, I hear the wave at my head. A second later the board is seemingly sucked from below me, pulling me along with it. Cue splash.

And that is how it tends to go for some time. I keep trying, running through the list of instructions in my head, but repeatedly fail to ride the water like the 15-year-olds next to me.

Imagine a fish out of water, then reverse it and add an eight-foot surfboard - there you have it. At one point Sam gives me some direct instructions, politely reminding me of everything he's already said and what I'm doing wrong. Not surprisingly it's a long list.

For the next go he stays with me, telling me exactly when to paddle and when to jump up.

Then, once I'm shakily on my feet, he sneakily (but helpfully) gives the board a little push and before I know it I'm racing forward, triumphant and exhilarated.

That is until the tip of my board dips under and the wave slams into me from behind, throwing me rag-doll style under the wave.

Then I'm tossed forward again and the board, tethered to my foot, recoils and slams into my head. Who ever said this sport was glamorous?

After what I'm sure is a giggle, Sam gives me one last bit of advice, saying I've been putting my weight too far back on the board. So, on the next wave, almost without thinking, I shift my weight forward and, low and behold, it works.

It's with something close to shock that I find myself suddenly, mysteriously, riding on top of that one perfect (albeit very small) wave. Before I have time to think I realise I'm standing - actually standing up - and surfing.

What surprises me most is how easy it really is. I'd expected to spend the whole day upside down in the water struggling to stay afloat but there I am, flying in toward the beach on top of a wave.

Halfway to shore I find myself singing the Hawaii Five-O soundtrack and thinking even David Hasselhoff can't touch me. Although nobody can hear, I let out a little hoot of joy.

After that, it's all different. Every time I fall off it's a learning curve. Every time I stay on is pure delight. The hours in the water fly by, and I have to admit I'm slightly hooked.

Sam explains to me that it's this pure exhilaration that got him addicted and also why the sport's growth has been "exponential".

"It's a great sports for friends, and it's really not that expensive to start. Lessons are just GBP25, and GBP200-GBP300 can get you fully kitted out, plus you get fit. Scotland is also a great place for it too, with beaches for every level."

Although I make no claims to now be a surfer dude extraordinaire, the day I had in the sea won me over completely, and if I can stand up and ride the waves with my almost-laughable degree of co-ordination, then anyone can.

A day at Dunbar might not teach you everything, but it is certainly enough to get a taste for surfing. Just prepare to get hooked.