Equality for all!

My early impressions of golf clubs were formed at Wentworth, where friend's fathers went to hide, or to conduct their extra-marital affairs.  Friends snuck in at night-time to drink cider and play spin the bottle in the bunkers.

Reading the front page news that this week two, yes two all in one go, women have been accepted to the Augusta National golf course, home of the Master's championship, unsettled me. I hadn't known that women were banned, and I couldn't decide whether I cared.

I watched the Wentworth promotional video to help form a view. I should never have done it. I'll never feel the same again.

"Wentworth...where history is made...legends are born"...rousing violin, cymbal crash, melancholy bassoon. God, I love a montage. "Luxury" - sticky buns, plumped pillows, valets, lush green grass, the 'ting' of ball on driver, ducks. "Celebration" - Aston Martin, bubbly bath, rose petals, champagne, creamy choux buns.  "Relaxation" - sensuous massage, official handshakes, more silky grass, insanely fluffy white towels. "Celebration" - ice sculptures, pecan pie, cosmopolitans, petits fours, venison, parasols. "Business" - men posing for a photo, nodding vigorously whilst drinking a Montrachet Premier Cru, shaking hands on their deal.

I want to join, and I don't even golf. If I were a woman in Augusta I'd have been fuming too.

I called the membership line. I spoke to a charming Irish chap. Apparently it is really incredibly accessible. It's his job, he says, to find a proposer and seconder to help us enter the club. He does it all the time, no worries.  There is currently space, no worries.  He asked which line of business my husband was in. I said that he looked after the children (just to see what it sounded like). He didn't miss a beat. He said he thought he knew someone he could connect us to, no worries. Done!

If I had decided on golf as my hobby, over children as my hobby, I could be there, no worries.  The annual fees are almost exactly equal to my annual childcare bill.  I could be revelling in the power network, slathering myself in machismo, hoovering up choux buns and Chardonnay, hooning up the drive in my Aston Martin, rolling around on the lush green grass, 'ting, ting, ting', "shot!", drinking cosmopolitans out of lewdly shaped ice sculptures whilst broking my next mega-deal. I'd be rich. Rich!

No going back now though. Instead I'm going to start a campaign for greater equality.

Equality for those of us who have finite resource and decide to breed. We are being excluded! Unfairly! Due to the fact that we can't afford to be members. The non-breeding middle-class are getting the better networking opportunities, using their free time to nod vigorously and shake hands, rather than shake heads vigorously and nod off. We deserve some positive discrimination. After all, its not just about us, we may be creating the "legends" of the future, and I really feel like I deserve a choux bun.

But would it hold the same appeal with no children to get away from, or to track down in flagrante? Would it hold the same appeal for husbands knowing that their wives will also likely be there?

Yes, in this instance, I really do think that the grass at the golf club is always greener.