The bronze blonde yells at me: “Allez, Allez!”. I can hear the thunder of water behind his calls and then the torrent is upon me in an instant.

“Up!” I hear.

Balancing gingerly on my fingertips and toes, I struggle to get my feet beneath me. But too slowly and the spume washes over me. And humiliatingly, the last thing I see is a sprite boy no older than six giggling as he zooms past me, dancing on the water as I go under (smug little show-off).

Determination however and sheer grit have me fighting my way back through the waves with my gigantic foam surfboard, my dream of becoming a surfer girl still within my reach...

Surfing is a strange dream for a girl living in landlocked Oxford. Especially since the closest surfing beach is a four hour drive away. However, hop on a flight from Stansted and in less than two hours you can be standing on glorious white sand, feeling the heat of the sun beat down on your shoulders, and counting the waves as they roll in.

I’m in Biarritz, France, and it feels cool.

The Basque Country in South West France is not the most hallowed of surf havens, but it has all the requisites; you know, wide beaches with strong waves spread evenly, so even if the waves are off on one beach, a quick jaunt in a van to another shoreline can throw up the right shelter and swell so precious surfing time isn’t wasted.

And the warm climate means you can surf from late February through to the beginning of October.

It all started in 1957 when a Californian writer and film producer noticed the steady waves in Cote des Basque, Biarritz, while working on a film. He sent for his surfboard and, believe it or not, started the surfing movement in Europe. Now throngs of ‘fit’ women and men, all armed with six-pack abs and in various states of undress, dot the coastline searching for the perfect ride.

I still have not captured mine.

“Surfing is not a reaction, it’s a being. You must feel the wave. See yourself. Take your time. Breathe.” Looking into the deep blue eyes of my gorgeous surf instructor Fred, I listen to his Zen beliefs.

Of course it didn’t matter what words were coming out of his strong jaw, or even that he was speaking. His broad shoulders and bulging biceps are all the encouragement I need to try to impress him.

I start to feel the ocean pull. “Now!” Fred yells, “Paddle, Allez!” His words echo my own thoughts. I paddle harder, and faster, trying to keep the balance, feeling the wave lift me and run. “Up!”

For one brief moment, I believe his teachings. I picture myself standing and there I am, for one moment, before I lose my balance and am on my back again in the sea.

The lesson over for the day, it’s time to explore the ‘quieter’ activities of the city, like rugby or Pelote.

Pelote or Jai alai is a high-speed game, played in a cage, with four people with long hooked shaped gloves and a very fast hard ball. But enough talk of exercise. What about the food?

Biarritz is not short on sumptuous places to grab a nibble. Whether it’s a quick croque-monsieur in an outdoor cafe, or moules frites beside the beach, your desires can be satiated at just about every corner.

My favourites were the Le P’tit Resto in Anglet for lunch – it has an amazing location overlooking one of the prime surfing beaches. I recommend the Salade chevre chaud (hot goat cheese salad) or Salade tomate chipirons (squid).

And for dinner, Le Surfing on the beach Cote des Basques is a must. Again Chipirons are the not to be missed local delicacy that can served up in a number of ways. Fish is also fresh and cooked to satisfaction. But their piece de resistance is the Profiteroles. If you are still hungry after eating them you must be a rugby player.

Speaking of Rugby. Biarritz and its neighbouring town Bayonne are all about the game. For an evening’s entertainment, there is nothing better than heading to the local stadium, stopping ahead of time for a bit of tapas and beer and then joining the 15,000 other people to cheer on the local team to victory.

Even if you don’t speak French the songs are easy to pick up on; most start and end with “Allez . . . Allez, Allez . . . Allez.”

After the rugby game it’s time for a bit more fun and ‘100 Marches’ in Biarritz is the place to be to be spotted. Anyone who is anyone is there for sunset. Plus don’t forget the much-loved Le Bar Basque Sarl. An evening out is not an evening out unless it’s visited at least once.

Indeed, staying at La Caritz I am able to share a glass of red wine with former England Rugby Captain and Wasp star Lawrence Dallaglio. He isn’t there to play rugby, instead he is setting off on a charity bike ride through the Pyrenees. After trading secrets on how to keep our legs smooth, I snuggle up in bed . . . alone. The white cotton sheets giving me enough rest to tackle the waves again the next morning.

And there I am. Just as dawn is breaking. The water is glass. The waves gently roll on to the beach. In these conditions I am out with the big boys. No more waiting in the wings. This is my chance and in these surroundings, how could I miss? And hell, even if I am not a true surfer girl, there’s no place I would rather be.