If I think about Saturday morning, I think about Martina.

Not the Martina I know now: the little girl with blond hair tied-up with two red bows. On Saturday there was no school and I used to accompany my father to play golf. In my parents’ room there was a large wooden cabinet, whe- re he kept his golf clubs.

I could not touch them, because I had been taught that they were too valuable, and certainly not a children’s toy. I would just sit in bed, watching my father cho- osing which clubs he wanted in his dark blue bag.