Role-play is another technique used to bring light relief to the difficult task of remembering words.

One day I was a doctor trying to get to a mountain village to perform an emergency operation on a woman who'd been gored by a bull. On another, I was a mother on a train with a child suffering from travel sickness.

Before arriving in Beijing to start my studies I already knew about some of the language's difficulties.

Putonghua's four tones mean that simply getting the pronunciation right is not enough. Getting the tone wrong can lead to embarrassing mistakes. You may, for example, think you are saying 'my mother's house' when in fact you are saying 'my horse's house'. You might believe you have come out with a word meaning 'reply' when you have said something along the lines of 'bowel movement'. The list goes on.

Then there are the strange sounds unknown in English that sometimes make me feel that I'm trying to wrap my tongue around my tonsils.

My daily routine begins with a quick breakfast on the street followed by a five-minute bike ride to Beijing Union University. Classes run from 8am to 11.30am.

All the lessons are conducted in Chinese, so there is ample opportunity for students to immerse themselves in the language.

Twice a week we listen to a teacher with a strong, almost unintelligible Beijing accent. And then there is daily homework, plus the need to get out there and practise talking with people, some of whom primarily speak local dialects, coming from various regions of China.

Before I began classes in March, I hadn't formally studied for almost 10 years and was focused on work, which in fact was my reason for signing up for the class.

As a journalist, I wanted to learn Putonghua to be able to conduct my own interviews, and listen to the television, radio and press conferences. Learning Putonghua is also the best way to understand Chinese culture.

My classmates have their own reasons for studying. They are mostly from Asia - including South Korea, Indonesia and Thailand - and the average age seems to be about 24. I am 36.

I have studied with an Indonesian egg farmer who wanted to attend trade fairs in China, and his fellow countryman, a baker, who hoped to help his family's business deal with its Chinese clients.

Others include a couple of middle-aged housewives and 17-year-old Koreans fresh from secondary school. One of these youngsters could sing Italian opera beautifully and had no qualms about exercising her vocal chords in class.

Many Asian students come to China at their parents' request because of their families' Chinese ancestry.

But whatever their reasons for studying, why is it that everyone apart from me seems to have an amazing ability to memorise Chinese characters swiftly and painlessly? Perhaps it's an age thing. I'm the only one in my class who usually has to write new characters, supposedly learned the night before, on the board with the aid of my textbook.

But embarrassment is unnecessary, and often a hindrance. Those who get on best in class are the ones willing to take the plunge, speak as much as possible and ask plenty of questions.

Sometimes there are moments of real pathos.

I have listened to a teacher bring to life Chinese culture by using herself as an example. She painted a vivid picture of the Chinese version of filial piety by telling us how she thought she may have ruined her daughter's life by making her dump the man she loved.

And we all sat enthralled, some almost in tears, listening to another teacher talk about her and her brother's experiences during the Cultural Revolution.

She said she did not feel bitter about their hardships, just very sad.

From being able to say just the basics, we can now ask pertinent questions about a range of subject. Sometimes we even understand the answer.

However, I have slowly come to realise that I may never master this language, I have barely scratched the surface.

At times, when I have a lot on with work and my son is not sleeping, I feel I have neither the time nor the inclination to study. But then I miss it. Perhaps I have become a little addicted.

Of course, not everything is wonderful. At times some teachers treat us like children, despite the fact we pay US$1,000 per term and choose to be there. They often telephone students to see where they are if they miss more than one class.

Mostly student life is good and I seem to be doing well. I received a prize the other day - a notebook - just for turning up and also won a vase for coming second in a speech contest.

Who would have thought that just weeks after starting the course I would be giving my opinion of Beijing traffic, in Putonghua, to more than 300 people?

I don't have that much in common with most of my classmates because of the difference in age, nationality and outlook, not to mention that I'm a working mother with a young son.

But having spent about 200 hours with them in the classroom over the past few months, laughing about our pronunciation, we have bonded and it is true to say I have really missed both them and my teachers this summer.