The club has 12 courts with the greatest blessing being that six are indoors so play merrily goes on in bad weather and in good. I discovered that the best coach I’ve ever encountered (thank you, Alfie Martin) holds regular coaching clinics, so now every Tuesday morning under his eagle eye I and seven others race around two courts for an hour and a half. There I met like-minded players, most of them younger than my children, although when asked my age I indulge in the old Anita Brookner line: ‘I am 49 and have been for some time.’
The downside as far as I am concerned, being only 5ft tall, is that high heels (my footwear of choice) are incompatible with playing the game – there’s nothing for it but proper flat tennis shoes. Dress codes at Campden Hill are remarkably relaxed, and I’m usually to be found in a pleated Adidas navy skirt and long-sleeved T-shirt, although in summer white versions have been known to make an appearance.
These days I play anywhere between two and four times a week. I’m frequently the least good player on court, but my friends are lovely and say they play for the fun, the exercise and the companionship. I dearly wish I were a very much better player – although I like to think that as a result of Alfie’s ministrations I can still improve – but I observe that plenty of others are as frustrated by their play as I am. Shouts of irritation and the odd racquet being thrown around are not unusual.
While tennis is a highly technical game and you do need to have some coaching and to practise regularly, you can nevertheless get much enjoyment at relatively modest levels of play. It is not only infinitely more fun than yomping round the park or working out in a gym, it is also a whole lot more convivial. Although it is true that sometimes the conversation sounds as if it could come straight from an episode of Casualty (‘knees’, ‘elbows’, ‘rotator cuff’, ‘cortisone’, ‘operations’ and ‘steroids’ are all words that regularly echo round the club bar), mostly the upsides are daily on view.
I see elderly gentlemen who would otherwise be at home wanting lunch happily chasing a small ball round for hours on end, racquet in hand. I see the young showing off their formidable shots but also innocently working off their competitive streaks. I see small children learning the mysteries of a game that I hope will go on to bring them much enjoyment all through their lives. I see members who have recently been bereaved sustained and supported by their tennis friends.
And I see groups of friends doing more than just sit at one another’s dinner tables – they exercise their limbs, use their muscles, expand their lungs, get their heart rates up and then exchange gossip, political views, addresses and know-how as they regroup afterwards for brownies or scrambled eggs.
I couldn’t recommend it more.