As I scan down the list, I realise that it might be unfair of me to sweep someone off their feet knowing that after I participate in one hiking event, I’ll never set foot on any unpaved footpath again. Also, cycling is out after a traumatic accident involving the crossbar of a bike and my lady business. So I decide that table tennis is probably my best bet. I’ve never played it but how hard can it be?
Quite hard as it turns out.
It’s being held in a community centre in Shoreditch, and I walk in to find twelve tables set up for the thirty people in attendance. At the back of the brightly lit hall I see a group of people dressed in shorts, T-shirts which scream ‘I take this seriously’, and Nike trainers. Thankfully, the rest are dressed similarly to me: jeans, leggings and one woman is even in a maxi dress– she is absolutely going to trip over at some point. Surely someone here must be as much of an amateur as I am?
Just like Games Night, everyone is directed to move around the tables at ten-minute intervals.
My first potential date-slash-opponent is Robert, a tall, skinny man who begins bouncing from one foot to the other as I prepare to serve. I drop the ball in front of me and miss spectacularly.
‘First time?’ he enquiries politely, like it’s not blatantly obvious. I smile, nod and pick the ball up again, hoping this time will produce better results. I manage to hit it directly into the net.
‘Why don’t I serve?’ He takes the ball and whacks it towards me at three hundred miles per hour. This man is here to win.
‘Maybe not so hard?’ I suggest.
‘That’s what she said.’
I cringe as he chuckles, obviously pleased with his own joke.
The seven minutes remaining consist of me missing every shot and Robert growing more and more frustrated. Eventually, he quietly places the bat on the table, mumbles a thank you and wanders off.
Further matches are just as horrible, leaving me wondering if every person here is a professional ball-hitter. My fourth opponent, Christian, is thankfully far more patient than his predecessors.
‘Just relax into it.’
I nod, hitting the ball off the side of the table.
He tries not to laugh, which is better than Robert’s irritated glare. ‘So when you serve, the motion should be like a salute.’
My face scrunches in confusion.
‘Bring the swing of your arm up towards your head.’ He demonstrates slowly, his arm moving from his side to a salute position. ‘Your swing should be this motion.’
‘Got it.’
I whip the bat up and hit myself in the face. Behind me I hear a woman gasp, then giggle.
‘Oh God, are you all right?’ Christian exclaims. ‘Damn, that looked kind of painful.’
I’m mortified. Red-faced, I excuse myself, grab my coat and disappear into the night, my forehead smarting. I’m beginning to regret ever reading Alex Steward’s bloody article.
Chapter 14
I’m extremely grateful to be working from home today. I’m tired, my face is crumpled, my eyes are red, and my hair appears to have grown in different directions overnight. Despite the glorious sunshine I see from my window, I do not plan to step foot outside today if I can help it. I tie my hair back from my face, which I give a quick scrub to properly wake myself up.
I have no train journey, no face-to-face meetings and no lunchtime food queues where other people have the nerve to eat at the same time as me. Besides, I have last night’s leftover tuna and sweetcorn pasta which easily beats anything I could buy in Pret. I really know my way around a tin opener.
I grab some cereal, which I devour while opening both my work and personal emails. I’m immediately seduced by an up to 60 per cent off email from Next. I don’t need anything, but I still spend thirty minutes browsing pages of stock that is only available in size eight or twenty-four. I end up buying a green glass candle holder and some blue ink cotton pillowcases because it would have been rude not to.
The first email I see is from Kieran, who’s also working from home. Thursday seems to be the day of choice for a lot of people; it’s just over the hump and coming back on a Friday makes the week feel quicker.
He’s sent me a link to a dodgy-looking website for watching free movies.
To:Kieran Anderson
Good morning, Kieran,
I can see why you sent this on my Gmail. You do know that this is illegal, right? You can go to jail for this. You wouldn’t last a second in prison.
