The moment when a lad half my age sent his second consecutive ace flying past my racket was probably the moment when I wondered if it had been a mistake to rekindle my tennis career for the first time in a decade.
Before anyone starts wondering whether you’re reading words written by the Guardian’s answer to Goran Ivanisevic, I should make it very clear that, despite being a keen player as a child, I was never particularly good in the first place. Admittedly, I worked as a coach to help pay my way through university but I rarely taught anything more technical than showing beginners how to hold a racket. Not unlike Tottenham’s men’s football team, 2008 was the last time I had lifted any kind of “trophy”. A weak backhand, lazy footwork and an enthusiasm for food were all among my downfalls. But it’s the taking part that counts, right? And so it was in that spirit that, earlier this year, I joined our nearest club, High Legh Tennis Club in Cheshire, near where the M6 meets the M56, and quickly fell back in love with all the quirks of club-level tennis.
