I’m in my 80s and I play tennis every week – it’s infinitely more fun than the gym

My first encounter with a tennis court was not a happy one. As a 13-year-old in wicked, privileged, sunny South Africa, I was sent to stay with an aunt and uncle who lived in Durban. There were tennis parties for teenagers almost every afternoon during the school holidays in one or another of their numerous friends’ lush gardens. A tennis racquet was thrust into my hand, I was paired up with some unfortunate 13-year-old boy and sent on court. I was, it goes without saying, quite hopeless.

Such contact as was made between ball and racquet was entirely haphazard. I seemed quite unable to calibrate the flight of the ball and to bend it to my will. I was mortified. This ritual humiliation, where it was clear that every other player deeply hoped not to be paired up with me, had to be endured at regular intervals during my otherwise happy stay in Durban. The only coaching I ever received was regular cries of ‘on your toes’ from my aunt on the sidelines.

So to find that today, as a grandmother of five, tennis is a crucial and happy part of my daily life is more than a surprise. It happened like this. I made my way to London. I married and produced two children, and it transpired that our son had an unusual knack with a racquet and ball – how unusual it took me some time to grasp – and so as a family we started knocking balls about on court. In this entirely uncompetitive atmosphere I loved tennis. I was not talented (our son’s abilities are entirely due to my husband’s extraordinary facility with ball and racquet), but I had a certain level of determination and an eagerness to learn.

As the years rolled by our son won junior tournament after junior tournament, was picked up by the national training supremos, played for his country at home and abroad and went on to win under-18 national hard-court and grass-court competitions. Tennis became part of the narrative of our family life. All this entailed many hours spent courtside, where I watched as he was inducted into the mysteries of five different sorts of serve, and every kind of spin and angle known to humankind. It looked devilishly difficult but also immensely appealing. When he and our daughter took off for university, my husband and I started playing at weekends with a revolving circle of friends. As a journalist I did a great deal of travelling and found myself quite frequently in posh hotels (happy days) where I’d grab any lessons I could from the resident tennis coach.

My greatest piece of luck was becoming a member of Campden Hill Lawn Tennis Club in west London, a mere 10-minute walk from my house, before it became such a hot favourite (David Cameron, Hugh Grant, Eddie Redmayne and a host of Johnsons are all members) that even the waiting list has had to be closed. Two friends sponsored me, and there I found myself in the happiest of places.

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.