The Test

It's becoming quite forensic this search for the tennis club. I'd like to think this thoroughness is a result of the PD James novel that I've just finished reading. It was called The Murder Room. It seems an appropriate title for a crime writer.

I started reading it on the way back from Beijing. It took my mind off being 400,000 feet up in the air and also kept me from playing with my reclining seat in Business Class.

After all I didn't want to look like a six-year-old.

And I've been very mature about this quest for the tennis club. After going for a test the other night and being told I could join a group to buff up my skills, I went to one of the sites where the members can play. It's up at Porte des Lilas in the north-east of the city. Not too far on the metro from where we live.

I've never been to Porte des Lilas and there's a huge project to green up the massive roundabout there which is criss-crossed by roads leading to the péripherique.

The state of the outdoor courts are appalling. The indoor courts seem fine and I got chatting to the site manager who told me that the site was going to be demolished and relocated to spanking new courts just where the cranes were. This was not far away at all.

He obviously told one of the club members that I'd been sniffing around.

Because Alain asked if I'd been up to the covered courts this afternoon. I said that before dishing out the cash I thought it wise to see what the facilities were like.

He couldn't fault my logic because it was flawless. The upshot is that Alain now wants to test my lack of skills so he can allot me to an appropriate group of similarly benighted wannabes.

The only snag about the test on Tuesday night is that while I was arranging that the missus was organising a night out with one of her mates who's visiting from England.

It's good to come home and share the day's developments.

Knowing how important my tennis is to me, she offered to rearrange it. Knowing how insignificant it is in comparison to her chance to go out with her mates, I said I'd try and get a baby sitter.

But then as I ate supper and my blood sugar levels were being bolstered, I was hit by a second swing of logic. Just take the children with me.

It's not going to require more than a dozen sweeps of the racquet to assess how I fit into the lesson scheme of things. The girls can surely entertain the boy for the three minutes or so of my assessment.

And if they can't, then maybe I should be concentrating on my parenting skills rather than my dodgy backhand.

The Quest

After my horrendous exhibitions in the two journalist tennis tournaments I've decided - and I mean really decided - to take matters in hand.

I will join a club. I've spent a good part of the day trawling through the internet in search of a tennis club. The Fédération Française de Tennis claims that tennis is a sport réservé à tous. Right.

Try looking for a club to join.

I have furrowed my brows and I eventually said to the missus tonight that things must be going well if this is the extent of the stress in my life.

You're havin' it too easy boy. But as a diplomat once told me: enjoy the fallow periods when they come because when it's on, it can be on for a long time. Was it really me working those 18-19 hour days in Beijing?

Well, yes it was.

Me and the lady went off for lunch this afternoon at a local Corsican bistrot. Was recommended by neighbours on the 4th floor. And rather than going to our usual haunt of Le Petit Chateau D'Eau we tried Le Balbuzard. And though the leaks in vinaigrette were a bit watery, the rest of it was wholly nourishing and for 11 euros per head and a lavish 6€ for the wine. Well weren't we happy.

The idea afterwards was to go to the Orangerie to look at the pretty pictures. But there was an exhibition of Richard Avedon at the Jeu de Paume so we walked round that instead.

Martina Navratilova was there too. Clearly she knew we were going to be there.

Avedon extravaganza wasn't at all bad. More comprehensible than the stuff at the Pompidou. At least it was human. All about faces and people.

What I liked especially was walking out into the Tuileries on a bright sunny autumn afternoon and seeing loads of people out doing the same thing. Existing. Enthusing. I particularly liked the Tuileries security corps who go round on bicycles telling people they're not allowed to cycle.

I never thought of that one.

What I did think of when I got back from yoga though was a relationship breaking down and there being no contest over who would have the children.

However the strife would be over the wine cellar. A bitter battle over bottles. I said I felt a short story coming on. The missus said each case could be a vignette and then it could end with champagne with the new partner.

We like the concept.

It sounds more plausible than people on bikes telling people on bikes that they shouldn't be on bikes.

The Water Baby

The Pompidou Centre was bathed in sunlight when me and the second child went there for afternoon tea. It was all something of deja vu.

In the morning I went swimming with the boy. I did this with the eldest and the second child and so it seems only right that he goes too. The swimming instructors greeted me like a long lost client - which is essentially what I am.

So me and the boy stayed and played in the water for 20 minutes or so. All very bonding.

As the eldest is off the Pompidou Centre - something to do with an orientation trip with school two or so years back - the middle one is the only taker for the bus ride there.

We didn't muck about with exhibition stuff. We headed right for the sixth floor and Georges for our drinks. She took the chocolat viennoise and I did look on the lashings of chantilly cream rather enviously as I supped my cafe.

She said she liked the exhibition too. I didn't take the brochure and have no idea what it was about nor who was involved. Must say it wasn't obvious to the naked eye.

I will go back and read up about it. Maybe then I'll get it. But whoever it is, it doesn't ooze accessibility.

I always thought that was the first rule of creativity. But then I'm very old school on that score.

The Setback

Well it was a gloriously sunny morning and the tennis club was well located. I lost to exactly the same person I'd lost to at the journalists' tournament at Roland Garros. Well at least I discovered a new club. They say they just want the money. There's no waiting list and no interview. Oh the facility of cash. So I might give the Tennis club of Boulogne Billancourt a go for a year.

It's only two buses away from the radio station so it's easy to get to work afterwards. What could be better. Tennis and work all in the same sweep. You just know you want t.

The chumpions league is back with some very odd results. But as Jimmy Greaves used to say on TV: "It's a funny old game." Was that really Jimmy Greaves's coinage or was he just regurgitating some other wag?

Don't know. Will now go and talk to someone from Cricket Australia about their tour to India.

The Trial

And it only seems like yesterday that Man Utd were penaltying their way past Chelsea in the UEFA Champions League final. And it is starting up again on Tuesday. Well my heart is with Inter Milan this season because of that poor flunky Jose Mourinho whose brand of winning football was so ceremoniously booted out of west London for a brand of unwinning anything.

Well while the professionals are running around after a ball, I'm going to hit a ball with a tennis racquet. After not really having the game to advance further than the second round at the journalist's tournament at Roland Garros, I've pledged to be better for next year. So I am going to get some coaching and play more regularly because it's no point coming up with Federer like forehands if I can't then at least hit a vaguely competent backhand.

So to work. But before then another journalist tournament. This one's not far from Roland Garros. It is in the Tennis Club of Boulogne Billancourt. The fees make it seem snobby, just have to see what the reception is like if you want to sign up.

Question is do they stop at 4pm for tea. That's the sign of a decent club

The New Season

I can't believe it. It only seems like yesterday that the football team was being thrashed by any old iron. That was in the top division and the big time. Now it's back to division 2 and, I suppose, the little time.

After the second training session this morning, the new boots seem to be coming on well. I've also discovered the joys of the short passing game. I will advocate the pass and run offensive this season.

Whether I have the physique to do this only yoga and swimming will tell. But after three weeks at the Olympics, you have to dream.

The Upgrade

After all these years of not rushing to a plane. It was all wrong. I just needed to pay more to go business class.

For some reason I was put in there on the flight back from Beijing to Paris and 10 hours just flew past. I played with the chair settings. I was particularly fond of the setting for sleeping. So I pressed it and slept.

And then the one for being reclined and so on. Nevertheless I was overjoyed at the setting which meant I had to use two feet to get off the craft.

Perhaps this is what I've been missing over the years.