I was amongst the crowd waiting for the ‘harissa party’ to start. We were milling at the sides of a Victorian music hall, while the dancefloor was being prepared. An elaborate two-colour paisley pattern was being created on the floor using squeezy sauce bottles full of harissa and chocolate sauce. The stairways were decorated with life size photographs of people who had enjoyed the inaugural party and I recognised some of my friends. They were smeared with sauce and looked pretty pleased with themselves. But as the crowd got more excited, I got less interested. The idea of a chocolate sauce mosh-pit was just too much and I left.

Outside in the summer sunshine I noticed a baby reaching into a fruitbowl on a windowsill and rang the bell to alert the family. The grateful parents invited me inside and we bonded over our love of the beautiful game. The husband invited me into the garden and asked me if I preferred to bowl or bat? I realised he had been talking about cricket. I had meant golf.