Sport’s never really been my strong point. At a lunch recently I found myself sat with eight sportsmen of varying degrees of success, the most successful being Michael Vaughan (I had to secretly text my husband to check who he was). After I reasonably bluffed a cricket conversation, Michael asked me what sport I did. The only answer I could summon was 'power pramming.' You won’t have heard of it either — but it involves a herd of new mums running around a London park with their babies in their prams. Needless to say, our conversation didn’t last for that much longer.
So when I was invited to the Goring’s croquet afternoon, I wasn’t hopeful. The Goring is a beautiful hotel tucked away in London’s Belgravia, two minutes from Victoria station. Sumptuously English, it’s easy to see why it’s a favourite of Thatcher and the late Queen Mother. The pièce de résistance is their central London garden with immaculate lawns. Perfect for croquet.
Our coach for the afternoon was the Joe from ‘Jaques’ of London’, a company which have been making croquet sets since the game was introduced into England in 1851. He was very competent and lulled me into a false sense of security by making the basic moves look like a breeze. We were playing ‘golf croquet’ rules, which meant that once a player had managed to get their ball through the hoop, we could all move onto the next. If our group was anything to go by, this rule was probably introduced to stop croquet matches rivaling cricket in terms of hours.
My first hit was abysmal. Even the owner of the hotel, Jeremy Goring, who had been charming seconds earlier, dismissed it as ‘girlie’. Joe told me to think of it like golf (which didn’t help) and not to take my eye off the ball. The second bit of advice seemed pretty good and my next shot was less humiliating. By the time we moved onto the second hoop, I even took off my coat since it was hampering my efforts.
Not sure if it was this, or a second glass of Champagne or the eye-on-the-ball advice, but somehow my ball ended up just in front of the hoop. After it was unceremoniously hit out of the way by Rupert from Country Life magazine, I still managed to creep back to the hoop. For my next hit, all I had to do was tap the ball gently through the hoop. And with a pumping heart and slightly sweaty palms, miracle of miracles, I managed to hit it through. This was possibly the biggest sporting success of my life and my celebration would have put an England footballer to shame.
Rupert from Country Life took the third hoop and by the time we got onto the fourth, something strange had happened: I was feeling fiercely competitive and wanting to whack Rupert’s ball to N1. But it was time for tea. A Fortnum and Mason tea no less. Delicate finger sandwiches, scones, jam and clotted cream, a retro classic arctic roll and tiny cakes decorated with croquet sticks. After gorging myself, my competitive spirit abated somewhat – or maybe it the third glass of Champagne.
The sun had faded and along with it, the appeal of the hoops and mallets – I decided to creep off home and miss the end of the match. I was back to my normal, non-sporting self.
The Goring’s croquet, tea and Champagne afternoon runs every Thursday throughout the summer from the 22 July until 26 August 2010 and costs £45 per person. For more information visit thegoring.com.
