After work on Thursdays, I sometimes go to women’s football training. The training sessions are organised by volunteers from work. It’s a thoroughly nice bunch of people. If they weren’t jolly and forgiving, I wouldn’t have lasted as long as I have. I’ve never played team sports before so I don’t yet have that knack of knowing where I should be and how I can help out my team mates.

I do have the advantage of being fit and, as they said to me, ‘It’s good that you’re not afraid of the ball.’ So you’ll see me chasing the ball wherever it goes. When I am after the ball, I feel a bubble rising inside me that can only be released by heckling my opponent and shouting them down. I don’t think this is the ‘done’ thing, though, so I have to suppress my more violent instincts.

In one exercise, we were trying to score a goal with our coach, Joel, as the goal keeper. My team mate Kate did a massive kick that flew straight towards the goal. Joel dived and deflected it past me.

As he lay there, splayed on the grass, I swerved past him and yelled, ‘Kick hiiiiim!’

He leaped up and stared at me. ‘Wow, Joan. You are scary!’