On Friday I arranged to meet the poet Roger McGough for a quick beer. Like everyone else I was determined to make the most of the heatwave and my friend Colin Ryder, who is another pro at rising to a good time was already on his way over. "Lets meet at the Bowling Green" said Roger. " Sure," I replied "I don't know that one....where is it exactly. I'm currently overlooking the river from the White Hart, but I'd love to discover a new watering hole"
"Oh its just behind the Sun Inn by the pond in the centre of the village...how long do you think you'll be?"
"See you in 40 mins or so" I replied. Colin arrived, suitably impressed and waxing lyrical on the impact of the flora and fauna as he got off the train at Barnes station which, at this time of early summer, is particularly 50s Britain, and after a jar we made our way towards the Sun Inn, discussing the prices of property and what one could afford and in what road.... just like everyone else in the vicinity having their evening stroll...
We walked past the back of the Sun and sure enough there was a sign and an arrow - 'To the Bowling Green' and a wooden gate. We entered a walled garden and in amongst the herbaceous borders we agreed that this was a little piece of heaven. We listened to the pigeons cooing and the bells of St Mary's. There before me was Roger in a white flat cap and the sort of elegant sun-shoes that you can only buy in Majorca.
"This is Terry, he is the Captain of the Barnes Bowling Club and, as a matter of fact, I am the President." Wow - 'another thing you didn't know about Roger McGough' I thought to myself.
"I had no idea this place existed, in fact I thought you meant a pub called the bowling green" I added before kissing his wife Hillary on the cheek. I hadn't seen her for 3 years since we met nearly every evening for dinner over the course of a long week end in Deia.
"How do you do and would you like a game" offered Terry graciously. 'Definately give it a try..' was the mutual response from Colin and myself.
Barnes Bowling Club is for private members only and I couldn't help feeling rather special playing with the President and Captain in an inpromtu game on a lovely summer's evening. It is an Elizabethan club and the only one in the world, Roger explained; this means that if you are the tournament winner you are actually the world champion...there are no other clubs to play against. This was going to be a guinea a minute..... 'What a Friday night...' I thought to myself.
"You're gonna have to coach me Roger" I said feeling like a batsman heading to the crease. Terry helped me select a pair of bowls, advising on shape, bias (the lopp-sided weight) and feel.
The green is square and you play from corner to corner, taking care not to snooker or cannon the other team who are playing across you from the other two corners. Like Sunday evenings and going back to school, there is something about playing a new sport in front of an audience that intimidates and you get it in your gut. Colin, who is one of nature's sportsmen, took to it with the grace of an athelete and released the ball with the delicate balance of pace and line like a pro. I had a couple of beginner's luck moments and the rest consisted of attempts that were followed with things like "gosh I've never seen that before...or try using your other arm."
In no time the game was over and I felt to shy to ask if we could do another. "I always thought this was a game for old gits....or you needed a colostomy bag or a healthy serving of piles to find it interesting...." There was no reaction. "Ok then, at least a pension or bus pass."
"Actually most of our members are surprisingly young.... in fact we had to change the rules because some of the younger members turned up in the early hours and started to party...Which was fine by me" added the Captain," but they didn't think to keep the flood lights switched off and what with the booze etc one thing lead to another and those houses overlooking the green" he pointed " were all woken up and then treated to a full-on spectacle with a big stadium band feel to it......I didn't mind, but we had to put a stop to that sort of thing. But its quite hard, because if you become a member you simply get a key..." he added with an inviting look.
"Conficious said - 'he who makes love to wife in field has piece on earth'" I added.
Roger and his wife sauntered off to dinner at home...exactly as you'd imagine a contented couple would do after a session at the bowls club.
If Barnes made me feel like I was colonial England in 50's Britain going to my Doctor in Goldbourne Road to get a prescription on a radiantly brilliant Monday morning made me feel like Wilfred Thesiger going amidst the marsh Arabs. Exiting the brilliant sunshine into the cool darkness of the waiting room was like coming upon a magnificent scene in a Bedouin tent...except everyone was ill, not healthy. But the faces and fabrics are fabulous. A riot of Afghan, Syrian, Somalian and African robes. Sure there are gaping problems, but compared to say Paris or New York (and certainly Washington) London has the most racially integrated population in the world. It is just yet another characteristic that makes London magnificent.