four countries. one day. questionable judgement.

I’d been so worried about the France match.

It just had not been working for me at all.

Originally it was supposed to be in Saint-Louis, but I couldn’t get a response from anyone and it was starting to feel really disheartening.

Then I found Padel Arena Allschwil Hegenheim.

It was actually not that far from the airport, which was ideal because after the match I’d need to head straight there for my flight home.

The only slight issue was that I speak very, very little French.

Bonjour.
Merci.
That’s about it.

My fear was that everyone would hate me, I’d be completely out of place and it would be a slightly sour end to what had otherwise been an incredible day.

Then Tobias sent me a message.

“I’m confused, you’re from GB, you sure you want to play in Hegenheim?”

Clearly assuming I was deranged, he then asked if I’d lost a bet.

But he was up for joining me and the madness.

Let’s be honest, he was also going to be carrying me slightly because by this point I was absolutely knackered.

The other two players who joined were a couple. They walked in and were immediately so friendly.

Then, in one of those unbelievable small world moments, it turned out they had only moved back to France a couple of months earlier after living in Manchester not far from me.

I was instantly at ease.

I could relax.

Or so I thought.

Tobias was running a little late, so we stepped onto court to warm up.

Within about 0.1 seconds, I knew I was in trouble.

This was not a level I was used to.

Or could perform at.

I wasn’t just out of my depth. I was drowning.

Jessica hit unbelievably well. She’d played almost daily at The Northern in Manchester and her partner Zil was equally accomplished.

Then Tobias arrived.

And quite frankly, he was worth the wait.

An absolute god of a man.

Jaw dropped.
Immediately in love.

It also helped that he was an incredible player.

Phenomenal to play with. Helpful, calm, supportive and fully committed to looking after me while I tried not to ruin the whole thing.

We played the best level of padel I had ever been part of at that point.

And somehow, we held on.

The first set was so close. We got to 5-5, despite me being what can only be described as a significant disadvantage.

A few wayward points from me later and we lost it 7-5.

The second set?

Let’s not talk about the second set.

At one point the lights went off and we just carried on playing, because apparently that was the theme of the day.

At home, the next players are usually hovering with minutes to go. You’re expected to be off court immediately because everything is booked back to back.

That was not my experience overseas at all.

People just kept playing.

I needed to be at the airport for around 7pm, so I had to stop at 6.30.

By this point I hadn’t properly sat down since my Uber from Switzerland to Germany that morning.

I’d been non-stop since about 6am.

Jessica kindly shared a hotspot with me because, once again, the data curse was an absolute joke.

I ordered an Uber.

Tobias, the heavenly French man, insisted on waiting with me and even took some photos of me in my Addicted to Padel outfit.

Such a lovely bloke. A real pleasure to play with.

We said our goodbyes and that was me on my way to Basel Airport.

No luxury of a full row on the way home this time, but honestly I was so tired I could have slept anywhere.

The good vibes continued.

We landed early.

I’d parked at the airport.

I was first off the plane, which never happens.

There was no queue at passport control.

I was in the car before I was even supposed to have landed.

All the lights were green.

Manchester Midnight Madness was on.

Because if you’re going to play three padel matches in three countries in one day, why not make it four?

I’d booked a private court at Carbon Padel Club in Manchester and somehow convinced my ever-supportive friends Ruth and Jen to join, along with their respective Daves.

Honestly, what a way to end the day.

A fun, friendly match with people I love.

We came off court a little after 1am and, surprisingly, I felt good.

Possibly because I had eaten a third Twix.

I should also mention I did have a massive pizza at Basel Airport, so it wasn’t entirely confectionery-based sports nutrition.

By midnight, I was on 44,749 steps.

A new personal record by a very, very long way.

I got into bed at 2am and slept until 9.

And then I woke up feeling absolutely fine.

For someone like me, that is dangerous.

Because if there are no consequences, all it does is encourage bigger and more ridiculous ideas.

I did treat myself to a massage that morning and then went for lunch with Big Bear, enthusiastically retelling the whole story while still slightly unable to believe it had actually happened.

Which leaves the big question.

What’s next? x

proof that this somehow actually happened.