‘My blankety money’s on Agnes,’ said Grandad.

‘I am not betting with you on who’s going to die next, Pop,’ I replied. ‘That’s in appallingly bad taste.’

‘That’s exactly why I love the game. I’m not sure what your blankety problem is, Rob.’

We sat in a couple of comfortable armchairs in the old folks’ common room. According to Grandad, this was the social hub of the entire institution. They played bingo, there was a piano (which one of the residents played most evenings – Pop was of the opinion that if someone broke his fingers they’d be doing the community a great service), but they also had guest artists turn up from time to time. A month ago, they’d had a juggler from a travelling circus rock up. Next week they were getting art lessons. The residents might be, in Pop’s poetic phrase, ‘a bunch of old farts waiting to die’, but they were generally having fun while they waited.

‘I need to borrow a dog, Pop,’ I said.

‘Of course you do,’ said Grandad. ‘Remind me why again.’

‘Because Destry Camberwick has a dog she exercises in the park the same time every night.’ Andrew had come up with the goods that very first day. Destry was a keen dog lover. It was terrific intelligence and I was determined to use it to my advantage. ‘It’s the perfect opportunity for me to “accidentally” stumble across her while walking my own dog,’ I added.

‘You haven’t got a dog.’

‘Which is why I need to borrow one, Pop. Hello?’

‘Ah, yes.’

‘Having stumbled across Destry Camberwick, it will then be a simple matter to strike up a conversation.’

Destry: Wow. I love your dog. What’s his name?

Me: Chopper. And what’s your Pekinese/Boxer/Labrador/Heeler called?

Destry: Rob.

Me: What a coincidence! That’s my name!

Destry: That’s amazing. It’s obvious we were destined to meet, fall in love, have five children and be happy and fulfilled together!

Me: So what are we waiting for?

Grandad sucked at his teeth, which set off the whistling. It sounded like ‘Waltzing Matilda’, but that was probably just my imagination.

‘Conversation is not your strong suit, young Rob,’ Grandad pointed out.

‘I know. But I’m going to have to get over it.’ It was true. I was facing death by soccer ball, so I believed it was possible to change.

‘A lot of the old farts here have dogs,’ said Grandad. ‘When you get to my age it suddenly seems like a good idea, apparently. No idea why.’

‘Maybe they love the dog and the dog loves them.’

‘Unlikely. This is God’s waiting room and these are old farts, remember.’

‘You can love an old fart. You’re one and I love you.’

‘This conversation is getting blankety revolting, young Rob. I told you it wasn’t your strong suit, so stop it.’

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. I said hello to a few of the residents. I’d been here so often I was getting to know everyone. I even found myself eyeing up Agnes to see if Pop’s prediction was a long shot or not. She did look peaky …

‘Jim’s got a dog,’ said Pop. ‘And he’s a bit rickety on his pins, so he’d probably be happy if you could take it for a walk.’

‘Fabulous,’ I said. ‘Can you ask him for me?’

‘You blankety ask him. Consider it conversational practice, because God knows you need it.’

Borrowing Jim’s dog was not a problem. Pop talked to him and so did I. To be honest, it was something of a small miracle he remembered even having a hound. Or his own name. I arranged to come round the following day at four-thirty to pick the pooch up. Destry’s routine was to hit the local park between five and five-thirty, and I was going to be there, all casual, dog-lover-like and generally irresistible.

I had a good feeling about this. Between that and the brilliant goalkeeping performance in the offing, I was going to be hot property.

I almost started fancying myself.