So single

No point in being alone anymore, he thought, as he readied himself for the first outing.

Not that he was really alone in the first place. He had plenty of friends, but somehow he lacked the opportunities to meet new women. He wasn't getting any younger and if his friend's increasing talk about settling down, mortgages, nappies and reserving pre-school places was anything to go by, then his friends were all getting older a lot quicker.

He'd long been aware that, in his circle of friends, when they socialised he seemed to be the only person to arrive and leave alone. Not a worry, he told himself. It's when they stop inviting me along, that's when I have to worry. But recently the doubts had grown. There's a definite sense of discomfort when talking to a couple, as if there's a subtext of "Sorry to bother you, but I forgot to bring someone to talk to. Do you mind if I use you for a few minutes."

He'd tried instilling a sense of camaraderie amongst the men by holding poker nights, like they used to when they were young. The first one was a great success, and everyone left late, saying "We really must do this again" but all sounded surprised when he'd phoned a few days later to try and fix the next date. Too many commitments, you see. Couldn't get away.

So he'd signed up for this agency that arranges meetings between single people. He'd never done anything like this before. Even at college, he never joined any societies and didn't go on any of the college outings. But on a whim (brought on by an occasion where he was actually grateful for a telephone call market researcher on a lonely Friday evening. Then, he realised, he fall no further) he sent in an application form cut out of a magazine and sent it off. He didn't know the credentials of who ran it. He wasn't sure of the number of people involved. Or whether they'd all be first-timers too.

And this evening it had been arranged that they spend the evening at a juggling club. He'd never been to one of those either. So today would be a day of new experiences. No doubt he'd have plenty of new stories to tell his friends... if, that is, he hadn't sworn himself to secrecy. He didn't want to think what their reaction may be. Guilt, for not acting the matchmaker themselves? Suppressed amusement? Or worse, a condescending "about time you did something" attitude? Either way, he thought it best they never know.

What would the other people be like? He mulled this over while he waited for his bus. I'm sure there'll be no one who could get a job as a model, or anything like that, but if he felt the need to join, and he wasn't so bad looking, then why not others? He looked at his reflection in a shop window. Not bad at all. Jeans, tan leather jacket. Looking okay. The pale blue striped shirt with a white collar was perhaps a little early nineties, but he'd forgotten to do a wash last night, so it was the best he had.

When he arrived at the community centre, he found he was twenty minutes early, so had to go for a walk to kill a little time. Don't want to appear to eager, he thought. Not that the centre was in a part of town you particularly wanted to go for a walk in. Plenty of foreboding underpasses to help you cross suicidally busy roads, and dog shit cunningly shaded the same colour as the pavement by the orange streetlighting. He soon turned back and got the centre still ten minutes early. Any embarrassment caused by asking at reception where he should go was mercifully pre-empted by a hand drawn sign (a piece of A3 paper sellotaped to a chair) telling him which room to go to. As it turns out, he didn't have to walk far. He gave his name to a woman behind a desk, a received an enigmatic smile in reply while she ticked something off. At first he thought he'd hit the jackpot immediately before he realised with shame that she'd been on the same bus as him on the way here, and no doubt could guess that he'd been pacing back and forth in the cold trying not to be too early.

Only five of the group had arrived so far. Two women stood and talked in animated whispers, while three men stood in a loose group, close enough to be together so it didn't look like they were on their own, but far enough apart to be thought of as aloof an individual.

He went over to say hello, and found it a heart-wrenching experience. Finally he knew how it felt to go to an AA meeting and stand up and say "I'm an alcoholic". Although he thinks he said his name and how interesting this whole set up was, he got the distinct impression that he actually said "I haven't had sex in ages, and if this doesn't work, I'm going to kill myself. I mean it."

Before long they were bound to set off to this club, held in the assembly hall of a local primary school. By then the group numbered nine, four women and five men. He got the disturbing idea that this was some immensely cruel game of musical chairs, where whoever ended up without a woman by the end of the night would be banished from any further meetings. But then he overheard someone explain that one woman was away sick, so at least the disparity wasn't deliberate.

They went there, a little embarrassingly, in a Sunshine Club coach - a charity set up to help mentally disabled children. Apart from the social stigma attached to be seen in one of these things, there was also the nagging doubt that somewhere there's a kid with cerebral palsy who isn't going to the library tonight because of them. He didn't say much on the journey. It became clear that he was the only newcomer here this week, and that everyone had (or seemed to have had) met each other before, and had things to talk about. But he listened in, hoping for a titbit that would help him start a conversation later on.

The school itself was a quite old fashioned one. A far cry from the squat boxy sixties buildings, this was red brick, with a high assembly hall, designed to instil awe in children, but by now best appreciated by jugglers and stilt walkers every Tuesday evening. The group of lonely hearts set up in the corner, and a man who they guessed was the leader of the club, came over and told them a few basics of juggling.

Then one of the women decided they'd like to try stilt-walking, so that was quickly arranged too, although judging by the envious looks from the men, they weren't aware of the amount of man-handling involved to get a rookie stiltist upright. Certainly, they thought, that guy with a ponytail didn't have to hold on to her for quite so long while she got her balance, did he?

He got talking to one woman, short, with strawberry blonde hair, who seemed quite nice, but it was all a bit surreal. She had a hula hoop and was demonstrating the cruel effects of time, as she comprehensively failed to get it spinning, despite insisting she was a dab hand at this when a schoolgirl.

The juggler guy who'd was teaching basic skills only seemed to talk to women, he noticed, but later saw that it was because none of the men ever asked for help. They'd watch his demonstrations from a distance, and try to do what he said, but showed little willingness to ask directly. The consequence of this was that, as the evening wore on the women improved marginally and felt good about themselves while the men did not. One man gave up juggling completely, and just stood there, smoking and watching this woman dodder around on stilts. He'd smile and nod appreciatively, while all the time his face gave away the faint signs of someone trying desperately hard to think of something witty to say.

Just one guy from the group, who'd done a little juggling at college, seemed to do well in this environment, teaching two women the basic three ball stuff, and asking about joining every week. It was quite nice to see someone have an old interest rekindled like this, and was a far cry from the slightly stilted attempts at joining in that the others displayed.

For his part, he chose the devil sticks. Keep one stick airborne by hitting it with two other sticks (one in each hand). Seemed simple enough, and unlike usual juggling there was only one thing to keep an eye on, which suited him. He became quite proficient towards the end, but was too over conscious of any women watching him. If, out of the corner of his eye he saw one, he'd tense up and it would all go horribly wrong. Then he'd look in their direction, expecting to give a cheery shrug and a smile, maybe strike up a bit of conversation, only to find they weren't looking at him at all.

The evening ended, and everyone left the jugglers to their juggling and got back into the coach. It made a couple of detours to drop two people off on the way back to the community centre. People all seemed very relaxed on the way back and he got the notion that this was, after all, perhaps a good way to meet people and see if anything develops naturally from there, rather than forcing all your hopes into one blind date. Perhaps these people really do enjoy each others company, and any consideration about romance is secondary.

This impression lasted only as long the journey back to the community centre when he heard two men complain to the organiser about tonight's choice of activity, saying it was far too difficult to impress women with their new found juggling skills while only a few feet away was some guy doing seven balls. "I thought this was set up so we could meet people in the best possible light, hmmm?" said one. "Well," said the organiser in a sarcastic tone, "next week I'll arrange for a trip to the old folks home, shall I? As long as you don't dribble or smell of wee, then you should do quite well."