Does anyone do a one-handed backhand? I was scared to own up when, last year, I stood with a group of people I’d joined for a weekly session of tennis coaching.

Rusty Racquets, it’s called, which perfectly summed up my situation, having not picked one up for more than 25 years.

Playing again demanded a trip to a sports shop as I suspected that my beloved wooden Max Ply, which served me well in days gone by, wouldn’t be up to the job.

I was right – I’d have stuck out like a sore thumb, and coupled with the one-handed backhand, I’d have felt the need to wrap myself in the net and shuffle quietly back to the clubhouse.

I didn’t think it would take long to brush up on the skills I harnessed all those years ago when, with my doubles partner, I did quite well in the game, even making it into the county team.

I thought I’d pick it up where I left off. But that wasn’t the case. Tennis has changed – dramatically. It is, as they say, a different ball game. And playing again was like starting from scratch. The biggest shock was the backhand. These are now mainly two-handed – a rarity in my day. Forehands are more like golf swings, and the ball is often sliced across the racket rather than hit face-on. There is so much more spin – you never know which way the ball will bounce.

I soon learned that you can hit harder and faster with a lightweight racket. Last year I joined a club and even the youngest juniors were firing balls across the net at the speed of light.

My style was all wrong, and I’ve had to get to grips with how to properly hold the racket, and what I’m doing with my feet. It’s easy to forget that I’ve also got to hit the ball.

It’s not only my game that I’ve had to update. In the 1970s everyone wore flat, basic Green Flash pumps. Technology has moved on – now tennis shoes are specially reinforced, with more shock-absorbers than an articulated lorry. Which is great for us older players, who worry about falls and fractures.

All this aside, I’m learning a lot and am eager to embrace the changes.

With a bit of work, in a couple of years I reckon I’ll scrape in as a Wimbledon wild card entry. But I’ll only play on condition that I don’t have to wear a skirt. I couldn’t pluck up courage to wear the strip of spandex that nowadays passes as tennis wear, because it isn’t only the game that has changed beyond recognition - my legs have too.