Contents

Introduction

One – Ken’s Events
Two – London Silicon Triangle Drinks
Three – South East London Meetup Group
Four - The Socialist Party of Great Britain
Five – Networking for Entrepreneurs
Six – EpiServer
Seven – London Atheist Activist Group
Eight – Ruby Hacknight
Nine – IVC Activity and Social Club
Ten – London Photography School
Eleven – Dance Walking London
Twelve – Women who Code
Thirteen – Experience French
Fourteen – Zero Defects
Fifteen – South London Social
Sixteen – London on Board
Seventeen – The Four Hour Work Week
Eighteen – Free Meditation and Yoga
Nineteen – Carpe Diem – Daytime in London
Twenty – Clapham Girls Book Club
Twenty one – Networking for business
Twenty two – The London English Conversation Group
Twenty three – Flying Solo
Twenty four – Write Together
Twenty five – London Country, Blues and Folk Gigs
Twenty six – Thirtysomething’s Single Holiday Meetup
Twenty seven – London Acting and Improvisation
Twenty eight – Caitlin Tindle NLP Practice
Twenty nine – Ansible London
Thirty – East London Meetup Group
Thirty one – UK ex-pat Malaysia group
Thirty two – London International Meetup
Thirty three – Love to drum: Djembe and percussion
Thirty four – An Attractive Man
Thirty five – London Business Analytics
Thirty six – CoolTan Arts
Thirty seven – Club Soda Drinks
Thirty eight – Health Technology Forum
Thirty nine – London Political Activism
Forty – London Palestinian Rights Group
Forty one – 500 Miles
Forty two – London Netrunners
Forty three – Monthly Agile Evening Group
Forty four – Entrepreneurs with Chronic Illness
Forty five – Orgasmic Meditation
Forty six – Sports Analytics Innovation
Forty seven – Finance and Tax Surgery
Forty eight – Tech City Coffee
Forty nine – London Indie Music
Fifty – The London Muslim Meetup
Fifty one – Farringdon Legal
Fifty two – Social Historic Walks
Fifty three – Teddington Laughter and Relaxation
Fifty four – Fill my weekend
Fifty five – London for less than a tenner
Fifty six – Python for Quant Finance
Fifty seven – London art and cultural exhibitions
Fifty eight – London writers’ café
Fifty nine – Dance your soul
Sixty – Flash mob Fridays!
Sixty one – Geekpub
Sixty two - Libertarian Alliance
Sixty three - Get up and go in Bromley
Sixty four - Fliqio London Short Film Screenings
Sixty five – FBX Tech Empowerment
Sixty Six – The London Psychology Book Club
Sixty Seven – London Vegan Meetup
Sixty Eight – Law of Attraction Workshop
Sixty Nine – London to Hollywood
Seventy – Surrey under 40s Ramblers
Seventy one – London Shyness Social Group
Seventy two – Richmond Scenic Cycling
Seventy three – World Music Meetup
Seventy four – London Screenwriters’ Festival
Seventy five - London Entrepreneur Fintech Club
Seventy six – Bounce Back Club
Seventy seven – London Salsa and Ceroc Friends
Seventy eight – Gay Mates
Seventy nine – Forest Hill, Sydenham and Crystal Palace social
Eighty – London Gentle Walks
Eighty one – Womb Wisdom Keepers
Eighty two – Conway Hall Ethical Society
Eighty three – London Wine, Dining and Travel Meetup
Eighty four – The Sounds of English
Eighty five – Pottery and Ceramics
Eighty six – The Post-Apocalyptic Book Club
Eighty seven – Executives and Entrepreneurs Making Better Decisions
Eighty eight – London Piano Events
Eighty nine – London Chess Club
Ninety - London Chinese Medicine Meetup
Ninety one - 'After work' Sociable Freelancers
Ninety two – Live music and creative talks
Ninety three – Playhubs game developer Meetup
Ninety four – Aum Shanti Yoga
Ninety five – Asylum Fellowship
Ninety six – South West Strings Badminton
Ninety seven – Master your confidence and fulfil your potential
Ninety eight – London Urban Adpensioners
Ninety nine – London Movement for Well-being
One hundred – London Social Events
One hundred and one – Free London Comedy

Epilogue
Acknowledgements

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank a number of people who helped me with Meetup101. Firstly, a big thank you to Jo Sayers, who copy edited every chapter and spared me from very many blushes. Thanks also goes to Tom Mullen for stage time and encouragement, and to David Hales and Nigel Taylor, also for encouragement and for giving me this project a name, and the idea of running the one hundred and first Meetup. I would also like to thank Ivor Dembina for the invaluable advice that he gave during the preparation of the show.

A special thanks also goes to Mary Taylor, who was brave enough to come along to three random events, not knowing where we would end up. I’m also going to mention friends Julie Kertesz, Ruth Paly and Josh King, who have also been really supportive with whatever nonsense I’ve been doing.

For the show, I would like to thank Sonia Aste for being such a wonderful MC on the night, and all the acts who gave up their time: Michael Daly, Sonia Quita Doubleday, Ashley Haden, Declan Kennedy, Nigel Ng, Katie Pritchard and Houssem Rhaiem. You guys helped to make an awesome night and helped to create memories that I shall cherish. Also, a shout out goes to Matt Richardson for an awesome flyer design, and to Kee Lewis for his camera skills.

I would also like to thank Meetup, for their permission to go ahead with this crazy project, everyone who came to the final Meetup event, and all the Meetup hosts. Finally, a very big thank you to my parents for their every present support. Much love to you both.

Epilogue

I’m still in contact with Andy, the fella who I met at the first event I went to; we regularly catch up and talk nonsense over a couple of beers.

One evening with Andy is particularly memorable: he invited me to a business networking Meetup, where I met the Crown Prince of Burma, who was a very nice chap. One of his friends, a nice Serbian lady tried her best to sign me up to a Burma Society.

I’m still in touch with Grace, the woman who I proposed to. She came along to an Atari Video games party that I held at my house. We remain friends.

I haven’t seen the internet date I went hiking with. That fizzed out; the excitement of trudging around damp fields in Surrey didn’t really help with the prospects of romance.

My friend Mary, who came along to three random Meetups is doing well, but she doesn’t think she’s going to be become a Christian anytime soon.

Since completing the quest, I haven’t played badminton again, or done any more Orgasmic Meditation. I do, however, plan to go back to Teddington Laughter and Relaxation for another balloon massage.

Although my quest has finished, I’m still going to Meetup groups. There are a few reasons why: I’m addicted, I love meeting people, and there are some great groups out there that help me to learn more about the area in which I work: technology.

When writing this epilogue, I discovered that some of the groups I visited have now closed. London Salsa and Ceroc Friends is no more, Flash mob Fridays has disappeared, and Entrepreneurs with Chronic Illness closed after moving to being an ‘on-line only’ group for a while.

My own Meetup, Free London Comedy, is going well. It now has over fifteen hundred members, and there are some fabulous regular visitors. I really enjoy being a host; I love seeing people having a great time. Three notable regulars are Gaurav, an architect from Mumbai, Bruce, a vet from South Africa, and Simone, a finance expert from Germany.

Now that I'm done, there is one question that I keep coming back to: ‘where shall I go to now? New York, Los Angeles, or Sydney?’

One hundred and one – Free London Comedy

I started my Meetup group, Free London Comedy, three years before beginning this ridiculous quest. A year earlier I had accidentally blundered into the world of the London open mic comedy circuit; a friend had invited me to one of her comedy gigs. There was a misunderstanding; it wasn't a gig: it was a stand-up comedy workshop.

Picture the scene: a tired function room above a pub in Camden Town. Approximately twenty people sat nervously on uncomfortable stools. Each person was asked to introduce themselves. Someone introduced themselves as a clown. Another person introduced themselves as having done eighty gigs. A loud woman said that she ran her own comedy night in Bournemouth. It was my turn: 'hello, my name is Chris; I thought my friend was going to be here, but she isn't.' Everyone laughed. I took a breath and continued: 'I haven't done any comedy gigs. I have come here by mistake'. By the end of the session, the facilitator, a chap called Ivor Dembina, had helped me to uncover a seed of comedic confidence. His mantra was simple: 'don't be boring'.

I set up Free London Comedy for one main reason: I wanted the acts on the open mic circuit in London to be seen by real comedy-hungry audiences. Every night of the week, aspiring comics would play their hearts out in nights all over London, delivering astonishing performances, to half empty rooms. Often, the audience were fellow comics, or their long suffering friends, lured to gigs with the promise of pints of beer and a good night out. I wanted to add something to the London open mic circuit: to help promoters, to help acts, and to help audiences discover new comedy nights. There was also another reason to do this: it is a cheeky way to get spots, especially if you're not as funny or as talented as loads of the other people who are out there.

One evening, when I was talking about my Meetup quest, a friend offered me a suggestion: 'why don't you run your own Meetup, and invite all the leaders of all the Meetup groups you've been to?' This was a brilliant idea! I had my own group, so why not do it? The idea quickly mutated into a new idea that filled me with fear and dread: 'why not write a whole show about all your Meetup experiences?'

The thing is, I'm not a natural performer. I'm a computer scientist who can't really speak properly. I had never done anything more significant than deliver a vaguely competent five minute set about not being able to, well, speak properly. Ignoring the obvious need to have a modicum of innate talent to both write and perform in your own comedy show, I decided I would do it: I would run a gig called Meetup101. In some respects, this show would represent the pinnacle of my mid-life crisis anxiety. It also reflected a toxic mix of confidence and self-delusion.

First things first: I needed a venue. I asked around. Two days later, a date had been set and a basement room close to Kings Cross station had been booked. There were more jobs: I needed someone to design fliers, and I needed to write the description of the one hundred and first Meetup and advertise it on 'Free London Comedy'. Before doing that, I needed to figure out exactly what was going to happen on the night.

I soon had the answer: I would book some really funny open mic comics; some great people who I know and had seen before. The idea was simple: have a show of two halves, and have it run by an enthusiastic and experienced master of ceremonies. For the first half, I would have six (or seven) acts on, and have the second half dedicated to the Meetup stuff. Since this would be an unpaid gig, the audience get to see some funny people for free, and the acts will (hopefully) get to play to a really big crowd (if I managed to promote it well). There was an implicit contingency plan in all this: if I died a terrible comedic death (which has happened a number of times before) the audience won't mind so much, since everyone would have had a good time due to the really funny people who had trod the boards before me.

The next bit was to invite all the members of all the Meetup groups I had visited. To entice them to the gig, I sent each leader a copy of the write-up of their Meetup. Dan, the tax accountant, seemed to be most surprised: 'I don't believe what I'm reading!', he replied. Emily, from Dance Walking London, seemed to really enjoy the write up. Lucy, from the French Public Speaking group decided to sign up to the gig straight away, and Nina from Teddington Laughter and Relaxation commended my summary. There were others too: Anka from 500 miles said that my summary had been an antidote to a terrible day at work. Andy, who helped to run the Gay Mates group wrote: 'if you're interested in doing something else that is different, do check out the Men in Touch Meetup'. Andy's Meetup offered massage, meditation and naked yoga, all with other like minded men.

I arrived at the venue on the evening of the gig ridiculously early with my mate Jo. The marketing had gone well: the gig had been advertised across three different Meetup groups, including the London Netrunners group. If everyone who said they would come turned up, there would be approximately one hundred and thirty people, and this didn't include all the fliers that I had given out. The room had a capacity of one hundred. On one hand, I was worried there wouldn't be space. On the other hand, I was worried that nobody would turn up.

After an hour or so, people started to arrive. There was Grace, who I proposed to in the Flashmob group. I remember Mandy from the visit to Playhubs. There was also Rob from Geekpub. My friend, Helene (who is also a member of Free London Comedy) who I met at the Experience French group, gave me a huge hug. Suddenly, I recognised three women I had received a balloon massage from. There were friends: my mate Dave, who had flown in from Hungary, our mate Nigel, who had given me the idea of running the one hundred and first Meetup, and an old mate called Bob who I hadn't seen for over ten years. There were members of Free London Comedy, and other people too: Jason, who ran a performance poetry night in South East London, and my mates Tom, Shabs, Sarah, and Stephen.

And then there were the acts. They were all different. There was Declan, who describes himself as looking like everyone's favourite geography teacher. Next on the bill was Cheekykita, who was planning on shrinking a man and performing an exorcism. Cheekytika was followed by a lovely musical act: a fire cracker of a woman called Katie who is known for her 'tudor history' material and ukelele playing. Then there was Ashley, who was going to do dark stuff about politics, Houssem who had asked to do three minutes, and my mate Michael, who carries around a toy washing machine. The final act was Nigel, who delivers slick self-deprecating jokes about being Malaysian.

It was then my Meetup moment. I stepped onto the stage, and was immediately blinded by the spotlights. I should have been ready for them, but I wasn't; I felt uncomfortable and unnerved. I had rehearsed, but my opening routine had suddenly disappeared from my brain and I inadvertently skipped a big section, and delved into a very silly part of my routine. I regained a bit of composure, but I had no idea how long this show was going on for, or how long I was going to talk for. I soon got to that bit of the show that I had only delivered once, and it had accidentally gotten a laugh. 'Write that down!' someone had told me. I had taken their advice, and I had no idea whether the same material would work again; I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard a wave of laughter.

I was outside my comfort zone; I should never have been trying out what was, in essence 'new material' but I had no choice; I have never had the opportunity to get up on stage for more than ten minutes at a time. I spoke of Sam, the life coach. I told the story that he told me; about a German psychiatrist who encouraged his patients to take a banana for a walk. It was as if, in that moment, I was the psychiatrist's patient, taking my banana for a walk down a busy high street, filled with anxiety and worry, whilst at the same time, just about keeping it together. I also mentioned the German woman who I met at the Biodanza group, who said that she was in the middle of her third mid-life crisis.

This connects to a question that I've been struggling with for some time: perhaps I haven't really been having a mid-life crisis at all; perhaps I've just been struggling to live a little more than I ought to have been. In that moment, with the spotlight shining down on my bald head, in a basement not too far from Kings Cross station, I realised that was exactly what I was doing: living a whole lot more than I ever have done before.

I had really enjoyed every last moment of Meetup101; I had enjoyed the excitement of visiting every single group and meeting loads of kind and generous people. I realised that I would do it all again, if I could. I suddenly had a thought: perhaps I could do it again. Perhaps I could do Meetup101 in a different city: Manchester or Edinburgh, or maybe even New York or Chicago. Or Sydney or Melborne, Toronto, Adelaide or Auckland. I had a new question: how would the cities differ? Would I be as confused?  Would the people as accepting? Would there be even wackier groups in, say, Los Angeles? Also, how would I cope living somewhere totally different?

As I enjoyed a celebratory beer with my friends Josh, Jo, Kay-Anne and Andy (who I met at the first ever Meetup I went to), I began to think about what I wanted to do next.

One hundred – London Social Events

I couldn’t go to Outdooraholics because it was a whole weekend exploring the beaches, cliffs and castles of Wales. The Ecstatic Awakening group were running an event called the ‘wild chocolate club’ that was held in deepest Hertfordshire, outside of London. Apparently there was also a meal at Pat Wong’s house, but it was full, and I didn’t think I should turn up unannounced, because I didn’t know who Pat was.

This left one option: London Social Events. The event had the title: ‘Party at Roof Garden with welcome drink’. It was on Kensington High Street.

I signed up and idly scrolled down the list of Meetups. Something struck me: I noticed that a group called ‘I wanted to do that this weekend’ was advertising the same event. There was another group called ‘Mayfair after work’ that was advertising the night too. There were other groups: London Cougars and Toyboys, Girlfriends in London who love to dance, Meet new people and have fun in London.

There were even more: Singles and the city, Singles in London, Over 30s Singles looking for relationships, Bored in London, Duccio’s networking events for London young professionals, Dating in London (20s to 40s), Girlfriends in London meetup group, Single Friends in London, Girlfriends in London (20s to 30s), Girlfriends in London (30s to 40s), London’s social events (a different group to the one I had signed up to, but with an apostrophe), Single and ready to mingle, and Older women dating younger men.

Over seven hundred and fifty people had ‘registered’ for a single event.

I had a problem. The event description insisted on ‘smart dress, jackets preferred’, and I was dressed in my academic uniform: a reasonably smart shirt, my aging pair of Doc Marten boots, and a pair of scruffy jeans that I had bought from a budget store. Having been the recipient of ‘bouncer judgement’ before, I decided I needed to take action: I skived off work and went shopping in Camden. With brutal masculine efficiency, half an hour later, I was done: I was the proud owner of the most expensive pair of trousers I had ever owned.

I shut down my office computer; it was time to go. I was excited. This was going to be it; the grand finale.

The route looked pretty easy: two underground trains. One from Camden to Embankment, and another to High Street Kensington. As I sat on the crowded rush hour circle line train I asked myself some questions: ‘Am I going to feel sad? Am I going to miss all this? What am I going to do with myself?’ I had two other important questions that I couldn’t yet answer: ‘do I really know what I want to do with the rest of my life now that I’ve tried all these different things?’, and ‘has this changed me? If it has, then how?’

My train arrived at the station. I climbed the escalator, walked past a corridor of shops and stepped out onto new unfamiliar streets. It was August, and it was raining; it was a terrible evening for enjoying drinks on a roof garden, but it didn’t matter.

All that mattered was that I was there, that there was a roof garden to find. I walked one way down Kensington High Street and then the other, looking for street numbers. After ten minutes of looking, I resorted to my ever helpful phone. It told me that I needed to go down a side street.

I saw a sign, and then a long queue. I had found number ninety nine Kensington High Street. After joining the queue, I showed the bouncer a ticket I had bought from a website, and was ushered into a cavernous elevator. When the elevator doors opened, I found myself in an expensive looking lobby. I had arrived. There was one thing I needed to do: I needed to have a chat with the host of the group I had joined.

I looked around: the majority of the men were wearing smart jackets, and the women were in glamourous night dresses or smart business suits. This wasn’t the time to be a wallflower: I needed to mingle, and it was with this thought that realised that I had changed. I had no fear, or worries, or concerns. I had, instead, gained a sense of fun. I had shifted from being a mildly introverted computer scientist to a mild extrovert. I had changed to become someone whose sense of self was lighter, more interested, and more open.

It was claim my complimentary drink. There was only one choice: a cocktail that was a twist on a ‘Tom Collins’; a gin based cocktail.  I had never had one before. It seemed somehow fitting; my first Tom Collins on my last Meetup.

I remember the first person who I chatted to. She was called Natalie. She hadn’t come with a Meetup, but with a friend. Her friend was a member of ‘Bored in London’. Natalie worked in the health service, helping various trusts to restructure.

I continued to chat to people; a sad looking Russian woman, a bubbly Mexican woman, a chap who worked in Finance, and a quiet government barrister. I found myself in the way of a Welsh chap who seemed to be making fair progress chatting up a Romanian insurance worker, and then explored the Roof Garden with an Australian recruitment consultant called Lisa who came from Adelaide.

‘Isn’t it beautiful!’ Lisa gushed.

It was impressive. Exotic trees were planted in rows in the centre of the garden. We passed shrubs and benches, illuminated by different coloured lights.  There was a fishpond, a central bar area, and a restaurant. It was a degree of decadence that was unexpected. Due to the fine rain, we were soon back inside. Lisa disappeared, and I got chatting to two doctors: one was from Germany, and the other was from Slovakia. They were both on a training or exchange visit. The German doctor, called Sylvia, was a member of the London Social Events group, but didn’t know the organiser.

After ordering an eye wateringly expensive beer, and accidentally wandering into the middle of a group of people, I got lucky. I found a Meetup host.

‘Which group are you a member of?’ asked Anita. I told her the name of the group. ‘Just a moment…’ She walked towards someone and beckoned them to meet me.  It was a middle aged woman called Sarah: I had found my subject.

After telling Sarah about my quest, she told me a little about her group; or, more specifically, about her groups. Sarah ran twenty seven groups which contained twenty five thousand members.

‘Why… what motivated you to… set up all these groups?’

Her answer was simple: ‘I like meeting new people’.

After two hours of mingling and chatting, the character of the room had changed; a DJ started to play different music; the volume had increased to a level that made talking very difficult. There was another change: the Meetuper mingling space was gradually being usurped by new nightclubbers; groups of glamorously dressed young people were starting to arrive, up for a night of dancing.

I left an hour or so later, leaving just enough time to catch the last trains home. I was tired, but happy; happy that I had done what I had set out to do, but I was also touched by an anxiety that I hadn’t made any real earth shattering discoveries about what I wanted to do in life.

What I did know was that I like hiking, I like some types of yoga, and that I still have an interest in technology. I’ve also discovered that I like watching comedy shows and going to parties at law firms where there is lots of free drink. I also like Improv classes and some types of dancing. I’ve also discovered that I’m not too keen on spiritual stuff, and I’ll probably make do without having a life coach. I also have realised that I don’t need to spend an inordinate amount of money to go on a course about ‘having a conversation’. I’ve also learnt that life is too short for certain types of card game. Importantly, I’ve discovered that I really like to talk, and I didn’t really know that before.

As my circle line train made its way past Victoria Station towards Embankment, I thought about stuff I haven’t done. I haven’t been to the theatre, I haven’t played hockey, and I haven’t had to learn how to swim or had to go kayaking on the Thames. I also haven’t needed to learn how to play a guitar or a musical instrument, and I haven’t done any knitting, crafting or cake baking. I also haven’t been on an extended wine tour in France, or visited castles and beaches in Wales. I haven’t taken a motorcycle trip to Germany, or been to a meal in a Persian restaurant. I haven’t done any of these things. As my train arrived, my train of thought also came to an end. I had a conclusion: there’s no reason why I shouldn’t go and do any of these things. And there’s no reason why I shouldn’t go and play badminton again.

Ninety nine – London Movement for Well-being

Tourists were taking pictures, carrying bags, popping into gift shops, and a couple were snogging outrageously by the statue of Eros.

I couldn’t see anything that resembled my destination: a nightclub. I looked at the street signs, and found the difference between Piccadilly and Piccadilly Circus, then crossed a road to change perspective. I recognised the street which I followed to get to the freelancer drinks event, and suddenly caught a glimpse of my destination, ‘The Piccadilly Institute’. I crossed another road.  Two big burly bouncers were monitoring the entrance of the club.

After climbing two flights of stairs, I emerged into the club. I hadn’t been to a nightclub for well over a decade. There was a flash looking bar, and an illuminated dance floor. Thankfully, it wasn’t busy; I estimated around fifty people of varying ages, but most of them seemed to be in their thirties.

The event was described as a ‘night out and social for the mind body community’ that was suitable for ‘singles, whoever are ready to mingle’ and those who are involved in the ‘personal development and spiritual community’ or those who were ‘change-maker entrepreneurs’. The only box I ticked was the one marked ‘single’.

‘Hello everyone!’ it was our host, who had taken control of a microphone. Everyone started to clap and cheer. It was Kamal, the Meetup leader.

‘Thanks for coming everyone. There are a number of different groups coming together for the first time tonight, so I’m going to ask you to go and meet as many people as you can in five minutes; just go up over to them and shake their hands and tell them who you are. Okay! Go do it!’

I introduced myself to Kamal the moment he stepped down from the stage. Kamal was a life coach. He told me that he created his group so he could give something to others, to help people. We agreed to talk later, once the introductions were done.

‘Hello, I recognise you… Do you… Have you been to any tech events?’ said a chap called Ashley. I told him that I had been to quite a few. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember him. We spent a good few minutes going through different groups that we had been to.

‘Yes! That’s it! Women who code!’

‘The place that had a free bar, chicken wings and a talk about high frequency trading?’

‘Yes!’

We had worked it out. Apparently Ashley hadn’t realise it was a women only event until he got there; he was just interested in the talk. Ashley had worked in the IT division of large banks, but had hated it; he wanted to stay in technology, but didn’t want to work in the banking sector anymore; he wanted a life.

I found myself in the middle of three people. We asked each other how come we found ourselves at this event. I explained my quest.

‘What kind of things have you been on…?’

‘There’s been lots of tech events, some book clubs, three types of yoga and two cults.’

‘Cults? What kind of cults?’

‘There was a sex cult that apparently isn’t a sex cult, and a neuro-linguistic programming cult’.

I then had to explain what happened at the ‘orgasm and climax’ talk.

‘What about the other one?’ asked Ed.

‘The NLP one? That one was all about how to get rich using NLP. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a pyramid scheme of nonsense. To get rich you’ve got to learn how to run these courses so you can teach other people how to do NLP... Sorry, what do you guys do? You don’t have anything to do with NLP do you?’

‘I’m a NLP certified master practitioner’ chuckled a woman called Alexis.

Suddenly I recognised someone. It was Sam, facilitator of the ‘master your confidence’ event. He wandered over to me and gave me a big hug.

‘How you doing, matey!’ he asked, giving me one of his huge smiles. ‘Did you feel a wave of positivity after the event on Saturday?’ I said I did. ‘Has that positivity been challenged?’ I replied that I was still feeling good.

I found myself in the middle of a new group of people: a chap called Justin and someone called Sebastian. Justin was smartly dressed. ‘You know Sam?’ asked Justin.

‘Yeah, well, I met him on Saturday at one of his events’.

‘He’s great. I spoke to him on the phone last night. He really helps you to set things out’. Justin was currently working in construction, but wanted to make a career change. He wanted to become a life coach and was studying for a coaching certificate; I never realised there was such a thing. ‘There’s all these models, like the GROW model, but I like the parts that are more philosophical. It makes it harder, a lot harder, but I think it’s important to have a solid academic underpinning’.

After ordering a beer from the bar, I found myself amidst a group of three more people.

‘We’ve just been talking about soulmates. Do you believe in soulmates?’

‘I don’t know. I guess I used to. I’m not sure anymore. I think I’m too cynical’ I replied, ruminating about my failed marriage, forgetting Sam’s advice.

‘A soulmate is someone who knows you completely; someone who completes you’ Helen explained. Helen was a Certified Love Attraction Coach. She started to tell me about a famous ‘love guru’ from America who is going to be speaking at one of her events.

‘It’s going to be amazing! I didn’t think she would be able to come to my event, but she is! She’s going to be talking about ‘manifesting love’’.

‘Sorry, ‘manifesting love’? Is that a bit like… the… what’s it called… the law of attraction?’ I replied, remembering my visit to the Yoga studios in South Kensington. The idea was if you think that you’re going to find love, you are going to find love.

After chatting to a landscape gardener, a software developer from Goldman Sachs and someone who wrote a best-selling book about ‘confidence’, I noticed that the club was a lot emptier than it had been; people were deciding to go home. Loud techno dance music had started up and people had started to move onto the dance floor. I stepped onto the half empty dance floor, had a boogie, went to the bar and got chatting to a girl called Annie. Annie asked me for my email address and phone number, and asked me whether I wanted to go dancing in Camden. I gracefully declined Annie’s kind offer; I needed to get ‘to the bitter end’ of the Meetup.

Half an hour later, I said goodbye to Kamal, gave Sam another man hug, and started to pick my way home through the crowds.

On my way home I used my phone to have a quick look at Helen’s website. Sure enough, there was some information about the event she had been telling me about. There was also a short biography, a list of prices, and video podcast where she was interviewed by someone about her Love Coaching. That someone just happened to be her very good friend, Sam.

Ninety eight – London Urban Adpensioners

I left London Bridge station and power walked down Tooley Street, past the Hayes Galleria, and then onto a pathway next to the Thames. I needed to cross Tower Bridge and then find the entrance to The Tower Hotel to meet a chap called Charles who said he would be wearing a West Ham cap and a yellow National Geographic T-shirt.

‘You’re doing well for a pensioner!’

I turned around. It was Sarah, who was in her mid-sixties. As well as Sarah and Charles, I was introduced to Chris, Mary, Fiona and Tina. As we all chatted Charles took a register using a small notebook. Just as we were ready to set off, Charles wandered off to look for ‘stragglers’. He returned minutes later with a final group member, a Spanish girl who was in her late twenties. It was time to go.

I had walked sections of the Thames pathway before, but had never walked along the north side of the river: this was a new adventure; an opportunity to visit new places. We navigated our way through St Katharine Docks, onto a path, and then onto a series of roads, where we ambled past warehouses that had been converted into luxury apartments. After negotiating a route through a private car park I got chatting to Charles. I asked him about his group. It was only two months old.

‘I’ve moved back to London and I looked on the groups to see if there was anything I wanted to do, and the events didn’t really fit with my schedule. So, you can’t come to something, then let them come to you. I think this is the fifth event I’ve run’, he explained.

‘I used to live in South Africa for thirty five years, running various businesses; I ran a transport business for schools, and then I sold it – I thought it was time to come back. My house and daughters are out there. I’ve got a job as a personal carer, which is great; you’ve got your own accommodation paid for, but it can be tough’.

We chatted about different things we liked to do in our spare time. ‘I love comedy’ he said. ‘I’ve done a bit of stand up. When I was in Cape Town, I belonged to this theatre group and I did what you might call ‘an old persons rap’!’

We chatted about different groups, and I told him about what I was doing. ‘You must meet that lady… Marie? She runs a group.’

We stopped in front of a pub called the Prospect of Whitby. Charles wanted to show us something. He pointed towards a sign that had been put on the wall. It read: ‘London’s oldest riverside inn – built circa 1520 in the reign of Henry VIII’. What followed was a list of kings and queens, and the dates of when they reigned.

I got chatting to Marie. Marie’s group was a daytime social group for people over fifty. She had been a member of ‘Fifty, black and fabulous’, but the group had imploded due to differences of opinions and the lack of a charismatic leader. Marie had bag loads of charisma and infectious exuberance.

‘You’ve got to admire people like Charles who set up these groups, haven’t you? I mean, they get people together, and that’s an amazing thing isn’t it? They don’t have to do what they do, but they just go ahead and do it. He’s a great host, don’t you think? He’s making sure that everyone is okay; he’s talking to everyone, counting everyone, not leaving anyone behind. I think that’s amazing. It’s easy not to do anything; you can just stay at home, can’t you?’

I told Marie about my quest, and that I was nearly at the end.

‘And what have you learnt from doing it?’

I thought for a moment, and then I had an answer: ‘that people are kind, and generous, and accepting. I’ve always known this, but this has emphasised it. And it’s taught me about London, about different parts of the city. It’s taken me to areas that I have never been to before. It’s also taught me that I needn’t be worried about talking to a group of strangers; that people are people, and I’ve learnt that I love talking.’ I paused for a moment. I never used to love talking. I would never talk to strangers. Instead, I preferred to hide away and not say anything. ‘I’ve seen that there are many selfless people out there’.

‘Selfless…’ Marie repeated. ‘Yes. Selfless… That’s what it is’.

We stopped again at another pub, called The Grapes. Charles pointed at a blue plaque that had the date 1583. ‘These are great pubs along here…’ explained Charles, almost teasing us that we were not stopping until we got to Greenwich.

The walk took us past Canary Wharf, and then past countless apartments. As we walked, I wondered who lived in them, and what they did. I caught glimpses of ‘toddler paraphernalia’ on balconies; chairs and plastic sit on cars; a reflection that this was also a place for families.

We stopped for a photo opportunity. I could see The Shard, The Gherkin and the Walkie-Talkie. In the foreground, a London Clipper, the passenger catamaran, was making its way from Greenwich to London Bridge and beyond.

As we negotiated further car parks and pathways, I chatted with Fiona, who used to work in the oil industry. She wasn’t quite retired, working only two days a week. She lived in Clapham and had a roof terrace. It sounded idyllic; a place to sit out on and see the city, a place to also sit down with a glass of wine and read a detective novel.

Eventually we made it to an area called Island Gardens, and to the entrance of the Greenwich foot tunnel. When we had all gathered, we began to walk down a steep spiral staircase. When we got to the bottom, we could see the length of the tunnel reaching out before us, dipping in a slight incline as it buries its way underneath the river.

One of our group walked ahead, keen to get out of the claustrophobic space. In the distance, a busker played his guitar energetically, enjoying the echo of the extraordinary acoustics, and an occasional cyclist cycled past us, despite the obvious and constant ‘no cycling’ signs.  At the other end, I decided to climb the corkscrew steps, and quickly became dizzy.

With the walk over, and the sight of the Cutty Sark in front of us, we wandered over to a well-known brewery. We sat in the beer garden, drinking Pilsner, cider and wheat beer. We toasted the walk and Charles’s success at getting us all together.

Ninety seven – Master your confidence and fulfil your potential

I scootered to the British Museum, found a parking space, and continued on foot. I walked through the streets of Bloomsbury, and skirted the buildings of University College London and found myself outside a pub called the College Arms where other Meetupers were congregating. I chatted to some of the delegates: no one had been to this group before.

Fifteen minutes later, we made our way to a brightly lit basement. Our leader, Sam, had set out comfy looking chairs in neat rows. I looked around. I guessed there were around twenty five to thirty people; it was an impressive showing for a Saturday morning, especially when the sun was shining.

It was one of those days where you wanted to head off to a park, perhaps Regent’s Park, have a nice pub lunch followed by a pint of frothy ale and nonsense chats with friends.  Instead, I was going to an event that had the title, ‘rock solid inner confidence: full day workshop’. I was pretty confident that I wanted to be somewhere else.

Sam was in his very early thirties, was casually dressed, and was sporting a couple of days’ growth of designer stubble. He had very white teeth and a disconcerting habit of holding eye contact for an extraordinary amount of time. He was, it turned out, a life coach.

Sam began his introduction: ‘I love bringing the power that exists inside individuals. There’s limitless freedom in this room… It’s about clearing out what we have inside’. There was a suggestion that he had a mysterious personal story, but it was one that was never really explained. It was a story that had hints of past despair, of being in a bad place, and not wanting to live. It reminded me of the NLP event where our facilitator had also talked about being at her lowest ebb.

Our first activity was a round of introductions: ‘in groups of six or seven, just say your name and tell us why you’re here’.

Our small group was stifled by a common silence. To break the silence I said, ‘anyone going to go first?’ An inevitable response was: ‘why don’t you go first?’ I introduced myself: ‘My name is Chris, and I’m on this quest of visiting one hundred Meetups, and this event is number ninety seven’.

‘Get out of town!’ exclaimed a woman called Cheryl. ‘Ninety seven? So, what was the first one then?’ she said, challenging me. For a moment, I could barely remember; it felt like such a long time ago; so much had happened. I dredged through my memory and remembered was a walk around a park.

As well as Cheryl, I met Dave, who worked in IT, Lisa who worked in marketing, and Danielle who worked outside of London, and was currently between jobs. Dave and Lisa were both contracting: they wanted to get something out of the session to help them to find a permanent job. Cheryl just wanted to ‘get more confidence’.

Sam took over again. He told us that to be confident, we need to regularly seek to move outside of our comfort zone. He said that it was also about being vulnerable. I was happy to go with whatever he was going to suggest: I was happy to have my vulnerability explored and my bubble of comfort to be extended. I didn’t care. ‘It’s also about self-acceptance; loving every part of your being’ he proclaimed. ‘You are your own coach’.

It was time to learn about Sam’s ‘pillars of confidence’. The first pillar of confidence was, apparently, integrity. People who are externally referenced always look for validation from others. ‘We have a birth right of worthiness, but we get trapped into comparison’. He encouraged us to ask ourselves a question: ‘if you’re going to die in a year, would you change how you live?’ The point is: we should live that way right now.

Sam led a guided meditation activity. We were encouraged to find our ‘heart space’ and then to write our own ‘heart manifesto’ the moment the meditation came to an end. Mine was pretty simple: ‘to live, to explore and to love’.  We had to do something else: to think about our ‘authentic expressions’ and our ‘toxic goals’. A toxic goal is something that we do that doesn’t do us any good. I had answers to these too: an authentic expression is writing about this nonsense quest. My toxic activity was ruminating about my failed marriage.

Sam had something else for us: ‘if you could fast-forward to your deathbed, what advice would you give your future self?’

After a bit of writing, we had to share these answers with a group. My answer to the deathbed question was simple. I would share an expression that I had seen tattooed in simplified Chinese on Michael’s arm: ‘don’t waste time’.  Sam complemented this activity with another of his expressions: ‘the future is an illusion, the past is an illusion; we’ve only got to think about now’.

We were asked to consider another aspect of confidence: self-acceptance; accepting our flaws. It’s important to be compassionate to yourself, Sam argued, and accept that it’s okay to have these times where we feel lost, confused and vulnerable. The message was simple: ‘when you’re kinder to yourself, you’re kinder to others’. We then needed to consider whether we were honest with ourselves. The discussions briefly touched upon relationships: ‘you don’t need another person to heal you; you can do that yourself’.

The lunch break was interesting. I found myself in a Japanese themed fast food chain, sitting with a medical doctor called Mary, a carpet fitter called Neil from Oldham, and Lisa. We chatted about the event. Everyone liked it.  Neil had been to a couple of Sam’s events before and had recently made a decision to do more things and to explore more of London. He was friendly, confident and open minded: ‘coming to London from Oldham is really weird; it’s like having a sex change.’

It was time to consider vulnerability and fear. We were given a challenge; to do something that gives us a bit of fear every day. ‘When can you take the more challenging route over the easy route?’ Another thought was to set a challenge every month. Failure, it was argued, is just a word; and it’s something that we learn from. Here lies a paradox: successful people seek failure. Failure is all about being judged. Sam offered a solution: ‘I do weird stuff deliberately, because then I don’t fear the judgements’. He told a story about a German psychotherapist who encouraged his clients to put a banana on a lead and take it for a ‘walk’; ‘Let’s all get judged on purpose’ he said.

Other themes were trust, conviction and the importance of following our instincts. Sam explained that there are two sides to us: a conscious self and an unconscious self; a self that just reacts and responds. We went into pairs and were given two improvisation tasks: the sharing of imaginary gifts, and then a conversation through two adopted characters: a member of the royal family, and a drunk Frenchman. This led to an animated discussion about Princess Diana conspiracy theories.

The final part of the workshop was a little unexpected. I volunteered to ‘be vulnerable’. This involved doing a short talk about ‘picture frames’. This was followed by group dancing. The grand finale reminded me of the Biodanza climax: making extensive eye contact and giving everyone generous hugs. The twist was that we had to say something appreciative. I learnt that my talk about picture frames had gone down quite well.

It had been a fun event. Sam ran his group to advertise his life coach and personal development business, but it was a very gentle sell; he spoke only briefly of his retreats where everyone is encouraged to ‘peel back their layers’. It was interesting that his approach was so eclectic; drawing on meditation, Yoga, NLP and something called Authentic Happiness. He has also had Meetup events about how to attract your soul mate, how to manage stress, and how Improv can help with confidence and social skills. One final phrase stuck in my mind: ‘When you’re aware of your own aliveness, happiness just comes. Celebrate the little things’.

Ninety six – South West Strings Badminton

I hate sports for a simple reason: I carry too much sports-related emotional baggage.

When I was at school, two kids were always picked last for any team events. It was either me or the fat kid, and the fat kid was a whole lot better than me. Football, rugby, cricket; you name it, nobody wanted me on their team. What really puzzled me was that other kids seemed to really enjoy sport, whereas I just couldn’t see the point.

‘Why would you enjoy going out and chucking a ball about in a muddy field and risk getting injured?’ I used to ask myself.

To me, sport was a waste of time. I couldn’t throw, I couldn’t run very fast, I couldn’t hit a ball and I couldn’t catch. But, I could get a computer to do stuff, and that was something that sporty kids couldn’t do. The net result was that I became disengaged; I didn’t need sport in my life.

All these thoughts were circulating through my head as I rode towards Tooting Leisure Centre. I had been to Tooting a couple of times before, and most of them had been by accident. It was rush hour and the traffic was heavy. Cars were getting too close to me, and food delivery bikers seemed to have a death wish. Plus, it was raining. I carefully weaved my way through traffic, roughly following the route of the Northern Line. I eventually took a right just before Tooting Broadway tube station, and saw a sign for the leisure centre.

I didn’t want to play badminton. I wanted a night of television. My mood had darkened and I acquired a feeling of dread. I dreaded the sense of feeling like an idiot, and dreaded the undoubted enthusiasm of badminton fanatics.

‘I, erm, am here, with a group. A badminton group…’ The woman at reception looked at me. The silence between us suggested that she needed more information. ‘I think it’s booked under the name of Michael.’

‘Courts two and three. Just go through the double doors, turn right and you’ll find them there’.

I thanked the receptionist, took a deep breath, and set off. I found a group of people milling around. I asked the first person I came to whether this was the ‘Meetup’. It was. He was a German chap called Karl; Michael, it seemed, was stuck in traffic. After a quick change, I returned and chatted a bit more.

‘I… have never done this before. I don’t know how to play’.

‘No worries’, replied Karl. ‘I’ll teach you’.

He went to his bag and picked up a racket and gave it to me. Karl went onto explain the markings on the court, what is meant by ‘in’ and ‘out’, and demonstrated how to serve.

‘It’s all in your wrist, see?’ Karl demonstrated how to move the racket around, as if he was trying to do battle with a swarm of invisible flies.

‘Okay, we’ll just play for fun. We’ll just hit it, okay?’

Karl went to the other side of the net and served; a high shot, which gave me a bit of time to react, so I could position myself. I returned the shuttlecock, but the next one ended up on the floor. I tried again… we had a short rally, and then a longer one.

Hitting the shuttlecock wasn’t as difficult as I had expected it to be. I had expected my long-standing excuse, my extreme short-sightedness to work against me, but I was managing to return Karl’s shots. I don’t know what had happened since my school days. Had it been my occasional trips to the gym? Had my reactions suddenly perked up after lots of scooter riding?

We stopped. I noticed that the top of Karl’s t-shirt was all wet with sweat. I was panting, and starting to break out in a sweat too.

‘You’ve never played before? You’re really talented; it usually takes two or three lessons before you can return like that’.

I couldn’t believe he said that.

‘Here, take this. It’s lighter, see? Let’s play with this so you can feel the difference’. Karl gave me one of his expensive carbon fibre rackets to play with; an expression of trust. We continued to mess about. I could tell the difference. It was lighter, and easier to play with.

More people arrived. There was Tony, Ed, Gavin, and Dave. I joined a pretend doubles match with Gavin, Tony and Dave. Gavin offered me a bit of advice: ‘you’re putting your whole body into a shot; don’t. Badminton is most in your wrist…’ echoing Karl’s earlier point. Gavin’s advice made me realise why I was feeling so knackered and was sweating so much: I was running and jumping, whilst everyone else seemed to be barely moving.

Part way through another pretend match, our host Michael arrived.

‘What’s your name? Have you played much badminton, Chris?’

‘None… I think this is my first time ever.’ I then went onto explain why I had come to Michael’s group.

‘Why are you doing these… one hundred Meetups?’ he asked.

‘Midlife crisis, I guess’, I replied. Michael began to laugh.

‘I’ve had one too! Midlife crisis. Besides, you’re not old enough! How old are you? Look’. Michael showed me his arm. It had a tattoo. It was a series of Chinese characters.

‘What does it say?’

‘I’m from Vietnam, and my wife is from China. It’s a phrase, in simplified Chinese; in Cantonese. It says: don’t waste time. I used to drink and smoke, but now I play Badminton. It’s my life. Let’s play. We’ll talk later’.

Michael gave me some easy shots, and then quickly turned up the heat. One shot went one way, the other shot went the other. Michael started to chuckle.

‘You’ve got to run, Chris! Gets your blood moving!’ After he noticed that I was spending too much time picking up the shuttlecock from the floor, he went back to easier shots.

It was time for my first proper game. Michael and myself versus Tony and Tracey, the only woman in our group. Michael kept score. The game was a blizzard of running, hitting and jumping. There were long shots and close shots; shots where the shuttlecock would be flipped over the net. We won. Or, more specifically, Michael won.

Between games, I chatted to Michael a bit more, and gave him the fee for the night. Michael had been running ‘South West Strings’ for around two years. He runs event in different venues across South West London and had attracted over seven hundred members.

‘We sometimes have over thirty people coming to the events, like the one that we had on Sunday. We don’t just do badminton. Sometimes we go out for meals and see movies too. I hope you’ll come back!’ Michael was a perfect event host: friendly, encouraging and passionate. He was also pretty good at badminton.

After a well needed sit down, it was time for a final match. It was me and Ed versus Dave and my mentor, Karl. By this time in the night, I was sufficiently filled with adrenalin. The pretend matches had filled me with confidence that I could return the shuttlecock. I was also aware that my eyes were working well enough that I could see roughly what was going on. It started gently enough, then Ed started to rush around, thwacking the shuttlecock. I then started to pick up some of the low shots; we were starting to work as a team. We gained points, they gained points; we were evenly matched. Michael’s ‘I’ll get you running’ exercises had done the trick; I moved from the back of the court to the front, reacting to the game.

I had no idea which side won. It didn’t matter. We shook hands. It had been fun. Karl was covered in sweat, and Ed was panting. I needed a lie down and a drink of water. Karl and Michael said I had done pretty well. My feelings of dread and foreboding had been replaced with endorphins and elation. I wondered what had changed. Perhaps it was my willingness to get involved. Perhaps I had also managed to throw away quite a bit of my sporting baggage.

Ninety five – Asylum Fellowship

‘What is it?’ asked Mary.

After a pub lunch we decided to ‘do a random’ and apply the ‘half an hour’ rule since Archway was pretty central.

‘Badminton. South West London. Its miles away…’

‘I’m not going to badminton’ said Mary.

‘Okay.’ I replied, secretly relieved. ‘We’ll have to bank it. What’s the next one… Hold on. The Asylum Fellowship.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Don’t know; I’ll have a look. Ah… It’s a church. Do you have a relationship with Jesus?’

‘NO!’ replied Mary, laughing.

‘Neither do I! It looks like it’s close to Tottenham Court Road.’

‘That’s on my line; I can get there by Tube’ said Mary, immediately problem solving and implicitly suggesting that we’re going.

‘I think I know where it is. It’s the church that is close to an orange skyscraper.’

I knew the orange skyscraper. It was where I went to the Gay Mates male grooming event.

I wrote down the address on a scrap of paper and gave it to Mary. Mary set off towards the tube, and I set off on my scooter. One road pretty much took me all the way there. I picked my way through Kentish Town, and then onto Camden Town, negotiated a couple of junctions, and edged my way past Euston, and then into Bloomsbury. I parked up in a motorcycle bay that was on one of the roads that led to Covent Garden; it had taken no more than fifteen minutes.

I found St Giles in the Field easily, but all the entrances seemed to be locked. I walked towards the back and discovered a transparent plastic folder that was strung up on a door knob. In the folder was a note: ‘for the asylum fellowship please ring the doorbell’. I pushed the bell and moments later a tall friendly chap called Tony came to greet me. He ushered me inside.

The Meetup description didn’t say very much (other than it was free and there was a promise of snacks), but there was a link to a website. The site was a surprise: first thing I saw was a graphic of a six-sided star and an image of a skull which seemed to have a red cross behind it. In the background there were creepy looking winged creatures. Scrolling down the page, there was a photograph of eleven people, almost all of them dressed in black, sitting around a table. The surrounding space was decorated with a skeleton, two further cartoon-like skulls and a fake spider web.

I clicked on an ‘info’ link: ‘Asylum exists to bring the love and acceptance of Christ to people from the various underground subcultures in London’. I was worried: I don’t believe in Christ and I certainly didn’t belong to any sub-cultures.

I found myself in a large meeting room. On the walls I saw paintings of old white men, and names of people who had some kind of connection with the church. Crisps, mini-chocolate rolls and copies of the Bible sat on a huge table that was covered with a couple of table cloths that featured Celtic patterns.

‘Hi! I’m Sarah!’

Sarah was a young woman in her twenties. She wore a smart black dress, killer heels, beguiling eye make-up and a pair of cat ears.

‘Thanks for coming! How did you find us?’

I explained that I had heard about the group through Meetup. I said that I knew every little about the group.

Sarah explained a little more: Asylum was primarily about love and friendship; that there wasn’t any sermon or speeches. Instead, it was about meeting and discussing things in a way that would have happened at the time of Jesus.

‘The group is very open minded; everyone is welcome: people who have faith, people who don’t, and people who have different faiths to our own. All that we ask is that everyone respects the person who holds a view’.

My phone beeped. It was Mary. She had found the orange skyscraper but wasn’t too sure about where to go next. I rushed out to the street to find her. Five minutes later, I was introducing her to Tony and Sarah. For a few moments, she seemed to be overawed by the paintings, the names of dead people, the Celtic table cloths and Sarah’s cat ears.

‘So, are you spiritual?’ asked Sarah.

‘Erm…. No.’ I replied.

‘Then… why have you come here today?’ she gently challenged.

‘Erm, well… I was supposed to go to Badminton, but it was too far. It was in South West London. This was the next event on the Meetup calendar.’

Everyone turned to look at me. I explained that this was random event number ninety five of a nonsense Meetup challenge.

‘That’s awesome!’ said Ray, who was wearing what appeared to be a pair of Cuban heels. ‘I went to something called the Goth tour of London. It was brilliant! They showed us all these different places, like, sites of secret Gin halls. There was this other really interesting thing that happened really close to here: the London Beer flood, it’s called. A huge vat ruptured, causing the beer to go all down the street, killing loads of people.’

It was time for the ‘service’ to start. Mary moved to sit next to me. I was glad for her support; there were more Christians in the room than there were atheists.

After a short prayer, Sarah said to talk about a book called ‘The Road Less Travelled’ by M Scott Peck. Scott Peck was apparently a psychotherapist who had an interest in spiritual development.

Sarah read us a passage. It was about laziness. The point was that that it’s easy to be lazy; that it’s easy to just go to work and go home and not really think about ‘big issue stuff’. A key was that having a spiritual relationship with God isn’t something that is easy; it takes time to develop and nurture, and that we’re all at different stages of our spiritual ‘journey’.

‘Sometimes I think it’s easier if you don’t believe…’ said Pete, who was sitting to the left of Mary. My inner atheist inside me started to make a fuss. An internal battle commenced between the desire to ‘sit quiet’ and listen to what is said at the Meetup, and to become actively engaged. I couldn’t be disingenuous: I couldn’t pretend to love Jesus when I patently didn’t. My inner atheist won.

‘Actually… I don’t think it is easy if you don’t believe’ I said.

Everyone turned to look at me again; the room became quiet.

‘I have to confess that I’m atheist. Now, I understand that believing isn’t easy, and that it can be tough, that you can doubt – but it’s also quite a big thing to come to a conclusion that there isn’t anything else; it’s… difficult. In my life, there have been some times when I have thought of praying, but, actually, that’s a long time ago now… I just… We are the ones who need to take responsibility for what we do. We can’t leave it up to God.’ I paused for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts.

‘In some respects, I guess this randomness quest stuff that I’m on is a kind of weird spiritual journey all of its own; I’m seeing what is out there, and seeing what happens, so I do kind of understand, a bit, about where you’re coming from. One thing that I must say is that atheism isn’t a religion. It’s not that at all’.

A chap who had joined the meeting late chipped in. ‘If I thought there wasn’t anything else, I would want to throw myself under a train’.

Silence hung heavily in the air.

‘I’m really glad that you’ve said what you did’, said Tony, turning to me. ‘I’m in a very similar place to where you are. If there is a God, and I ever got to meet him, I would be very angry’. Again, there was silence. ‘I would be very angry with God’ he repeated.

This led to a discussion about the nature of ‘our Christian God’ and differences between Christianity and other faiths. It was a discussion that I didn’t entirely follow, especially when the new member of the group started to talk about ‘early Christian thought’ and Gnosticism.

‘There’s this place not too far from where I live that some spiritualists think is haunted.’ It was Jim, a chap in his mid-fifties. ‘They say that there’s all these different ghosts there, and they said they’ve seen them. I once spent the night there. I didn’t see anything. It makes you wonder whether they’re making it all up’.

The conversation moved to other topics, such as morality. My annoying inner atheist couldn’t resist chipping in again: ‘a really interesting challenge is figuring out our own morality’, I said, stumbling into a debate about moral absolutism.

Eventually, Sarah brought the focus of the discussion back to the purpose of the group. She said that different opinions are welcome. Where there are differences, they are to be explored ‘with love’ for others. I got her point: confrontation and vehement disagreement doesn’t do any good; it’s best to take time to listen. The group wasn’t about preaching, or even about persuasion. Its heart was liberal: it was one about acceptance.

Sarah gave myself and Mary some leaflets. Pete, who turned out to be spectacularly tall, gave me a big hug, which made me feel relieved that I hadn’t inadvertently caused any offense. I thanked Sarah and learnt that she was originally from California and had found ‘a home’ in the Asylum Fellowship, and was now a trustee.

The man who said that he would want to jump in front of a train ‘if there wasn’t anything else’ was called Matt. His words resonated in my mind for a day or so afterwards. Then, during a moment of peace a few days later, my inner atheist spoke to me.

My inner atheist said: ‘if there’s nothing else, we’ve a fundamental responsibility; to ourselves and those around us. We have a responsibility to live the best possible life we can because there is no heaven or hell; there is only now, and the remaining days that we have. Go do whatever you need to do. Seek happiness, and do your best not to hurt others in the process. Try your best to help others, since that will give you happiness too. Don’t put things off; go live life, and live it well.’