Bowls is Going Barefoot to Survive the 21st Century

"Si, will you GET OUT THERE AND BOWL."

I'm sitting on a bench in London's leafy Finsbury Square, being told off by a dapper chap called Tony, who I only met a few minutes ago. Things were different then, as we laughed at awful throws and inappropriate footwear. But now he wants to see me hit the 'rink', and I'm stalling, which Tony finds absolutely infuriating. Bowls participation is, it turns out, a touchy subject.

I never really wanted to be a lawn bowler. Those mighty hedges and bright white slacks were hardly the headiest of lures, although perhaps that's an issue with the culture surrounding this venerable activity, rather than the game itself. Bowls, for most of us, is less a sport, more a last resort. It is something you take up when your body lets you down. And that needs to change.

"It desperately needs a new audience, new blood," admits Sian Honnor, a bowls multi-medallist and forthright journalist. "But it's getting the bowls in people's hands."

I meet Honnor at an event that's doing just that. Barefoot Bowls drops the dress code, relaxes the rulebook and turns the green into a mini festival: decent beer, downtempo beats, deep house near the clubhouse. This sped-up version has been a big hit in Australia, and the London launch (on Finsbury Square's own bowling green, which I was blissfully unaware existed despite working near here for years) sold out quickly. No-one is actually barefoot, admittedly, but some of the outfits are definitely different.

One team sports splendidly tacky 'Cent 50' basketball vests — £2.50 a pop from Petticoat Lane market, apparently — another came dressed as cows, while the Great Bowls of Fire quartet actually fashioned their own t-shirts. Barefoot Bowls would appear to have fired the imagination, but it was actually launched over here before and didn't stick.

"In 2010 in Brick Lane, they set up a pop-up bowling green and it was sold out seven times over," explains Will Goy, the man behind the new attempt, who I called up the previous day. "The weather has been the biggest thing that's held it back in the UK, but we're willing to give it a go. It can work in the rain. It's just probably not as appealing."

Will is pretty frazzled when I arrive early the next evening, not about the weather, which is perfect, but an issue that's probably unique for UK bowls events. "My DJ hasn't appeared yet," he frets, and works the phone; meanwhile the first team arrives, all with larky laminated pictures pinned to their backs, stag-do style.

I'd assumed that the UK bowls community might be slightly horrified by this Barefoot bastardisation, but they're on board too, and a posse of Bowls England players have turned up to help out. Around 140 punters bought tickets, mostly under 35, and the industry could do with some of them sticking with it. The problem with a sport mainly played by the elderly is… well, let's call it natural wastage.

"Bowling clubs are struggling," says Goy. "Numbers of players are dwindling, the stereotype isn't changing. A lot of bowling clubs are running open days — casual bowls — but they don't market it or have the right sort of platform."

The stereotype will take some shifting. Before this event I'd heard of two bowlers, both veteran men's champions: David Bryant (magnificent pipe), and Tony Allcock (magnificent name). But there are younger, more dynamic – ahem – 'roll' models. Current England star Ellen Falkner is probably the best-known of today's demonstrators. She's also the CEO of AeroBowls UK, who make the things we'll be throwing, and exudes positivity.

Like most younger players, she took up the sport via family connections, and one of her proudest moments was winning titles "with my mum and nan, three generations," she smiles. "It just goes to show, anyone regardless of age can play. It's very inclusive."

But is it really? I admit that I'd never have dreamed of approaching my hometown club, even though it boasts this truly magnificent hedge (below).

"And I think that's the thing," she says, "if we can actually get people to have a go at the sport, they'll appreciate how skilful it is, how social."

Falkner and the aforementioned Sian Honnor won a Commonwealth Games team gold together last year, but they talk a very different game. Honnor edits Bowls International magazine, and is pretty candid about the sport's problems. What does she make of the Barefoot version?

"It's gone well in Australia, but it's a different vibe to here. The thing is, a lot of the [British] clubs are very old fashioned and set in their ways, and the thought of this would just be terrifying for them. 'Oh my god, people are in shoes, people are in heels, they're not wearing whites.' It's very much something we need to break down."

"Us, as bowlers, especially younger people, have known for a while: a bit of alcohol, nice bit of food, music, people will go 'hey, what's going on over there?'" she suggests. "I'm not saying that all clubs should do this, but they could take ideas from it."

Which brings us back to Tony. The organisers had originally hooked me up with a team, but that fell through and I'm feeling slightly bewildered as the fancy-dressed revellers begin packing out the clubhouse area. Then I spot an oasis of calm. On a bench alongside the green are long-time lawn-bowlers Tony and Brenda, checking out the form and festivities, having apparently blagged their way in. Time to soak up some wisdom.

"The thing about this sport," says Brenda. "Men and women can be equal. It's not like, err… wrestling."

It certainly isn't, we concur. She continues. "You don't need great strength. And it's not like golf, where you set off on a four mile walk and you're miles away from the bar."

I like Brenda's thinking.

Their club in Highgate is actively embracing change. They recently dropped the whites for casual Tuesday evening sessions, but enticing younger folk is tricky. "We had an open day ourselves last Saturday, but it didn't attract these sorts of people," muses Brenda. Their club is doing okay member-wise but others "only have 20 or 30," she says, and it's even more difficult in smaller areas. Which puts those clubs, and the game generally, at risk from a genuinely dangerous outside influence: developers.

Last summer the UK's planning minister – the appropriately-named Nick Boles – promised to write to every club in the country, warning of the tactics land owners are employing to lose the bowlers and sell up: super-gluing locks, shutting off power. Clubs can legally challenge such behaviour, citing bowling's community value, but there's not much point if no-one's playing.

Hence Bowls England is getting behind the Barefoot version, although you do wonder how much crossover there'll be. After Brenda heads home Tony is joined by another club regular, yet another Tony, and they're clearly a bit bemused. "One girl was asked to take off her six-inch high heels," reports Tony 2, and they lambast an "absolute idiot" who rockets a shot straight through to the ditch at the back. Still, at least he had a go.

And so, badgered by the Tonies, I do too, and it's a lot harder than it looks. I've joined The Bowling Stones, chiefly because the female half of this team both looked grateful to give up a few throws. Thankfully I calm their nerves by being much, much worse.

It's a simple enough premise: roll a white ball (the jack) up the rink then try to get your bowls (the woods) near it. I'd forgotten that a bowl isn't actually a ball, however; it's shaped more like a hard cheese, heavier on one side. My first attempt actually winds up freakishly near the jack, but then I lose the plot: it's the weighting that kills you. I keep reading it wrong and my woods veer off in entirely the wrong direction, like shopping trolleys.

One bowl goes so badly wide, in fact, that Ellen Falkner – giving lessons nearby – kicks it into the ditch at the back of the rink, which is disconcerting. What's that ditch called, I ask our own Bowls England helper?

"It's called a 'ditch'" he replies.

And yet, as Honnor had predicted earlier, we quickly "get the bug for it – 'I want to be better!'" The girls turn fiercely competitive, and I'm determined to recapture that initial flash of genius. I change stance, but my next wood bounces rather than rolls, plopping horribly short. "That," says the bloke next to me, "was like the Dambusters."

Not that the scores really matter, as it's all thoroughly festive, and the event achieves its various goals. Umpteen bowls virgins have a crack at the jack and the food and booze stands stay busy throughout – even the DJ turned up eventually. It's hard to imagine many of these punters entering a proper club in the near future, but they'll try the Barefoot variety again. Well, they might have to. "This model can be transferred anywhere," says Will Goy. "Stags, hens, summertime parties, corporates, weddings…"

Darkness falls, and as we head to the afterparty – which must be novel for bowls events, too – I notice something heartening. Over on a far corner of the green, lit only by moonlight, one team have carried on regardless, still rolling down some fat ones. Looks like we've found a few converts, at least.

More information can be found at www.barefootbowls.co.uk