I did a one-on-one training session with a Premier League footballer – here is how it went

“One-to-one coaching sessions available,” began Steven Caulker’s LinkedIn post. Well, then. How often do you get the opportunity to have a Premier League and former England international’s undivided attention one’s footballing skills (or lack of) for just £80?

Caulker made 123 Premier League appearances while playing for Tottenham, Liverpool, Southampton and QPR, with his most recent stint in English football at Wigan last year. In 2012, Roy Hodgson capped him for England before he switched allegiance to Sierra Leone a decade later.

My footballing credentials? While many 30-somethings will claim to have had trials somewhere or other, I dare not even pretend that. My football skills could be described as rustic, if such a word can be applied to the ‘beautiful game’.

Fast forward 72 hours from my opportunistic spot and I’m stood on a rubber-crumb pitch under the Heathrow flightpath. It is my first kickabout for more than a decade, and yet I am weirdly confident. Perhaps I’m not as bad as I remember? Maybe I’ve somehow matured as a footballer in the absence of, well, actually playing football.

But then all 6ft3in of Caulker greets me with a firm handshake and the fear kicks in. This is a proper athlete, a mountain of a man who will spent the next hour honing my football ‘skills’.

“I really am a rubbish footballer,” I offer meekly in pre-mitigation. “I’m sure you’re being modest,” comes the husky response. Oh, just you wait, Steven.

Having pushed pass the initial embarrassment that I lack the requisite footwear, we begin with shuttles and a little weaving between cones. I successfully navigate my feet through the ladder and take a touch. It is poor, and my cheeks burn scarlet.

“So, how quickly do you make a judgement on a player?” I ask. “Straight away.” Ah.

Next is a short passing drill, inside of the foot and then out. “Remember that someone has to receive the pass too,” Caulker’s point delicately made.

“These are the sort of drills you’d start every session with,” Caulker explains. He was not attached to a club until, aged 15, Tottenham spotted him playing county football for Middlesex. “When I first went in, the other lads would be doing it like this…” he continues, gesticulating to suggest the pace was too much for him initially. His kind attempt to relate to my ability is appreciated, but undeserved.

Caulker recently took up a player-manager role with fifth tier FC Malaga City in Spain, but is back in London sorting his visa, hence the unusual one-on-one coaching opportunity.

Soon we are exchanging passes until Caulker yells a number. That is my cue to sprint around the relevant cone and return rapidly. “We’ll work for 45 seconds,” he says.

Twenty minutes earlier, I’d jogged the mile or so from Hayes station. When what feels like eons later, Caulker yells “come on, 10 seconds left,” I am regretting that choice.

I stroke the final pass and buckle over, hands on knees. “Do footballers consciously avoid this look during games?” I manage to get out mid-pant. To my relief, Caulker grins and nods. “Don’t worry - everyone is like this in training. Adrenaline gets you through games.”

What we are doing is basic. I am, fundamentally, moving just a few yards and, yet, I am gasping to fill my lungs with what now tastes like sweet, sweet London oxygen.

It is a little portal into the multi-tasking the game requires. It is fine being fit, or being brilliant with the ball, or having the intelligence to read the game. But weaving all three together? Nigh on impossible, for me at least.

I attempt a little gamesmanship, posing questions to slow the session. Caulker reads my play and cracks on with more passing. At first, they are gentle, but then a precise ball is fizzed at me.

I try – like, really try – to cushion the ball’s path. Alas, the resulting touch ends somewhere back behind my teacher. “That’s the pace of a Premier League ball,” Caulker says grinning broadly. “Even if it looks like, the ball is just rolling, that will be the speed.”

Soon we switch to 1v1s. I’m defending first, and – in a world-class display of nous – I show Caulker onto his weaker peg. In doing so, the gap between my ankles becomes wide enough to drive Manchester City’s treble-winning bus parade through. Caulker accepts the invite.

We switch positions, but Caulker doesn’t buy my first step-over. The second, believe it or not, fails, too. Who is the best defender you’ve played alongside, I ask, trying to puncture his concentration. “Ledley King – he was unbelievable,” comes Caulker’s response – he nicks the ball off me at the same time: I never stood a chance.

Suddenly, Caulker’s next pupil arrives. He is early, but I’m overcome with relief. “Don’t worry about me,” I protest, “that lad’s needs are greater than mine.”

Caulker is not having it, and so we finish with a heading drill. I’m invited to touch the ball he is holding out, scuttle backwards and rise to meet his throw. Channelling my inner Andy Carroll, I leap. Boom. “Very good,” Caulker exclaims.

Several attempts later and a top-flight centre back says “you’ve got some serious power in that neck, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?” I’m all tingly. At last, some genuine praise - and who would have thought it would be related to my previously unrecognised neck power!

It is apparent to us both that the 15 minutes Caulker usually reserves for mentoring would be wasted on me. It is, though, he explains, a vital part of the work for a wannabe pro. The mental side of football is beginning to get more airtime and Caulker, via his Behind the White Lines academy, now runs much needed courses on emotional intelligence.

As I depart, my light grey jumper drenched by perspiration, I audibly swear never again to criticise a perceived lack of effort from those on the pitch as the clock ticks towards 90 minutes. Finally, it is my turn to tell a white lie.