IT’S a chilly October evening and I’m in a provincial corner of southeast Sweden, coaching a women’s rugby team. What on earth — to no doubt echo the players’ own thoughts — am I doing here?

The answer lies in an intriguing new travel concept called GoCambio. “Stay for free, share what you know” is its self-explanatory tag line. Like Airbnb, it’s part of the sharing economy — only arguably more so. Here, nobody is asking guests to “share” their money.

Instead, what hosts want in exchange for you colonising their spare room and hogging the bathroom are your skills. Or at least one specific one. “Everyone’s got something worth sharing” is GoCambio’s somewhat optimistic take.

Really? My first stab at producing a list of things I’m proficient at ends with juggling, reverse parking and doing impressions of Nelson Mandela. All admirable enough, but possibly not the most universally sought-after of skill sets.

Further down my list is rugby — courtesy of having, many moons ago, played for England U19. This catches the attention of a GoCambio host called Per Bengtsson, who is something of a pioneer of the oval-ball game in puck-obsessed Sweden. The 60-year-old coaches the women’s team in Ronneby, a couple of hours east of Malmo, and thinks I might be able to lend a hand.

Rather generously, given current international form, he’s prepared to overlook the England connection.

I arrive on Per’s quiet suburban street to find him waiting on the steps of his traditional wood-clad cabin. “Welcome,” he says, offering me a spade-sized hand. Inside, the fire is blazing, his wife, Svetlana, is dishing up meatballs with lingonberry sauce, and Ikea furnishings adorn the house. On the shelf are Stieg Larsson books. Short of finding Roxette in the basement sauna, it’s difficult to see how the scene could get any more Swedish.

After dinner, Per and I retire to the living room with a beer to watch a game of rugby. As we sit, we exchange war stories from our playing days. Per has a good deal more than me — he’s a former prop — and he certainly fits the front-row mould: big personality, great raconteur, slightly unhinged.

A little unsteady on my feet, I retreat to my top-floor room for the night. I have the whole floor, in fact, and my own little bathroom. So far, so good.

GoCambio recommends two hours of “skill dispensing” a day. Coincidentally, that’s the duration of the following day’s training, conducted on a large floodlit pitch just out of town. Drawn by news of a “visiting coach”, numbers are well up on the average. Gulp.
This seems the wrong time to point out that I’ve never done this in my life. I console myself with the thought that there’s barely a coaching qualification Stuart Lancaster doesn’t have.

I start tentatively, relying on passing drills, generic rugby waffle and loud blasts of the whistle. The players — aged between 13 and 23 — are a delight, unfailingly polite, skilful and incredibly adept at feigning interest.