“Hey, do you want to go to Brazil in June?” the sports editor asked on the office stairway. Did I want to go to Brazil? This seemed a slightly random question for a rainy March afternoon. But then, I often get asked pretty random questions in the office: “What should I buy my wife for her birthday?” “Why do you work on the fashion desk when you dress so badly?” “Why are you reading Grazia when your article is two hours late?” Questions, questions. But sure! I’d love to go to Brazil, in the same way I’d love to go paragliding, or learn how to make decent pastry: it’s another entry on the list of things I’ve never done that I’d quite like to do one day. “For the World Cup,” the sports editor elucidated, seeing my somewhat blank face. “Oh wow! Yes, great!” I squealed. “Great, I’ll email you later,” he said. I made a thumbs-up sign, waited until he was around the corner and then hurried back to my desk to Google what kind of sport the World Cup in Brazil involved. I am not a sports person. I don’t like playing sport and, as far as I…