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An interesting Monday table tennis social down at the Sailing Club. We rocked up and there was no one else there. Eight hours earlier and it was the exact same situation at the University squash court - an hour to ourselves with a table that is a dream to play on.

My first concern was being locked in overnight at the Sailing Club. There could be worse places to be abandoned. There’s a fully stocked bar down there.

There was some Sailing Club meeting taking place with some of the old boys down below us. I ventured down there just to let them know of our presence and to ask when they would be done so we wouldn’t be locked in.

I made an absolute dick of myself introducing myself, and then realising that I actually knew three of the old boys sitting around the table.

Let’s get back to the whiff waff, right?

We played on for 15 minutes or so. The light was fast fading. A very brave couple were launching a kayak under moonlight from the hard below us.

And then A turned up to rescue us. To be honest I can only take an hour or so of playing with my usual partner once a day. Two hours would have been excessive. A made it a friendly threesome.

We decided on reverting to the standard table tennis rules of playing to 11. The Monday social at the Sailing Club has had a tendency to stray towards 21. You have too much luxury there to climb back from any deficit. Play to 11 and it’s game on, full on, right from the start.

A ball change was needed. We were playing with our own 3-star ball. It was incredibly fast and light. We switched to one of the Sailing Club ball, which was a lot slower.

It was a fantastic session. We got to rotate, with only one player sitting out for 2 minutes or so. Some pretty sharp shots were played.

Bad Apple was one weird fucked up film. I knew from watching the trailer and seeing the billboard ads that it has been described as being darkly comic. It kind of lived up to both descriptions but it was also, in some places, bloody funny.

It makes more sense if you’ve ever worked in a school. The setting and some of the small intricacies played out in staff rooms and interpersonal relationships between teachers were spot on.

The basic premise is that there’s a ahem bad apple pupil at a primary school. In fact he’s a little shit. A right Little shit. It was very difficult to have any sympathy towards the character of Danny.

You did find plenty of empathy and understanding with his poor overstretched young female teacher. It was clear from the setup that she had good intentions and wanted to do her best for all of her pupils, but Danny was something of a lost cause.

tl;dr: After something of a physical assault between the pair, she basically kidnaps him and locks him in her cellar. After a few teething troubles they kind of bond and she does her own version of home schooling, albeit with him pretty much chained to the floor.

It’s a plot that even Grange Hill might have struggled with back in the day.

What was clever about Bad Apples was the way in which the character sympathies shifted throughout the film. Danny becomes something of a lost boy who you want to find his way in life. The lovely lovely teacher is clearly an absolute psycho but somehow just about manages to get away with it.

It gets a little stretched towards the end. The secret is out of the bag and so is Danny, out of the cellar but no one really does anything in order for justice to be carried out.

The ending was disappointing. I hate films that come to a sudden jolt and leave you to make your own mind up about how the narrative should end. That sounds like wimping out to me.

It was a decent way to spend a couple of hours in the Sunny Colch, cheapo cheapo grubby fiver cinema deal. I think if you were a young primary school teacher then you would be having nightmares after watching this film.

To the University table of Dreams! …early on Monday morning.

Having signed up for University sports centre membership, I might as well make the most of this whilst I am still crocked. Running around playing pickleball could be particularly painful. Standing at one end of a table and TWATTING a little ping pong back and forth, however, is piss easy.

We had a change of scenery for our booking on Monday morning. Having previously played in the entire basketball-sized sports centre with one table in the middle, we opted instead for the squash court.

This meant that any powerful smash shots unreturned by my playing partner didn’t lead to her having to trot off halfway down the sports hall just to retrieve the ball.

But it wasn’t all one way traffic in terms of her going for the shots. Far from it:

“The next improvement for you is to try and put topspin on your backhand return.”

Thanks for that, luv.

My reply was:

“The next improvement for you is to try and hit the table.”

She rose to the challenge. Predictably I fell to an 8-3 defeat.

To the Sailing Club! …early in the evening on Sunday. We had a WivGigs sunset social row to see out the weekend.

We weren’t alone in making the most of the very limited high water. A couple of fishermen were out on the public jetty, casting their long rods in and out of the water.

This was always going to be a very tight turnaround when it came to the row. Tide and time were both against us. There was a limited high water and we had around an hour or so left in the day of sunlight.

I was placed on stroke. We launched successfully and then the cox instructed us that we were about to take some plop training. Oh, I wasn’t prepared for that. I thought I was done with all of this messy business, some 50 or so years ago.

Ah, I see. Plop training is about plopping your oar in the water in synchronicity with the rest of the crew.

I plopped away quite contentedly.

We made steady progress downstream. At one stage we had the sun setting in the east and the moon visible in the opposite direction. It may have been the other way around. Geography has never been my strong point.

We could see, a little further out in the estuary, the cadets with their flashing lights. Apparently they were being treated to a rare sunset sail themselves.

It was all very peaceful and tranquil until the dickhead jet ski riders rocked up. To be fair to them they did slow down ever so slightly as they sped past us. This didn’t stop them breaking the speed limit for the estuary as they powered their way upstream towards the town.

Our cox informed us we were making fairly speedy progress ourselves. It was rumoured that it was all to do with the recent re-waxing of the boat.

I confess that having smelt the wax and thinking at first that it was someone’s bad breath. But nope, apparently it was the bees' wax. Maybe the bees had bad breath.

We were back at the Sailing Club hard with just enough light to recover.

To the Table of Dreams! …mid-afternoon on a particularly warm mid-September Sunday afternoon.

This had a feeling of the last proper weekend of the summer. The park was busy with kids playing basketball, using the skate ramp, and also the young toddlers over in the playground.

Thankfully we had the Table of Dreams to ourselves. Some kind person has also cleaned up the table after the KFC-style graffiti was daubed on some stage last week.

My paying partner, as ever, was nattering away. I asked her to tone it down.

“Are you accusing me of not concentrating?”

Yep I most certainly am. Watch the ball and don’t lose track of the score. Counting is never my strong point.

It was incredibly windy for the first five minutes or and then all of a sudden it just dropped and disappeared. I went from TWATTING the ball, to then reverting to my favourite game of spin.

I stormed to an early 1-0 lead. The second game was then one of the longest we have ever played. It’s first to 11 and you need to win by 2 clear points. The final score for the second game was 25-23 against me.

Arse.

I managed to regroup and focus on the final game. I walked away with a 2-1 win.

Yep, I don’t think she was concentrating when we finished.

I had to time trial it to the CTC Club Run on Sunday morning. Any Sunday when I ride the CTC Club Run, I have to time trial it to the rendezvous for the rollout. My timing is appalling.

I made good progress despite cycling on not exactly the most cycle-friendly side of the town. I was there with five minutes to spare. What was that all about?

We had a healthy turnout as we start to transition from the summer to more autumnal Sunday rides. Eight riders rolled out from Leisure World and we picked up another along the way.

Chapeau!

As ever it was pretty shitty navigating out of the half-town, half-city. Even at 9 am on Sunday morning, and the roads were clogged.

What’s encouraging, however, is that the roads aren’t exactly clogged but there is definitely an increase in cycling around Sunny Colch. This was the exact same situation I witnessed around 2007 - 2008, back in London. You start to build the infrastructure and indeed they will come.

SHOUT OUT in particular to the dude riding on one MTB and then pushing along another with his left hand, also with a cargo trailer being attached to the second bike. That’s quite a feat, dude.

Once we were out of the half-town, half-city and the lanes were more or less empty, we did have to slow down slightly as we passed a dozen or so scouts out on a Sunday morning hike.

Some countryfied gent on a sit up and-beg old bone shaker gave us a friendly ring as he went in the opposite direction. His bicycle bell was almost as loud as the bloody church bells that were starting to deafen us around Bures.

The coffee stop for the morning was taken at Assington. Most coffee stops on Cycle UK rides that I take part in are at Assington. It was all fine. I shared a pot of tea and some fine conversation.

I did ponder hanging around and cycling on to the lunch stop and then all the way for the afternoon session, but I had a few domestics back at base. Plus I was keen to watch the Metro Bank cricket final on the telly.

It’s good to be back out with a CTC crowd.

“Watson’s role will be to increase the “social and economic value” of its work through public services, jobs and skills. Translation: this former minister will help grease our way to the government teat.”

Telll It Like It Is. via Novara

Richard Wilson on Woody

“Harnessing the power of harvest, when after the fruit comes decay”

Late Junction captures the season to perfection.

And so we come to Coventry at home, the first time that these two teams have played each other in the Premier League in over a quarter of a century.

What could go wrong for Forest?

Well first of all let’s start with that dreaded home form. We were in desperate need of a statement win to help us get through the three long weeks of the stupid international break.

The team news landed. It looks like The OG has settled on his strongest starting eleven and is going to run with this week in, week out if he can manage injuries and suspensions.

Coventry offered little threat right from the kick-off. You know where this one is heading, right?

MGW was looking like he had a point to prove after being left out of the England squad once again. His flicks, tricks, and kicks pretty much dominated the first half.

Meanwhile McAtee looks transformed. He is in peak condition and was able to muscle in and make his mark in his No. 6 role.

The World Famous City Ground was also looking rather handsome. All that was needed was this elusive home win.

Forest had most possession during the first half but they weren’t clinical. This won’t come and kick us right at the backside, will it?

There was a very scrappy end to the first half. It looked like Coventry were here to take a point on the road whilst Forest seemed to accept they are going to struggle to score goals at home.

There’s not a great deal to say about the second half apart from Coventry’s goal on the break which was a great effort. Rushworth made a superb pass and split the entire pitch. He also looked rather charming wearing a traditional green goalkeeper kit. More of the same please.

It’s not that Forest were crap as a team, it’s just that we couldn’t score. This wasn’t the best of games for Ndoye.

Jesus rightfully took his place. His goal showed the determination that he has as a player, but as ever, fuck VAR.

And so we go into what seems like an eternal break away from the Premier League, with the club not perhaps being where it wanted to be.

It’s not been a disastrous start to the season but three points at home to Coventry would have set us up nicely for what is to come.

I’ve tried to stay out of charity shops of late. They’re always full of tat when it comes to clothing, and especially so when it comes to CDs.

You can end up straining your eyes as you peer through endless CD spines, only to read Boyzone, Annie Lennox, and endless Eva Cassidy.

Finding a rarity whilst digging in a charity shop’s crates is something of a fool’s gold errand.

But wait! What’s this?

I did allow myself five minutes or so having a quick shifty whilst in Walton-on-the Naze earlier. It was easy to dismiss most of the CDs, as they were classical with a very distinct spinal font.

What leapt out at me was some Loudon Wainwright III and Muddy Waters. The deal was £1 per CD or three for £2. I needed to add a third to my bundle.

I strained a little further and managed to find some Charlie Parker.

Keep on digging, Jase.

To the William Loveless Hall! …late afternoon on Saturday. The occasion was the annual Wivenhoe Memories exhibition.

This usually takes place over the weekend of the August Bank Holiday. The organisers have realised that footfall can be pretty low, with many families still holidaying. A slight switch to later in the season is being trialled for this year.

Each year the curators try and come up with a new theme. Wivenhoe Memories for 2026 goes back to the 1960s and explores the idea and the impact of the University being built at the top of the town.

To our surprise we weren’t the youngest people looking around the exhibition. Previous years have seen the Loveless Hall become something of a youth club for all the owd boys as they gather and share their memories.

It was fascinating to see some of the original photos of the University being built at Wivenhoe Park. Some of these were new to me.

I remarked that if we were 50-something back in the 1960s whilst the university was being built, then we would no doubt kick up a right fuss about Wivenhoe Park being concreted over. You now take it for granted and actually admire the brutalism on show.

It wasn’t all about the 1960s at Wivenhoe Memories. There was one board dedicated to the opening of a Co-op in 1976. I liked the caption describing the celeb of Yootha Joyce opening it as being “half cut.”

Chin chin.

Elsewhere I realised that although some of the old photos dating back 100 years or so have tremendous historical importance, it is perhaps the more recent snaps from the 1970s and 1980s that hold more appeal to me.

You’re looking at streets which you walk day in, day out, which have changed ever so slightly from when the photos were taken. It’s finer the details, such as old phone boxes that that have now been lost.

As you would expect with Wivenhoe Memories, photos of the pubs and booze in particular feature heavily. Some of the scenes of groups of 10, 15, 20 people sitting around a table drinking and smoking are a world away from what takes place inside these pubs in 2026.

And so another decent Wivenhoe Memories. These gatherings are always very communal and prove to be a great way of drawing out some of the old stories.