To the Sailing Club on Monday evening for the weekly table tennis social.
But wait! What’s this?
It seemed like there was some kind of lockout down at the Sailing Club. The scene resembled a mid-70s industrial strife situation with no entry.
No worries. It was just that our usual holder of the key wasn’t available for this session. A few messages back and forth and soon we had their magic numbers to gain entry to the indoor table of dreams.
The first obstacle to overcome wasn’t any opponent but where to position the table to avoid the scrutiny of the sun. It’s a very delicate - and also moving - situation. It involves a table gradually retreating further and further towards the estuary as the sun sets throughout our session.
I played so so. I had one particularly memorable match with an opponent who I can pretty much match shot for shot. We had some epic rallies and tracked each other’s scores all the way through until I finally got over the line.
GEDDIN
What then followed was the Great Sailing Club table tennis wiff waff bat mix up. One of my opponents realised halfway through that she was using someone else’s bat. That someone else wasn’t around this evening but it seemed that a bat switch had taken place the week before.
What could possibly go wrong?
Some very strict measurement rules were applied. It seemed that the replacement bat was marginally smaller than the usual standard bat we are used to. My opponent cried foul play and attempted to abandon the game through her own lack of equipment planning. I was having none of it, natch.
In it to win it, etc.
Bad light eventually did for us.
