We had a full house for the Monday evening table tennis social session down at the Sailing Club: six players, one hour or so in which to squeeze in some knockabout games of singles and then watch it all fall apart with the finale of the doubles.
What could go wrong?
We reverted to the international table tennis rules of playing only to 11 points. Usually we play to 21. Eleven allows for all players to have a speedy rotation around the table.
It’s a very cunning game when you have such little margin for error. I play best at 11, rather than 21.
If we’re chasing the golden 21, then I get bored halfway through. I start to mess around and generally fall apart.
Not so when your mind is focused on 11. Jump 3 points ahead and you’re pretty much home.
Except on Monday evening I never really did jump 3 points ahead. I lost every single game.
Oh dear.
There’s optimistic talk of resurrecting the Sailing Club table tennis tournament sometime in the new year.
Another reminder that the nights are starting to draw in was on our walk home. SHIT THE BED. some fucker has even got their Christmas lights up.
What’s wrong with this place?