Another Monday night, another social table tennis get together at the sailing club. We’ve been playing for almost a year now. It’s the same players: me, K, A, A agin and N. We’re pretty much all of the same standard. We rotate playing each other for an hour and a half or so, with no one ever really emerging dominant.

I’ve really enjoyed playing different players and opening up to their various quirks and techniques. We’re learning how to master each other, with some bloody decent rallies taking place.

This evening was a bit of a sticky one up in the Sailing Club loft. We had the balcony door open, with a table against it to stop the ball heading out into the river. That’s something that the world table tennis championship players don’t have to contend with.

It took a while to find my length on the indoor table. It’s a much faster game. Balls go flying and get lost around all the various crannies in the Sailing Club loft.

We usually finish up with a game of doubles. Time and tide literally were a little tight for us all this evening. Monday evenings are becoming the new Friday nights for me.

Another day, another game of table tennis down at the table of dreams. We rocked up to find the public field rather busy. In particular, there was a gathering of primary school boys hanging around the table. Here we go, I thought.

The little shits had commissioned the table as their HQ for some kind of water fight. The table was covered in water whilst they were filling up balloons and water pistols etc. No harm done, but hey! I really want to play table tennis.

Rather harsh but friendly words were exchanged. I asked them if it was ok to play, and then encouraged them to tidy up the mess they had made all around the table. They looked a little sheepish. Whatever.

We pressed on with the game. We weren’t the only Sunday lunchtime locals enjoying the facilities. A rare game of boules was taking place on the recently installed court.

The wind picked up and it became more favourable for boules players than table tennis hopefuls. My playing partner blew me away with a predictable 3-2 victory.

Another day, another game of table tennis down at the table of dreams. We rocked up to find the public field rather busy. In particular, there was a gathering of primary school boys hanging around the table. Here we go, I thought.

The little shits had commissioned the table as their HQ for some kind of water fight. The table was covered in water whilst they were filling up balloons and water pistols etc. No harm done, but hey! I really want to play table tennis.

Rather harsh but friendly words were exchanged. I asked them if it was ok to play, and then encouraged them to tidy up the mess they had made all around the table. They looked a little sheepish. Whatever.

We pressed on with the game. We weren’t the only Sunday lunchtime locals enjoying the facilities. A rare game of boules was taking place on the recently installed court.

The wind picked up and it became more favourable for boules players than table tennis hopefuls. My playing partner blew me away with a predictable 3-2 victory.

Another sun-drenched morning at the table of dreams. The air was incredibly still. If ever there was a time to play with the non-wind ball, then this was it. Anything could happen… Absolutely anything could happen.

Replacing the usual sugar rush energy drinks being spilt on the table, today we rocked up to find what looked like pollen. You don’t get that during a sterile indoor table tennis game.

The field was largely quiet and silent. There seemed to be an abundance of planes flying overhead. We’re not talking jumbo jet-style craft here. It looked like a mini air show.

I tried to focus my concentration. As ever, this was a wasted exercise. I managed to win one game, and then allowed my playing partner to come back in to win the next four. Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.

We rocked up at the table of dreams on Friday morning only to find that some entitled middle-class little shit had spilled some crappy sugar rush of a drink all over the table. Arse. Whatever. We decided to press on and play the briefest of brief games.

It was incredibly humid and rather hazy out there today. It was also coming towards the fag end of half-term week. The park was busy and rather noisy. At one stage we had an audience of around half a dozen little ankle-biters watching us.

I never really found my rhythm. I raced to a 3-1 defeat. I was optimistic of making some spectacular comeback. My playing partner called quits, claiming she had an optician’s appointment. Aye aye. I see what you’ve done there, etc.

After the heatwave of the past couple of days, temperatures around the Estuary Wilds had dropped five degrees or so this afternoon. The wind had also picked up - warm wind. Which can only mean one thing: a return to the outdoor wind ball. It was swaying around, giving the impression that some killer spin had been applied. It hadn’t, obvs.

This was a lazy game for a lazy early, early summer’s day. We both couldn’t be arsed after a bit of a challenging start to the day earlier. Hey hoe. Whatever. We pressed on, taking the odd point off each other. With the scoreline stuck on 3-3, we both walked away whilst we still could.

To the Table of Dreams! On a very hot Bank Holiday Monday. We made the strategic decision to play with the non-wind ball. The reason being, there was no bloody wind around. Job’s a good ‘un.

A bit of a knock around warm-up started. It was the usual corner to corner let’s TWAT the ball around AND live out our semi-pro table tennis dreams. Good luck with that one. It was far too warm for a decent warm-up and so we headed straight into the game.

Hang on, something’s not quite right here. The non-wind ball wasn’t bouncing very well. We had a brain wave: I remembered that the non-wind ball was packed away many months ago because it’s not actually a ball.

It has been squashed around so much it bounces in an irregular fashion, which can be quite a major factor when you’re playing table tennis, either semi-pro or even as park amateurs.

My concentration, as ever, was sketchy. The heat didn’t really help. I lost 4-1. Oh dear.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Sunday morning. It already started to heat up as we made our way through the public car park and on to the field. The local running group had regathered, all hot and sweaty after a morning of trying to beat the heat. Good luck, as they say, with that one.

Our own warm up was rubbish. Once again we aimed for the pro-style corner to corner continuous rally, TWATTING the ball with an increased intensity after every shot. It looks impressive if you can pull it off. We managed a rally of three shots max.

Time to crack on with the actual game, before the blue skies up above completely burned all energy out of us. It was most tranquil for the first three games. I raced to a 3-0 lead. The bloody Church bells then kicked in. They put me off my stroke. I called time whilst I was still 3-2 ahead.

We rocked up at the Table of Dreams, only to find a father sitting on it, and his son stomping around on the table and metallic net. wtf.

The little shit was taking great delight in jumping up and down. He wasn’t challenged over his behaviour. The entitled, middle-class tosser.

I strode up, expecting a confrontation. Instead they both disappeared. SEE YA. Don’t come back, etc. Some people.

This messed with my mind. As did the wind. I tried to play a power game. This was not an afternoon for spin. I succeeded, to an extent. A 5-1 defeat is not as deflating at it might sound. I did push her all the way. Yep.

We waited for a break in the Estuary Wilds rain before heading out to the Table of Dreams on Thursday. We very much welcome the rain - we’ve got a new roof that needs rain-testing. But let us get in a game of wiff waffle first, yeah?

It was hit and miss. It was also bloody cold. The table itself had a puddle in one corner. The tactic was to aim for the puddle, and kill the ping pong ball stone dead. Best laid plans, etc.

I raced to a 2-1 lead. I walked away with a 3-2 defeat. It’s all about consistency.