It was a busy Monday evening at the Sailing Club table tennis Monday social. We had six players. Some new rules were delegated on the spot: rather than play to 21, it was dictated we would play to 11 so everyone had some table time.

This meant for some very speedy play. You have no hiding place, no mercy when you are playing to 11 points. Within a blink of an eye you can find yourself six-nil down and pretty much chasing the game.

I came close to departing one game on a classic table tennis bagel - aka zero points. I managed to salvage some sense of respectability.

My final game of singles was my best game. It was an epic match, which, despite being played to 11, ended up with me winning 16-14. We had tied the game at 10-all and you needed to win by two clear points.

Some pretty random doubles followed. I made a suggestion that we play as a threesome. No one laughed. I think some of my fellow Monday Night Social players even took the comment as the innuendo that wasn’t honestly implied.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Saturday lunchtime it’s been a while since we rocked up and played outdoors.

The field around us was extremely parched. It was like playing on the Oval table of dreams back in South London. Whenever the ball bounced off the table and behind you, it just kept on bouncing and bouncing and bouncing and then rolling.

Our first task however was to wait for some little shits to leave the table. As ever they were treating it as their own personal dance floor. The entitlement of some of the jumped-up middle-class little twats around here is unbelievable.

There was also the strange sight of some cutlery left underneath the table. I suspect this is another hangover from people mistaking a table tennis table for a picnic table.

We were both out of form. Let me rephrase that: I was more out of form than my playing partner. She managed to BATTER me 5-0, despite playing some very questionable shots.

There was talk of playing best of 11. I really couldn’t be arsed.

A mixed session for me at the Sailing Club Monday evening table tennis social. I was absolutely on fire for the first game. My opponent didn’t get a look in. Everything I hit was gold. I even had a smoking gun celebration moment.

You dick.

It was another hot and sticky one up in the Sailing Club loft. We had the balcony open. This led to one shot from an opponent heading out the balcony doors and landing pretty much down below on the Sailing Club hard. A rescue mission took place with a friendly face down below.

There was also a Sailing Club committee meeting taking place downstairs. Apologies to the more sedate members who were sat around the big table deep in discussion. When I celebrate a winning shot, then fuck yeah, I celebrate a winning shot.

I was particularly pleased with an absolute smash of one return that landed on my side of the net, but the momentum was sufficient to propel it over and then stop dead right on the other side. There’s no coming back from that.

Despite all this hyperbole I was actually pretty crap for the rest of the session, all fur coat and no knickers so to speak. I can talk a good game yet delivering when it matters is something completely different.

#tabletennisdick

To the Sailing Club! …on Monday evening. If it’s a Monday evening then it must be the Sailing Club table tennis social session. We had five players for this evening, pretty much the perfect number.

It was bloody stuffy up in the Sailing Club loft. We had the Velux windows and the balcony door open. A gentle breeze was coming through, but it was still pretty much hot, sticky scenes, you know what I mean.

Two players played, three sat off, then rotated. Those sitting off were regaling in Regatta tales from the weekend. One of the poor Wiv One Designs took a bit of a battering in what was a very congested estuary.

There was also plenty of talk of mud. I did clock whilst out for a walk earlier that the mouth of the Roman River is pretty much silted up. It was speculated that we’re not too far off from the whole river being so silted that Regattas of the future may be in doubt.

It got a little lively towards the second half of the session, when the fellas from Alresford Creek rocked up for their monthly social in the bar below.

Chin chin.

The main noise we were making was from a cracked ball. We played on for around five minutes or so before realising that the ball was actually dead.

Doubles ended the session. I got a little overexcited, and embarrassed myself with an inappropriate noise coming from a rather sweaty backside. Apologies, I’m not sure where that came from.

We all decided it was a good time to call it quits.

To the Table of Dreams! …early on Saturday morning. We were fresh (or not so fresh) from dropping off a load of trash at the monthly bulk refuse collection point. The Table of Dreams was within our sights. This was too good an opportunity to miss.

Also making the most of the early morning was one of the hens in the nearby Coop. She was making a right old racket, rejoicing in the fact that she had just laid an egg. Well done you.

My playing partner was a little lame. Don’t scroll down to the final score if you want to see an average table tennis player being trolled in real time.

She made a lame excuse that her contact lenses were in back to front. As a non-contact lens wearer I can’t see how that is possible. My excuse was the big fat dog who ran up beside me, took a slight 45-degree detour, and then did a massive dump. The dirty dog etc.

A fat wasp also hovered over us throughout the game. This was pretty weird. We tried to get a look to see why it was so fat. Was it pregnant? Do wasps get pregnant? Nope. Eggs, innit. We still had no idea as to why the lard arse yellow and black thing was so obese.

It wasn’t even 9 am yet and still the young footballers were warming up right in the middle of the heat. It looked bloody hard work.

We had a little extra time than usual. We decided to play on in what was quite an epic game. The final scoreline of a 4-1 defeat to me doesn’t tell the full story. I’m not sure what the full story is to be honest.

A return to the outdoor Table of Dreams on Friday afternoon. It’s been a while. We were both free and the park was absolutely empty. Time to swing that bat.

The park was incredibly dry. The conditions were still. We opted to play with a conventional indoor table tennis ball.

A brief warm-up followed. It was the usual stuff of TWATTING the ball back and forth with the forehand to each diagonal and then the same again with the backhand. The wind picked up and the ball started to move.

New balls please!

Switching over to the wind ball didn’t make much of a difference. We were both especially crap today.

I came from 2-0 down to level all the scores at 2-2 all. But OF COURSE I lost the final game, walking away a 3-2 loser. Oh dear.

To the sailing club! …on Monday evening for the latest in the social table tennis sessions. Our first obstacle wasn’t the game itself: we had to overcome a cow that had strayed onto the estuary path. Silly cow…

Our Monday evening the table tennis social is starting to grow. We had six players for this evening. There’s talk of two more joining us in the coming weeks, which all makes for table time a little tight.

Thankfully the weather conditions in the sailing club loft were a little fresher. Some energetic games took place. I seem to play the best shots when I’m up against it and require a degree of gymnastic dexterity to win a point.

Away from the table and sailing club politics was the topic of conversation. I was happy to sit on my hands and take it all in without offering any contribution.

We finished off with some games of doubles. At one point my partner and I were trailing 10-1. We somehow managed to turn it around with an unlikely victory. Spin it to win it, Jase.

It was a sweaty one as we made our way over to the sailing club for the Monday evening table tennis social. Thankfully the sailing club loft had a breeze corridor with the newly installed Velux windows open.

The usual warm-ups took place with the usual drills. We’re getting quite skilled now in TWATTING the ball from corner to corner at some pace. It then all falls apart when I start playing an actual scoring game.

Midway through the session and a newcomer arrived. It’s always good to play different opponents. You get to be surprised by their level of skill and choice of shots. Your own game needs to adapt around those.

We started off playing with a high tide and ended up with the plug having been pulled out on the water below us. In between our hour and a half or so of playing, we managed to witness from the balcony some dinghy racing as well as the Rowhedge gig heading downstream and then back.

We left the sailing club with skies darkening and a slightly cooler breeze breaking up all the humidity. It’s a pretty perfect place to play table tennis.

One of the best things about playing pickleball up at the university is that we then find ourselves with a couple of outdoor table tennis tables just begging us for a brief game. It’s always rude not to.

After a two-hour session playing pickleball inside, we headed to the Great Outdoors for a knock-up on the university table of dreams.

Although these look identical to our table of choice back in Weird Wiv, it actually plays a lot harder. There is a definite louder clanking of the ball when it hits the surface. It makes for a very speedy game.

Some of these shots get a little hit and miss. It helped on Monday that campus was deserted, with no students around to witness some of the wiff waff shots gone wrong.

I was experimenting a little when I then heard some shrieks of laughter. I turned around to see a whole coach load of secondary school kids being offered a tour of the campus. Taking in table tennis probably wasn’t on their agenda for the day.

The wind picked up a little. We felt for the nearby trees that have recently been felled down to around 10 m or so. It looks like the idea was to try and encourage growth. The lack of greenery and the rotting bark suggests this experiment has failed.

My belief in Mother Nature was restored slightly when a butterfly joined us for one final game. The little fella almost went back and forth with the ball, tracking it from one end of the table to the other.

If Mr. Butterfly was keeping score, he would have clocked up another 3-2 defeat for me.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Sunday morning. We got our timing all wrong. I was in search of a wellbeing bollocks table tennis therapy session. Instead all I got was the bloody church bells doing my absolute nut in.

Oh well.

The next decision was which ball do we play with? Although the Estuary Wilds heat had already started to build, there was also a strong breeze blowing across the park.

We opted for the wind ball. Later in the day I remember that the wind ball was covered in dog shit when we played back at the Oval a couple of weeks ago.

The park was surprisingly quiet apart from the bloody church bells. The lack of activity only served to amplify the right old racket made by the people tugging away on their bell ends.

I stormed to a 2-0 lead, if that is, you can ever storm to a 2-0 lead.

I started to get cocksure. I’m going to win this, right? Nope. My 2-0 lead soon became a 3-2 defeat. The stupid dumb bells still hadn’t stopped by the time I was walking away in shame.