A dull game of table tennis on a dull day as we wait for the year to draw out.

Cheer up, luv. etc.

She was the one doing all the smiling. I failed to get any enthusiasm throughout the twenty minutes or so of wiff waff.

As ever, I resorted to arseing about and trying trick shots.

I have no tricks.

I do have another 4-1 defeat to my name.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Christmas Day morning. #OddJase, Odd Wifey as well. But what else are we going to do? Morning Service down at the Church? I don’t think so. Wiff waff is my religion of late. The Table of Dreams is my high altar of choice.

It was also the choice of some big BRUTE in the past day or so who had trampled their muddy size twelves all over it. Some people. Filthy fuckers. You dirty dog, etc.

Hey hoe. We pressed on with the extra heavy wind ball. This wasn’t ideal conditions for the annual contesting of the Christmas Cup. Spoiler alert: there isn’t really a Christmas Cup. But we play for it every year anyway.

Along with the wind ball, I was wearing my wellies. It was quite a sight with the steady passing procession of Christmas walking families thinking wtf are these two oddballs doing on Christmas Day.

HAVE A GOOD ONE, etc.

I was actually having a bloody good one. 2-1 up, in a best of five to bag the Christmas Cup. Steady the buffers, luv. It all came crashing down with a predictable 3-2 defeat for me.

Second in the Christmas Cup can still be celebrated, right?

Blue skies, still air and wellies. It will soon be time for the annual treat that is the Christmas Cup soon. The Christmas Cup doesn’t actually exist… Still, it would have been a shame to waste the wonderful Estuary Wilds conditions, with a rare break in all the winter gloom. I felt good, I played good. A battering took place, as I stormed to a rare 4-1 win. Spin it to win it, Jase. We’ve got tickets booked for the World TT Championships next year. I don’t think it’s too late for a call up.

Pigeon poo greeted us as rocked up to the Table of Dreams on Friday lunchtime. Which was a little shit. Actually, it was quite a big shit. Neither of us could be arsed to try and clean it up.

The game then took on a new dimension: an extra point was awarded if you managed to land the wind ball on the large pile of pigeon poo. Or maybe that should have been if you managed to avoid the mess, such was the size and scale?

We pressed on. I was crap. I lost 4-2.

POO all round.

Wednesday lunchtime at the Table of Dreams. We arrived to find a wet table - which was odd, seeing as though I don’t think there was any rain overnight. We had no cloth. Whatever - let’s play on a wet table.

We also used the wind ball, with a light breeze blowing in. The combination of the unpredicatbale bounce becuase of the water, plus the wind, led to a most odd game of table tennis.

I raced to a 3-1 defecit. I pulled it back to 3-2. I was offered the opportuity to go evens with a final game decider. I lost 4-2, natch.

Oh dear.

A cheeky Monday lunchtime game of table tennis at the University. We were up on campus for pickleball. We passed the outdoor table tennis tables. We had the bats and ball.

Just bloody do it, etc.

Let me get my excuses in early here: I was tired after two hours of pickleball. I was only booked in for an hour.

Plus I had my indoor trainers on. Yeah, yeah - it was outside, natch. But it was also bloody muddy. I spent most of the game having an OCD meltdown with each squelching of the foot in-between play.

BUT OF COURSE I lost 4-1.

Whatever.

There was blue sky above the bloody Estuary Wilds for Wednesday lunchtime. We both had a spare half hour.

Hey! How about some midweek wiff waff?

Sure.

The field was empty. This meant that I could empty my extreme potty mouth whenever a shot didn’t work out.

OH CHUFF, etc.

The grass around was wet. This led to the ball becoming a little water heavy. It wasn’t a game in which to turn to spin.

If in doubt, TWAT IT.

There goes the potty mouth.

A friendly dog approached us during a crucial point in the game. He lifted his right hind leg and pissed all over my table tennis bag.

The dirty dog, etc.

This put me off my stroke. I caved in, losing 3-2.

It was the tail that wagged the wiff waff dog.

Another day, another BATTERING at the Table of Dreams.

We’re talking 4-1 here.

Oh dear.

I started strong. I always start strong. I raced to a 1-0 lead.

My early tactics are to basically TWAT the ball around the table. I’m very good at TWATTING - especially so when it comes to finding the corners.

I then get a little cocky.

Hey! Let’s spin it to win it!

I love executing spin, even if the ball doesn’t bounce on the other end of the table. It’s a very satisfying stroke.

My interest in the game started to disappear, along with the fading winter light. We ended up playing pretty much in darkness.

Lights out.

To the Table of Dreams!

…on Wednesday lunchtime. We were both free. There was brilliant Estuary Wilds blue sky up above.

Make bloody hay, etc.

The tactical decision was taken to play with the conventional, non-wind ball. This took a little getting use to.

We’re use to TWATTING the extra heavy wind ball around the table.

It’s great for rallies where you are both playing power shots and smashes, as each player moves further away from the table.

It’s a macho style of play, almost reduced to an arm wresting contest.

But I like to embrace my, ahem, feminine side in table tennis every now and then.

Spin it to win it, Jase.

The conventional ball is a delicate affair. It needs caressing. It needs the dog shit from the public playing field to be wiped off before play.

The scores were level at 2-2. This would usually be signal to get bored, start showboating and walk away with yet another defeat.

But not on Wednesday. I found a new cautious side to my game. Play safe, wait for her to make the mistakes.

Oh dear, luv. You didn’t want to do that.

My feminine side was well and truly embraced, even if was playing wiff waff whilst wearing the most ridiculous pair of wellies.

To the Table of Dreams! Under fading light!

The window of opportunity for these hit and miss knock ups is diminishing. We are accelerating towards the Winter Solstice. Wiff waffle under candle light is a little woeful.

There was just enough time to get a best of five games in. At 3-1 down I had already accepted defeat and was ready to walk.

Must we really play a fifth game?

MUST WE?

Oh go on then. For shit ‘n’ giggles.

Time to experiment with some spin. Some you win, some you lose. I usually lose, tbh.

I was a little distracted with people watching, rather than ping pong. Playing outdoors in a public park is a great opportunity to capture the daily back and forth movements of folk.

It also coincided with the return of the early morning commuters, back in the town, just as the Estuary Wilds sun was setting.

You don’t get many table tennis daytime opportunities when you’re stuck in the 9-5, Comrades.

“You really are the most HORRID child.”

Steady the buffers, Madam.

Some poor little ankle biter was receiving a stern ticking off in the nearby playground, just as I was being BATTERED with bat and ball.

I had the luxury to walk. The poor kid didn’t.