To the Table of Dreams! …on Friday afternoon.

We’ve not played outdoors for a couple of weeks now. The park has certainly started to green up a little. Grass is very resilient. We’ll be playing in wellies in a couple of weeks.

The usual warm-up started. This has now got quite professional. We start off with a forehand going from corner to corner. Immediately we then go into a backhand and repeat the exercise. The aim is to increase the power and pace and to find the corner each time.

Truth be told this was the crappiest of crap warm ups. Christ, we were both shit.

I suggested we get underway pretty sharpish with the game before the warm up just degenerated into the most confidence zapping table tennis exercise ever.

My partner agreed and soon picked up the pace with the game. Nothing was working out right for me. I carried the warm up over into the actual gameplay itself.

I somehow managed to gain a point.

“Welcome to the party!”

…remarked my playing partner, taking the piss as ever.

Cheers, luv.

The park was fairly busy. The first conkers of the season were starting to fall around us on the foot of the table.

Losing heavily and in desperation I turned to spin. I am nothing if not the King of Spin.

Somehow I managed to walk away with a 4-3 win. In no way did I deserve that. It was rather fitting that my winning shot was a vicious backspin that barely bounced once it landed at pace on the other side of the table.

“Welcome to the party!”

etc.

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?

To the University! …on Friday afternoon for a game of table tennis.

Having signed away half my life savings the day before on sports centre membership, I thought it only fitting that I make the most of my new financial investment. There is no sounder monetary meaning to life than wiff waff.

Yes, we can play outdoors on the OG Table of Dreams; we can even play indoors for one hour a week down at the Sailing Club.

But you can’t beat having a FUCK OFF sports centre all to yourself with a table tennis table set up in the middle, so you can TWAT the ball back and forth with no other disturbances.

I make it sound also romantic, which is kinda true. It was in this exact very same space, some 36 years ago, that my playing partner and I both met for the first time. My only memory of our first game of wiff waff back in 1990 was that she later declared I had BO throughout our first date.

Whoops.

It took a little getting use to the new table setup at the University. It seemed to play considerably slower than both the outdoor table and the Sailing Club table.

My mind was slightly distracted, As well as reminiscing over past romantic liaisons within this grand sporting arena, I also remembered my first venture into the absurd world of aerobics, taking my final year exams, and also being sent off for the first and only time playing five-a-side football. All these events took place at the sports centre.

The table tennis for Friday afternoon wasn’t quite as adventurous. I was trailing 3-2. My partner suggested we take a break. I insisted on playing on. I was on an absolute roll. Of course she took the next game with a 4-2 lead into the break.

It all then went a little downhill, a bit like my aerobics, exams and football red card. I walked away from Wivenhoe Park with an 8-3 defeat to my name.

Whatever.

To the Oval Table of Dreams! …late in the day on Monday

We’ve not played on this table for some while. You soon forget the hardness of the surface and how brutal the surrounding Bowling Green Road is when it comes to bounce.

You hit a smash shot and then watch your opponent trundle off and return the ball five minutes later after it’s bounced halfway down towards Kennington.

Wind was also something of an issue. This was not a game in which to play spin. The only way to win this one was to absolutely TWAT the ball and then wave goodbye to the player at the other end as they went off in search of a lost cause.

Inevitably it was me doing the long walk into the distance.

The table also plays incredibly fast. This is great for improving reflexes. You also need to keep an eye out for the ever-approaching Lime bikes as they speed past you.

The final obstacle to overcome was the darting parakeets overhead. It’s quite a soundtrack of transpontine birds, speeding electric bicycle riders, and a bouncing road.

That’s the list of excuses as to why I lost 3-0.

To the Sailing Club! …on Monday evening for the Table Tennis Social. It may be a Bank Holiday but still we play.

Wiff to Waff, Waff to Wiff, etc.

But wait! What’s this? We had a new player turning up. Oh the excitement!

Having different opposition is the best way to improve your game. Our small but very passionate crowd of local table tennis players know each other’s shots inside out. Any new talent always adds to the challenge.

After the singles matches were finished we spent the final 15 minutes or so on doubles. Chaos ensued. Chaos always ensues when you’re playing doubles.

The light was starting to fade. I managed to embarrass myself by inadvertently letting out a little wind on a particularly powerful smash shot.

Whoops. I’ve no idea where that came from. That’s how you make friends when you’re trying to impress fellow table tennis players.

We had wind and dust to contend with at the Table of Dreams on Tuesday afternoon. It was like a scene from a Sahara, only set in North Essex with some random dogs snapping around at our heels as we tried to focus on the wiff waff.

Apart from the dog walkers there was little other foot traffic around. This is peak holiday season. I quite welcomed the relative quietness. Yep, it may be a public park but I demand peace and quiet whilst I focus for my wiff waff

I got off to an absolute flyer. I stormed to a 2-0 lead, playing power over spin with every shot. The only way my opponent was going to get back into this game was if I was to mess up.

Guess what happened next…

One particular shot summed up the entire game for me. My opponent struggled to return the ball and launched it sky high, ready for me to smash. I paused with the smash, faked it and attempted just to give it a slight tap over the net. The ball didn’t go over the net, natch.

By this stage my opponent was already blaming silly goal for her 2-0 defeat. I sadly had no such excuses in which to fall back upon.

I turned to spin when really I should have stuck with my power shots. I messed up big time, throwing away a 2-0 lead to walk away with a 3-2 shameful defeat.

Like I give a shit.

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.

We had something of an audience for the game of table tennis on Saturday afternoon on the public playing field. A picnic party was taking place under the shade of the nearby tree. It all looked very friendly and we got a few smiles and nods when some killer shots were executed.

I felt a little sorry at first for the army of ants that had taken over the table of dreams. You don’t want to be walking around there in the midday sun just as some fella steps up with his ping-pong ball and is ready to SPLAT you with his four-arm smash.

We were both a little tired to be honest. Some of the shots were quite laboured. I felt rather envious of the picnic party people who had now made the short trip on the other side of the shaded tree to play boules.

Once again the ground around us was rock hard. One particular shot rolled down the hill and didn’t really stop. It was like that crazy cheese chasing contest as my playing partner almost tripped over down the path to try and retrieve it.

Oh yeah I somehow won 3-2.

GEDDIN.

Another Monday evening, another sailing club table tennis social. We’ve been playing as part of a sailing club get-together for pretty much a year solid now. It’s a lovely group of people, all with varying skills. We’re finding our levels are being raised as we get to play different opponents.

Another important member of the social group is Pebbles the dog. He rocked up on Monday evening after a fresh shampoo of his already very curly hair. He looked most fluffy.

Downstairs below the sailing loft and there was a GC meeting taking place with all the Sailing Club top dogs. I think it was a lot more fun upstairs, TWATTING a ball back and forth over the table tennis table.

To everyone’s surprise - including myself - I was absolutely unplayable this evening. I was on fire, with pretty much every shot being won in my favour.

One particular return that I smashed down the side of the table from what looked like a lost cause; it was perhaps the best table tennis shot I’ve ever played.

We called it quits just as the Estuary Wilds light was starting to fade. A very optimistic small dinghy was taking the opportunity of high water to launch at the hard below. I hope they’ve got flood lights.

To the table of dreams! …on Tuesday afternoon. The decision regarding which ball to play with on the outdoor table was made for us by the appearance of a kite flying high up in the sky. That will be the wind ball, then.

It might have been windy but it was a warm wind. I felt very restless. My playing partner was completely knackered after a stupid game of golf.

To be honest we weren’t very good.

The wind picked up a pace in the final decider game. I tried to play it to my advantage. The wind deceived me. I walked away with a 3-2 defeat.