To the sailing club!… on Monday evening for the latest in the sailing club table tennis get togethers. Except it wasn’t that social; no other fuckers had turned up.

There was a GC meeting down below. This meant that the club was open and we had access to the loft for our own private game of indoor table tennis.

Despite the lack of different opposition, I really wanted to play. We had stunning views from the loft looking out down towards the estuary. It was a little stuffy in there but this didn’t hold us back.

Fifteen minutes also of TWATTING the ball back and forth, and a third player rocked up. This meant we could play winner stays on.

This is a great approach to table tennis. A and I seemed to rotate frequently with the third person pretty much anchored down with his position on the table.

I optimistically declared that I am the best player in the club towards the end of the session. This was justified when I went on a winning streak and knocked the other two off.

King of the Table, modesty in motion. That’s me.

To the Table of Dreams! …late in the day on Saturday. I had a little extra time out of work responsibilities for a knock-up game of wiff waff.

The park was busy. It was great to see kids of all ages enjoying many of the activities. A large extended family even rocked up and started to enjoy a game of boules on the recently built court.

All the activity made it a little tricky to focus on the table tennis. The highlight was one particular kid who was sitting on his scooter and riding down the big hill, treating it as a roller coaster. It truly was the BEST day of his life.

Somehow I managed to bluff myself into a 3-2 lead. A final decider game was offered up. I took my chances and walked away whilst I could.

To the Table of Dreams!… on Friday lunchtime. This was an afternoon for playing with the extra heavy wind ball. The only problem was that the wind ball got lost somewhere around the back of a Lambeth estate sometime last weekend whilst we were on the piss at the cricket.

New balls please.

Thankfully we managed to rustle up a spare wind ball; it was most definitely needed.

I was also PONCING around wearing a pair of new cycling specs. I don’t think there is such an item as table tennis specs. As ever I looked the absolute bollocks.

Something I kept quiet in the fashion stakes was my iPhone stashed away down the side of my Y-fronts. I forgot my Apple Watch so I couldn’t strava the session. My shorts had no pockets. I really can’t stand playing table tennis to be honest; I only play so I can strava it. The iPhone down the pants it was, needs must.

Some of the scoring went a little wonky. We lost track as to who should be serving and when we were changing serves. There was one particular epic game that went to 16-14, with two clear points needed ahead of the usual 11 points that gets you over the line.

Rather worryingly a drone circled overhead throughout the game. I fear it was some local snooper wanting to dob me in for stashing an iPhone down my Y-fronts.

I walked away having lost 3-1. There’s no shame in that. There’s no shame in putting an iPhone down your pants.

It’s been a joy in recent weeks walking down to the Monday evening table tennis sessions at the sailing club. Those dark winter days seem in the distant past when a headlight was needed to navigate the various obstacles and estuary path en route to the Table Tennis HQ.

I rocked up shortly after 7:00 PM on Monday to find a high tide that was completely flat as a pancake. It was most tranquil. Time to disrupt that peace with some ping pong action.

Our usual group had been reduced to three for this evening, no worries. That meant extra table time for us all. We played a rough game of winner stays on. I wasn’t on for very long.

I was finding it hard to find my length on the indoor table, having been blown away at the Oval yesterday, as well as then having a bit of a pickleball strength left in my arms from the session this morning.

I do love playing indoors, and the sailing club location is the most picturesque setting for a game of whiff-waff. Apologies, oval table of dreams, but there’s no dog shit to manoeuvre around here.

To the Oval Table of Dreams! on Sunday afternoon. We had a rare his and hers away day jolly down at the Oval. Who wants to waste 40 minutes during the luncheon break having a picnic out in the middle, when you can head to the back of the Harleyford Road and enjoy the public table tennis tables?

These are perhaps the only decent thing going for Lambeth Council, 2026. The previous Labour administration fucked up on so many fronts. If I had the chance then my vote possibly might have gone to Labour, only as a direct consequence of them providing a couple of superb outdoor table tennis tables at the back of the Oval.

There you go again Jase, making it all about you and table tennis.

We had a brief knock-up as time was a little tight. We went for the usual corner-to-corner four-arm smash warm-up rally. The table played very fast. It didn’t help that it has a slight lean to it.

The game got underway. As well as a fast table we had to contend with the hard pavement. Whenever the ball bounced onto the closed-off LTN road, it bounced and bounced and bounced, pretty much all the way down to the Oval crease. It usually ended up resting in a pile of dog shit.

The closed LTN was far from quiet. We had to pause serving a number of times for the expected procession of endless Lime bikes.

I got rather enthusiastic during one particular rally. We both TWATTED the ball back and forth at tremendous speed. It took a ricochet off my partner’s bat and was projected up into the air and over into a nearby garden of an estate. The garden was locked. The ball was lost.

I was trailing 3-0 at the time. I officially called it an abandoned game as you can’t play table tennis without a ball. I do love these table tennis mini tours.

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 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.