An early morning game of table tennis to kick start the weekend. There was bright blue sky, a light breeze and an empty public park at 8am. Which all adds up to the best way to start the day.

Oh hang on - I think I’ve forgotten the bloody ball.

Arse.

A few rummages around later in the deeper recesses of my cycling top, and job’s a good ‘un. We pressed on. Predictably I lost 3-2.

A return to the outdoor Table of Dreams, early evening on Wednesday. It’s been a while. We’ve been spoilt with the Five Star facilities of, erm, the Sailing Club, and the indoor table. The lure of the mild weather, little wind and general cabin sickness got us both outdoors.

We weren’t alone. The Easter Holidays meant that the field was full of young kids and teens, all doing the young kids and teens thing. I don’t miss the audio assault on your eardrums after running my arse around a S Ldn school all day long.

The seasonal weather also meant that the first cutting of the grass had taken place around the Table. It was only a few weeks ago that wellies were needed as we pinged and ponged back and forth like pigs in shit. The smell of the freshly cut grass was arousing. The local yoof meanwhile were enjoying their grass fights.

We pressed on with the game. I managed to find my length outdoors a little sooner than my opponent. Oh hang on - I’m bloody winning here. Time was a little tight - which was no bad thing as it meant I couldn’t enter my usual mid-game boredom phase.

A 3-2 victory was mine for the taking.

GEDDIN.

Tuesday afternoon at the Table of Dreams 🏓 Lost 5-0. Big dog stopped play. My mind was a little cluttered.

To the Table of Dreams! Under fading light! This was the briefest of brief games. The Estuary Wilds sun was starting to set. A slight chill was descending over the park. We even forfeited a warm up and went straight into a game. I raced to a 2-0 lead. Easy, this. Soon it was 2-2. Then SHE declared that she had a train to catch and did a runner. wtf?

The briefest of brief games of wiff waff on Sunday lunchtime. We managed to beat the rain, but not the wind. This led to some comical serves - mostly unintentional. The final scoreline of 4-2 - not in my favour - was also unintentional. But why allow the usual narrative to get in the way of a good story? One day…

This was a weird one. My partner experimented with what she called a “demon back hand spin of a serve.” The only problem for her was that she telegraphed it with more warning than a big red flashing foghorn that beeps right in your face.

Guess what’s coming? OH HAI, Luv.

My response was to TWAT the ball with a forehand smash into the opposite corner where her back was turned. Time and time and time again. Which all led to me racing to a 2-0 lead.

Time for a change of plan, time to ditch the demon back hand. Oh hang on. I’m not so good at this. It didn’t help that the rain started to drizzle down, messing up my pristine looks. My OCD woes led to a 3-2 defeat.

She may not have the killer serve, but I also don’t have the killer instinct to close off a game.

Early evenings at The Table of Dreams are back. It’s LOVELY being able to down work tools at bang on 5pm, and then disappear for game of outdoor wiff waff with the Estuary Wilds sun still lighting us up. We had a captive audience of school kids watching us for a few games. It was a little nervy, not knowing if they were in awe of my skills, or taking the piss. Is suspect the latter, as I was battered 5-1.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Saturday afternoon. For once, it wasn’t raining. The mud around the foot of each end of the table meant that wellies weren’t required. A layer of clothing was lost. This felt like the first springtime game of table tennis.

New season, same result however. I raced to a 2-0 lead. I think A was still a little knackered after a morning of playing silly golf. There’s a valuable life lesson in there.

True to form, I managed to swerve the GLORY, going from 2-0 up to a 3-2 defeat. It was a lot closer than that sounds. A 5-0 thrashing surely isn’t far away - her, not me.

The Estuary Wilds weather forecast suggested rain. My instinct was to GTFO and play wiff waff before all the beastliness came chucking it down once again. It was a wise decision. We managed a half hour game of dry table tennis, with only light wind but darkened skies.

A new serve was inflicted on me by A. I’m not being funny, but it was crap. It was basically a backhand serve, with an attempt at spin to kill the ball dead on the first bounce. It was signposted in such an obvious way before delivery. All I needed to do was to lean forward and smash down the return.

I was struggling however to find my length on the outdoor table. I was aiming for the far corners each time - the most difficult areas of the table in which to put in a decent return. The ball was falling short - or probably long - by a couple of centimetres each time.

Which was all something of a shame, seeing as though we a captive half term audience at various stages. I do bloody love showboating. I just need to make sure that I have something to showboat about. I was BATTERED 4-1, natch.

We took a punt for a Friday lunchtime game of wiff waff. The weather above was changeable. It wasn’t quite four seasons in one day, but we could feel the Estuary Wilds blowing up a storm with every passing points.

And yep - the points did pass around - mostly against me. I wasn’t helped by my attire. You haven’t LIVED THE DREAM if you haven’t played outdoor winter table tennis wearing a cheapo pair of Dunlop green wellies.

The mud around the foot of the table was the least of our worries. Mid-game and it became noticeable that the lime wind ball had turned a dark shade of brown. On closer inspection it also revealed what the foul smell was: dog shit.

NEW BALLS!

All the mucky business meant that our mental concentration was shot. We messed up a few times with the scores, and who was suppose to be serving. The final score was a 4-1 defeat to me. It may just have been the other way round.

Possibly.