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.

This was a weird one. We rocked up at The Table of Dreams. The newly installed boules court was being used for the first time - but not for boules. The details were a little shady, but it looked like a prayer group for around twenty or so chaps. Praise be! We had a captive audience. We also had plenty of mud. Conditions weren’t even soft to soft. Somehow I went 2-0 up. I still managed to manufacture a 3-2 defeat. Oh dear.

A wet Table of Dreams greeted us as we rocked up on Thursday lunchtime. I don’t think it was overnight rain, but dew instead. Once again we were playing under Tupperware style skies. When it’s grim here, it can be bloody grim.

This all meant for a very slippery table. The non-wind ball had little bounce and skidded whilst keeping low. If this was cricket then my delivery would be unplayable. But it wasn’t cricket. I was wiff waff. I lost 4-1.

After the crappy rain and storms of the day before, Wednesday afternoon had perfect conditions at the Table of Dreams. The air was deadly still. If you stood at one end of the table then you were blessed by catching a winter sun tan. The rain had also washed off the muddy footprints from the entitled local middle class little shits.

GAME ON.

The weather may have been blessed, but as ever, my table tennis skills were a little left field. I actually do have the skills; it’s the focus and concentration that I find hard to maintain. I raced to a 1-0 lead. I couldn’t be arsed to continue with my tactical game of hard and fast, forcing backhand errors. Time for some spin. Time to walk away with a 5-1 defeat.

Oh dear.

Another windy lunchtime session at the Table of Dreams. It was a bit hit and miss tbh. VERY hit and miss, in my case. Aim for the far left corner. Don’t be surprised if the ball lands in the far right corner. Oh hang on - I appear to be bloody winning.

It was also a day for the shades. The Estuary Wilds rays were working wonders on my mid-winter face tan. I should have worn my Speedos. That would have livened up the stiffs, out doing the dog walking thing.

The table itself had more muddy footprints on it. I despair.

Whatever. I won 3-2.

Another wind assisted game at the Table of Dreams. There was no drone action on Monday lunchtime. Instead, we had the almost mechanical sound of a couple of swans flying overhead. Best not to look up. Focus on the game, Jase.

It was a scrappy game. Time was a little tight for both of us. It did include however an epic game that went all the way to 16-14, two clear points to win. I wasn’t the victor, obvs. I lost 3-1 overall.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Sunday lunchtime. Someone else had been there before us. The tell tale sighs were the muddy footprints all over the table. SOME people, etc.

This was a most odd game. We had the company of a fella and his drone which was circling above us throughout the game. I pounced it around a little, keen to showboat my pointless (and I mean POINTLESS) spin shots, just for the camera.

Something very odd then happened. He put down the control unit, and started to direct the drone with his hands. No shit. It was almost Jedi like. He beckoned it towards him, then raised it, then landed it in the palm of his hands. MAGIC!

Elsewhere and a game of table tennis threatening to break out. The local wildlife group also appeared to be gathering ahead of a winter walk.

Drones, wildlife and a 4-1 BATTERING - me, not her. Every day is like Sunday, etc.

To the Table of Dreams! …on Friday lunchtime. It’s been a while since we played an outdoor game of wiff waff. I’m calling this VERY early, but spring is starting to shoot up around us. I’m looking forward to hopefully nine months or so of outdoor table tennis, no wind, no rain.

And yep, we’ve had bloody loads of rain over the past few weeks. Just ask my roof - assuming ti could talk - and the repairs that are now needed. The positive effect of all the downpours was that The Table of Dreams was clean and almost looking box fresh. GAME ON.

We were both a little distracted with other shit going off around us at the moment. Which meant that concentration when it came to scoring was all over the bloody place. Let the record show that I was BATTERED 5-0. I’m always battered 5-0 tbh. But the odd point here and there may have gone a little astray.

The FUCK OFF dog that was out for his morning constitutional was most certainly not a little astray. What a unit! I’m not sure of the breed, but I’ve never seen a dog as large as this. He wasn’t fat, just big. The very friendly owner assured that he is still a puppy. The current daily diet is eight cans of food. TUCK IN, Bonzo.

The game of table tennis continued. But it was still a stop / start affair. I was caught short. I had to have a mad bathroom break to the nearby public toilets midway through one game. I returned more at ease with myself, but still lacking in skill.