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.

There was a young family of four playing at the Table of Dreams when we first rocked up. It was quite lovely to see. The wind was bitter, the temperature was hovering around zero. Any momentary annoyance that we couldn’t get on was put aside. We kept on walking for a brief circuit. It would warm us up, if nothing else.

Fifteen minutes or so later, and the table was clear. The light was fading rapidly. There was just enough time for a brief game under some challenging conditions. It meant that my usual 5-0 hammering couldn’t be played out. I only lost 4-0 this afternoon.

The annual contesting of the New Year Day’s Cup at the Table of Dreams. Much like the Christmas Cup, there is no actual Cup. But that doesn’t make the competition any less fraught.

I tried to focus. Honest. But it was bloody freezing out there. I was distracted by what seemed like an army of dog walkers doing the New Year’s Day dog walking thing.

The scoreline wasn’t looking too healthy when I was 5-0 down. Hey! I know: how about a final decider game with winner takes all? Like a FOOL, she fell for it.

A few trick shots and some crafty spin, led to me walking home with the New Year’s Day Cup. I just need to find it first.

The final game of wiff waff at the Table of Dreams ended in the same way that we started the year: I bloody lost, innit. The final scoreline of 4-1 sounds like a severe beating. Truth be told and I pushed her all the way. Honest.

Time was a little tight. We were playing under fading skies with the bloody Estuary Wilds sun fast disappearing behind us in the woods. One end of the table had a serious light advantage over the other. I would like to say that this impacted me. But we swapped end after each game.

We returned to the standard table tennis ball, rather than the wind heavy version. This led to a game of spin. I bloody love spinning the ball to showcase my skills. So what if it doesn’t always land on the other side of the table?

A gathering of local yoof were hovering nearby. At first I thought they were after a game. I think they were just bored local yoof kicking around, looking for some shit to do on New Year’s Eve.

There’s the possibility of the New Year Cup being contested in the morning. I’m not a betting man, but already my odds are looking a little long.

A 5-0 drubbing at the Table of Dreams for Monday lunchtime. The only score that was bettered was the six layers of clothing. It was pretty dull out there - both on and off the table.

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.