The mere threat of a GP visit has apparently jolted my immune system into submission. I woke up feeling remarkably clear. Either my body successfully fought off the invaders, or—more realistically—I successfully passed the virus onto some poor, unsuspecting soul at table tennis practice this morning. If anyone starts sneezing during a crucial return of serve next week, I shall look entirely innocent.
The main event of the day was coaching the school table tennis club for their final lunchtime session of the term. With the summer holidays kicking off on Friday, it was a great chance to reflect on their progress. I’ve been genuinely pleased with how their game has developed over the last few weeks. The wild, erratic swings have transformed into controlled, purposeful shots. They have officially graduated from basic drills and are finally ready to test their mettle against new opponents.
Unfortunately, England’s tactical development wasn’t quite as successful.
We tuned in to watch the World Cup semi-final against Argentina, and the familiar heartbreak ensued. To be completely fair, England played some of the most cohesive, attractive football I have seen from them in years. But in true tournament fashion, playing well isn’t quite enough when the margins are this razor-thin. We fell short, losing 2-1.
Once again, the suitcase is packed, and football is absolutely not coming home this year.
Forwards and occasionally sidewards - everyday musings of life 
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