Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

I was so ridiculously excited about my morning table tennis session that I spent the entire drive down lecturing myself like an over-cautious parent. I had to keep mentally pulling on the handbrake, reminding myself to calm down, stay focused, and actually absorb what I was about to be taught rather than bouncing off the walls.

My enthusiasm was immediately put to the test when I walked into the venue. This was no draughty village hall with flickering fluorescent tubes; it was a purpose-built, world-class table tennis centre complete with professional flooring, elite tables, and state-of-the-art lighting. A sudden wave of imposter syndrome hit me. I stood at the entrance, racket in hand, wondering if security was about to escort me off the premises for failing to meet the venue’s obvious high standards.

Fortunately, my coach, Sammy, was magnificent. He hit the sweet spot between direct instruction and genuine encouragement—demonstrating, coaching, and delivering feedback in perfectly measured doses. It was precisely the learning environment I’d been hunting for. By the end of the two hours, he had worked me to absolute standstill. I knew I’d pay a severe physical price for it later, but I couldn’t have been happier.

Meanwhile, back at base camp, Karen had taken full advantage of having the house to herself. She plunged headfirst into the monumental task of organising and finding permanent homes for the belongings we’d brought into the house so far. Karen possesses a frighteningly efficient talent for tidying, a trait I firmly attribute to her Orcadian roots. When you grow up on an island where the nearest home improver is a two-hour ferry ride away, you don’t ‘pop out to the shops’ for an extra shelf—you learn to conquer spatial logistics with military precision.

By Sunday evening, both of us were feeling immensely pleased with our respective victories. My grip dilemma is finally on the road to recovery, the house is one step closer to order, and my legs may never forgive me.