Forwards and occasionally sidewards – everyday musings of life

The dogs went completely berserk as Andy walked through the door clad in his full motorbike gear. To be fair to Moog, Chic and Pikachu, the sight of a figure towering over them in a full-face crash helmet, heavy boots, and a jacket equipped with built-in airbags was thoroughly intimidating. Once they realised it was merely Andy, they calmed down and immediately shifted to full visitor-welcome excitement.

It had turned out to be a glorious day for a ride. We sat in the warm September sun, removed the covers from the deck furniture once again, and enjoyed lunch outside while Pikachu systematically tracked the sunbeams across the garden. Autumn was turning out rather nicely.

While we were enjoying the sunshine, Hayden—our local carpenter—was having a considerably less idyllic afternoon up in our dusty, humid loft, which he was boarding out. However, fuelled by a steady supply of coffee and assistance from his dad, he completed the entire job strictly as planned. Karen was thrilled; she could now initiate Phase Two of her grand sorting mission: The Final Resting Place. I had a sneaking suspicion that the surviving boxes and bags would be stashed up in the rafters long before Hayden had even packed his tools back into the van.

Later in the afternoon, I headed off to the table tennis club for a pre-season training session with our coach, Jack. Jack immediately set us to work practising match sequences that will be crucial for the local league season starting in a few weeks.

Unfortunately, as balls began flying off my bat in every conceivable direction—except onto the table—I began to wonder if a single thing I’d practised over recent weeks had actually taken hold. My hand-eye coordination was miles off.

I initially attributed this total lack of touch to having been out in the bright sunlight all day, reasoning that my eyes simply hadn’t adjusted to the indoor lighting. After all, at 7:00 PM on a Saturday evening, I’m far more accustomed to sitting in a local restaurant listening to background Indian music while eating a curry than attempting to master a backhand open-up shot.

Eventually, my game settled down and I found a bit of rhythm—though clearly it wasn’t making a huge impression on the gallery. One of the players casually observed that I wasn’t playing quite as well as I used to, before politely inquiring if I was genuinely intending to stick with ‘this grip’. I wasn’t sure if he was employing subtle reverse psychology to challenge my technique, or if he was simply traumatised by the prospect of our team’s upcoming league results. I strongly suspect the latter.

Clearly, I need significantly more quality time with the table tennis robot.

Still, we have the club’s ‘Fun Day’ planned for tomorrow, which promises to be a laugh. I do wonder if the itinerary includes a party game titled Can Mark Return a Backhand Open-Up?