Driving to my first table tennis session of the day, I felt a deep sense of satisfaction having the mighty Cayenne back on the road. I had a busy day ahead—busy for my standards, at least—and attempting to execute the schedule by local bus would have been a formidable challenge, even for a newly minted public transport veteran like myself.
I was still aching from yesterday’s gym workout. I classify it as a ‘nice ache’—the satisfying feeling of muscles quietly complaining while repairing themselves. It’s only when I physically can’t move that it crosses the line into genuine pain. I felt reasonably confident that a few hours on the table tennis tables today would either loosen everything up, or leave me entirely seized by this evening.
Walking into the Kennet Vale Table Tennis Club, being immediately offered a giant courgette was entirely unexpected. For a split second, I wondered if I’d missed an email about a harvest festival, or if we were being instructed to use home-grown vegetables instead of bats today. It turned out one of the players was suffering from a massive garden glut of these heavy, solid specimens—which, frankly, looked far more suitable for a game of rounders than table tennis.
After playing my usual rivals with varying degrees of success, I sat down for the lunch Karen had kindly prepped for me: coincidentally, a chicken and courgette stir-fry. Fuelled up, I headed over to Pewsey Vale School for my lunchtime coaching session. I braced myself for another round in the sports hall with the Year 7s and 8s—30-minutes that historically resembles a Roman gladiator arena far more than a racquet sport. Thankfully, lightweight plastic balls inflict significantly less damage than traditional ancient weaponry.
As one ball whizzed past my ear and another bounced square off my ribs, I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that ‘Courgette Table Tennis’ hadn’t actually caught on as a trend.
“Right lads, let’s pack the bats and balls away!” bellowed ‘Sir’.
I had been granted official back-up today in the form of a new PE teacher. As the students sprinted in every direction collecting equipment like shoppers on a supermarket sweep, I was immensely grateful for his authority. To give the kids their due, they all pitched in, politely thanked me for the session, and scurried off to their next lessons.
I spent the final ten minutes fishing stray balls out of the radiators, from behind the stage, out of the sound system speakers, and retrieving one last rogue ball from down the back of my own shirt.
I left the school hall thinking the exact same thing: I am exceedingly glad courgette table tennis isn’t a thing.
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