Week forty-six

My first memories of playing table tennis are from when I was about 9 years old.   I spent a few summer holidays in Los Angeles with my family and my Great Auntie and Uncle had a table tennis table in the basement of their flat. I remember escaping down there to play with any number of various cousins who wanted to teach me the joys of ping pong.  They are some of my best and most treasured memories from growing up.

I can honestly say that I've picked up a table tennis bat no more than about two or three times since those carefree, sunshine-filled days all those years ago.  I have no idea why - is table tennis considered child's play?  Certainly not when you see those world champions, inevitably Chinese play as if they have limbs like Inspector Gadget.

I rediscovered the love of ping pong this summer while away with work on our annual away day.  Standing casually but appropriately in between our villa and the pool was a lonely table, casting seeming aspersions on all those who gazed at it but walked right past, until it eventually pulled us all in.  The great thing about ping pong is you can play completely casually and still be rather good.  Stood with a drink in hand and bat in the other,  you can demonstrate your prowess with ease.  Its quick, its fun and its  very social.

So when I discovered the monthly ping pong tournament at Wilton's Music Hall, I was thoroughly delighted.  I had been recommended to go to Wilton's by a friend for a night out for my blog anyway, so this was an utter bonus.  Wilton's is the oldest surviving Music Hall in the world.  It dates back to the 1850's and it is the absolute secret gem of London's nightlife.

The first thing you notice when you walk in to Wilton's is the atmosphere - smokey and mysterious, yet vibey and really special.  This is no doubt partially exuded from the crumbling, but utterly charismatic state the hall is in.  Its all a bit battered and bruised and there is a campaign to restore Wilton's, but regardless, its completely beautiful in all its detail.

Every month, they hold a 64-person ping pong tournament which is just £5 to enter.  I went with my friend Debs and some of her crew and we immediately felt the warm and friendly mood emanating throughout, with strangers chatting to us from the moment we walked through the door.  After a few drinks in the front bar we made our way into the hall where 3 ping pong tables sat regally across the trodden wooden floor and atop the grand stage.

You get a stunning view from the first floor balcony that is drenched with tiny, string lighting creating a fairy canopy from above.

The tables were strictly out of bounds to anyone, until the compere in the retro shirt stepped up to the stage and some of the staff had warmed up for us all.

With only 3 tables in the hall and 32 matches to be played in the first round, which are a best of 3, it does seem a little daunting, but luckily I was playing first on table 3 against a lovely girl called Ros, who it turns out, works with some people I used to work with.  Small world.

Table tennis, I find, is like riding a bike - the miniscule amount of flair or skill I did once possess a hundred years ago seems to not have abated and I breezed through the first round.  However, once I had a drink in hand and started looking at some of the other matches I started noticing the men....in tracksuits.      The very good men in tracksuits.  Some of whom were actually removing their tracksuits to reveal shorts before starting their matches. Oh dear.  I was doomed.  Most people were doomed.  I felt the fantasy image of me holding aloft a trophy, dwindle into obscurity.

Out of the 5 of us that were there only 2 of us got through to round 2.  I think we were the lucky ones, but I was totally game to throw myself into the next round, until of course I saw who my opponent was.  Yes, a man in a tracksuit.  Not only a man in a tracksuit but apparently the man who won the whole tournament last month and is a UK champion.  Doomed doomed doomed.  Nevertheless, I'd had sufficient alcohol by this point to give my confidence a boost and put everything into it that I had.  Plus, with the help of my friends I had amassed a nice little crowd that were rooting for me.
               I didn't go out in abysmal style, put it that way.  I did have a moment when Mr Blue Tracksuit did a bit of a volley and I managed to smash the ball down into oblivion and I got such a great cheer that it definitely spurned me on.  But ultimately, all that potential was hopeless and soon all that was left were men in tracksuits or sweatbands.

I didn't stay until the end, only because I had my darling parents waiting for me at home but otherwise I would have been there until the bitter end.  Wilton's is awesome - stunning place, great people, fun games, good times.  Check out when the next ping-pong tournament is here.

Next week I'm reviewing my very first experience watching some live tennis.  ATP final:  Roger Federer and Jo-Wildried Tsonga.  Legendary.