One of the very very VERY best things about London Fields park is its marvelous concrete ping pong table.
My friend Henry was the first to introduce me to the joys of the table, and in my first summer at the Grove we spent many an hour pretending to lark about whilst concentrating fiercely, desperate to win. Since then the table has proved an integral part of our Hackney lives.
Pidd has pranced about it in pretty dresses, I’ve been beaten by a crackhead, Henry has perfected his backhand. Michael and Rachel even included it in their early wooing.
Now, there are those (like the Frog) who think that playing outdoors is a travesty. And there are some fairly obvious drawbacks – strong winds, variable light, the inflexible net and the potential interference from regulars at the adjacent crackhead corner.
But I love it. I love the fact when you are playing you feel part of the life of the park. That nearby – especially in summer – you can hear the happy noise of drunken hipsters in the Cat and Mutton and that sometimes people stop to watch and cheer you on.
I like the fact that at peak times, winner stays on, meaning that clashing demographic groups get the chance to say hello to each other in a way that rarely happens the rest of the time. When I’m playing, I like seeing a sudden breeze lift the ball in the air, taking it in an entirely unexpected direction so that your partner has to lunge comically to make the shot.
I like feeling the sunshine on my arms in the summer and in winter I like the give of the mud under the heel of my boot and the way the cold air and slight exertion makes your cheeks turn pink. Wonderful.
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