Happy Days

I have to say I work for what is a truly remarkable organization. Last Friday - as part of a 'summer of fun' promotion - we were treated to, amongst other delights, a surfboard simulator where members of staff (on their breaks of course) attempted not to be thrown from the surfboard onto the soft surround. Today we are promised a 'bucking sheep' - likewise presumably the idea will be to mount the 'beast' and resist its violent efforts to toss us from its back. Great fun.

However, most fun this week has come from a much simpler past-time: table tennis, or, as I like to call it, wiff-waff. Several days ago a wiff-waff table was erected in our rest-and-relaxation room and after initial indifference from most, myself including, it's now become hugely popular.

Prior to this week the last time I held a paddle, for wiff-waff purposes at least, was in 1984. Back then I was an active member of the school wiff-waff club - a founder member in fact - and represented the club in competitive fixtures against neighbouring schools.

Picking up that paddle this week transported me back in time to those childhood days. I don't pretend to be particularly good at the sport but I certainly enjoyed it. Furthermore, I appreciate its historical origins: first played on these shores by Victorian gentlemen - dressed in their finest clothes - using a champagne cork as a ball, cigar boxes as paddles, books fashioned into a makeshift net set out on a grand dining-room table. Fine English gentlemen who epitomised the Corinthian sporting spirit. Magnificent.

Having rediscovered the wiff-waff bug, myself and a select group of fine fellows from work are planning to take our participation further. The local wiff-waff club meet once a week at a nearby hall and, accepting that the Olympic games in London may come a little too soon for us, we'll be hoping that membership of the club will help us improve both as sportsmen, and as gentlemen.

God bless Her Majesty.