By telling us your country of residence we are able to provide you with the most relevant travel insurance information.
Please note that not all content is translated or available to residents of all countries. Contact us for full details.
Shares
Twenty-five pence. That’s all I had left; it was close to midnight and we were lost. Here I was in London with my son and somehow, my self-professed “know-it-like-the-back-of-my-hand” claim of U.K.’s capital, was proving false. What’s more, both of our phones were dead. Still, ever the tourists, we smirk when we see a blue circular National Trust sign stating, “Ping Pong was invented here in 1763.” The security guard nods and verifies this bizarre claim. More strangely, he warmly encourages into this club, despite our protestations that we have, twenty-five p. on our person. With nothing to lose, we enter and descend a narrow staircase, past a cloakroom and a wonderland sparkles at the bottom of the stairs. I felt like we’d fallen down a rabbit hole… into Ping pong land. Whilst the tunes are a beatin’, there are maybe fifteen or twenty ping-pong tables in full use. Balls litter the floor, golden lights flash, and copies of famous artworks adorn the walls. Here’s Napoleon crossing the Elba, except there’s a glossy fluoro border around his horse. Here’s Mona, but her smile is broad not subtle. Harry spies a free table and proffers me a red leather handled bat. A man approaches and demands, “Have you booked this table?” “Ah, maybe?” tries Harry hopefully. “Doesn’t matter if you haven’t, because it’s time for…ROUND THE WORLD!” and the mike from his back pocket is whipped out and used for the last three words. Like a flash mob, a crowd of folk descend on the table and somehow we are thrust into the fast-paced game of round the world ping-pong. I am not good at ball sports. Okay, I will be honest, I am very poor indeed, but semi-inebriated people are also lacking in skills, plus, somehow the attendant likes us and keeps allowing us extra chances. This is no foreshadowed clue, this tale does not end with one of us winning, two skilful people battle it out and one is victorious. He is awarded much applause and a voucher. I find the attendant and thank him for an hilarious game. “You’re staying aren’t you? Have a drink?” he asks. Ah, thanks, but I only have twenty-five pence,” I explain. “Here’s a drink voucher, on the house” he offers, “and your son? Here’s one for him.” There is nothing to do but thank him and redeem our vouchers and watch this crazy club for a while, pinching ourselves that this is happening. We leave, thanking our friend on the door, who gives us clear instructions of how to get home. My neck starts to hurt; I have been shaking it so much in disbelief. Harry and I keep doing a stunned double take to each other as events unfold. Who would have known that so much fun could be had, lost in London, without cash. Because, did I tell you? You know how much money we had? Twenty-five pence.