Oh, agony and anguish. League tennis started again last weekend. I’m barely over the stresses and strains I suffered during the previous season, and have picked up a few more niggles in the interim, courtesy of playing six-set epics against the unbreakable Wall of Glencairn.

The opening encounter was a tricky challenge with newly promoted Wynberg — its two show courts intimidatingly nestled at the foot of an imposing Herbert Baker-designed “clubhouse” (replete with pillars fit for Samson). In these heady surroundings I was feeling a tad vulnerable at being separated — for tactical reasons — from my redoubtable regular partner, the King. Still, there was considerable solace in having an ex-Eastern Cape fellow of similar vintage as my new partner. It meant, at least, no eyebrows raised when I ordered a soothing lager after the first match...

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