“That’s up there with the best flat white I’ve ever had”
Tom mutters this to himself with the seriousness of a man delivering a verdict at the Old Bailey, despite currently juggling two cameras, a boom mic, and what appears to be his fifth coffee of the morning. He’s somehow slipped into the unusual hybrid role of videographer-slash-coffee critic. This might be a position that nobody formally applied for, but one that has emerged naturally as we launch our second Club partnership with Union Coffee.
Tom belongs to the school of thought that truly elite coffee can only come from tiny independent cafés hidden beneath railway arches in Hackney, where the barista has a moustache sharp enough to cut glass and refuses to serve anything larger than 6oz on moral grounds. So for him to pause mid-shoot and declare Union “Tier 1” is the equivalent of a Michelin inspector applauding in the kitchen.
Union, for context, supply the wholesale beans for Gail’s. In my opinion Gail’s remains firmly among London’s coffee aristocracy. Feel free to accuse me of suffering from London syndrome, but I stand by it. Gail’s is Tier 1. Pretending otherwise is performative. And anyone suggesting Starbucks belongs in the same bracket probably also thinks Pret salads are “quite filling”.
This partnership means Union will be supplying all the coffee-related essentials at the new club. We’re talking beans, matcha, hot chocolate, the lot. Which is excellent news, because before two hours of pickleball, there are few things more advantageous than a properly made flat white. Ideally consumed before pretending you definitely didn’t just miss three consecutive volleys at the kitchen line.
Tom is over at Union’s East London roastery filming an ASMR-style launch edit. It’s already out on our socials, so go take a look if you haven’t already.
Meanwhile, I’m back at the site discussing flooring specifications with contractors. This is substantially less glamorous and, crucially, taking place without caffeine.
“You’ll be the only place in London with these courts.”
Now that gets my attention.
We’re at the stage where the build starts becoming strangely technical. I’m being talked through the subtle but apparently life-altering differences between a 4mm and 6mm advanced single-application polyurethane cushion layer system. Naturally, I’m nodding throughout as though I’ve spent years immersed in the cutting edge world of sports surfacing technologies.
Still, one point genuinely stands out. The thicker the cushioning underneath the court, the kinder it is on knees and joints. But there’s a trade-off: more cushioning slightly deadens the bounce. Less cushioning gives a faster, livelier court, but also means your knees leave the building before you do.
The consensus is that 4mm strikes the perfect balance. Enough forgiveness for the body, enough responsiveness for proper play, and topped with a high-quality acrylic surface that should make the courts feel exceptional.
And honestly, hearing people discuss bounce consistency and cushioning tolerances with this level of passion weirdly excites me.
A proper pickleball venue in central London simply doesn’t really exist right now. So the idea that we’ll soon have dedicated courts, a café, a bar, proper lighting, proper flooring, and an actual community around it still feels faintly surreal.
I cannot wait to play on them.
“Get everyone down for a tour. Just make sure they’ve got hard hats”
The Founding Memberships have been moving quickly since we released another batch last week. We’re now down to the final ten out of the hundred total, which means they’ll probably disappear fairly soon.
Jon’s had a great idea as well, with the suggestion to photograph every Founding Member and display them on one of the entrance walls. Almost like a “founders board”, except hopefully less corporate.
Potentially Polaroids from launch night itself.
It’s a small touch, but I love it. There’s something important about people feeling like they were there at the beginning. Before everything was polished. Before the inevitable day someone complains online that the oat milk surcharge has “changed the soul of the club”.
We’re also planning a members-only construction tour in the coming weeks.
“The same person who opens at 8am can’t close at 10pm”
The following day, Jon and I are buried in staffing logistics, which is considerably less inspiring than discussing artisan coffee and championship-grade court surfaces.
At present, our operations mostly revolve around coaching sessions. But the new venue changes everything. Suddenly we’re not just running sessions; we’re operating an actual hospitality venue. Reception. Café. Bar. Daily operations. Staffing rotas. Cleaning schedules. Opening procedures. Closing procedures. The glamorous stuff.
“The same person who opens at 8am can’t close at 10pm,” Jon says.
Which, when you hear it out loud, feels painfully obvious.
So we begin splitting every role into shifts. Morning team from 8am to around 2pm. Evening team from 2pm through close. Then separate weekend coverage on top of that.
And then each function branches again.
Reception needs someone dedicated.
The café/bar needs someone else.
Then there’s a venue manager hybrid role who can also coach when required.
And beyond those core roles, additional coaches rotate in depending on sessions and demand.
My dining table starts disappearing beneath handwritten rotas, arrows, scribbles and crossed-out names. At one stage it genuinely resembles the wall of evidence from a detective drama. All we’re missing is red string and a deeply troubled inspector muttering about timelines.
Fortunately, the split does create some flexibility. For example, the morning café role can lean heavily toward coffee expertise, think proper barista territory. Then the evening role shifts more towards a bartender.
I point out to Jon that he is categorically unqualified for both.
He immediately informs me the same applies to me.
Which is completely fair.
See you next week.