Following what has proven to be a rather spectacularly horrendous week*, I attempted to lift my mind off things with an evening at the local pub. I don’t normally frequent this venue, owing to its general stench of urine and the likelihood of losing an eye in a brawl/drugs raid, but tonight was Quiz Night, and I – obviously – like quizzes, being naturally brilliant at them. Ahem.
It turned out to be a great wee night, and although our team (ingeniously named And In First Place…) didn’t win, we only finished one point behind the winning team. I deliberately avoided saying we came second, seeing as how there was a three-way tie for first place, and only 6 teams. Not important. We didn’t lose, that’s the main thing. Unlike The Professor, a team consisting of one random old man drinking Guiness and wearing a blazer and a baseball cap.
Amber and I nearly came to blows a few times because she kept insisting that her blatantly wrong answers were in fact correct, even though they weren’t, apart from the dozen or so times that they were. “The Queen Mother was at least 100 when she died, maybe 101!” she hissed venomously. “Don’t be ridiculous!” I scoffed back, “she was 92 when she died. 92, I tell you!!” “I agree with Hails, put down 92, don’t be silly, now, Amber,” warned Mrs. L, Amber’s mum. Scowling, Amber conceded. “Wait,” exclaimed someone at another table, “Is the Queen Mother dead?!”
We were interrupted by the Nice Quiz Man asking “When a cow has been lying down, on to what legs does it raise itself up first?” Every person in the room instantaneously started doing unintentional impressions of a cow getting up. I have never seen that happen in a roomful of people before. It was frightening. “Mammy,” yelled another of Mrs. L’s daughters from across the room, “How do you get up in the morning?”
“Question 7!” announced Nice Quiz Man, hastily. “A man in Derry was given a suspended prison sentence -”
“Oh, I KNOW!!” squealed someone, as tension and excitement in the pub reached fever pitch levels.
“How could you possibly know?” shouted Mr. S, indignantly. “That’s not even a question, you shouted out before a question even got asked, I mean, how the -”
The air turned an interesting shade of blue at Mr. S’s table. Peanuts were thrown. His agitation continued throughout the sports and TV rounds, until one of his friends suddenly screamed “For the love of patience and sanity, S, will you calm down? There’s not even a bloody prize!”, which amused me greatly.
A surreal but entertaining night, all in all. Ever watched Early Doors? I felt like I was in an episode.
Oh, and apparently the Queen Mother was a little bit over 92 when she died. Drat.
* I realise that the week is not yet over, but, let’s face it, how different is tomorrow really likely to be? I will amend my assessment of the week if, for example, I get offered a job at the BBC, or a handsome stranger asks me out on a date.