Even by the standards of my quiz-loving mates at home, I am an utter quiz geek these days. Branded so forever now, for I partook of the World Championships last weekend.
I did some of my usual tricks which come out of the bag on such an occasion:
1. Got over excited about being able to drink all day legitimately and without people looking at me like I’m mental (well, most people, although I did get a weird look from the barmaid on ordering, genius having struck, a double rum in a pint of coke. Well, I needed something to last me a while…). Admittedly, this resulted in an enthusiastic slight over-consumption (I apologise to anybody reading this who spoke to me between 4pm and 8pm. If I acted weird before that it was just pure giddiness rather than beer-induced.) but then I find a modicum of alcohol is ideal quiz-lubrication.
Here’s where I sound like a wino trying to justify the lifestyle… the last couple of times I tried to do a quiz with any level of competition, I dried. Last week, during a stressful cup match and sans booze, I was asked “who directed Se7en” (the quiz reader even pronounced the number in the middle, good on her). In response I listed most of his other movies and a couple of irrelevant facts, but would the name David Fincher emerge from my bone dry brain? Would it heck as like. All I could do was yell “It’s the guy who did The Usual Suspects!!” at my bewildered team-mates. A drink or two makes the answers flow.
2. Suggested doing an outdoor quiz, “shame to waste such lovely weather” etc. This is what comes of being spoiled during my youth by The Ole Three’s magnificent All Weather Beer Garden, the first place I ever saw a patio heater. Yup, it was the courtyard with a tarpaulin over it, but it worked. Incidentally, the newly refurbished Ole Three (too clean!) has a newly refurbished all weather beer garden. But it lacks the charm. I think part of the problem is its efficiency i.e. in a downpour you probably don’t have to carefully avoid the leaky patches.
3. Annoyed the question master. Despite being warned by all of my team-mates NOT to piss him off, I had to remonstrate with the pub quiz guy at the end. Darnabbit… he distinctly said, “Next, the music round. 20 pieces of music from the 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and noughties, I want the artist for each”. We reach Kraftwerk and I’m rubbing my hands in gleeful anticipation of a couple of terrible 90s song for me to identify – only we go straight to some Kelly Clarkson song or other. Naughty question master. Thankfully, like most people, he got one word in five of my complaint through the mire of my accent, and thought it was a compliment so didn’t dock us any points.
Ah well. Let’s not talk about my score, shall we? Suffice to say I wasn’t all that focused on it. I think I was a having some kind of Vitamin D rush and it screwed my concentration, leaving me unable to read sentences longer than 6 words. Still, despite my half-hearted attempting, I managed to beat the champion in one of the genres AS WELL as doing the same twice in the Last Man Standing game (I am claiming the honorary accolade of Last Woman Standing. Because I was. Victory!).
Sadly, my brain was a bit too preoccupied with one thing or another to make any significant progress – in fact, I think my quiz ability is currently in retrograde – but now I know what to expect I’m going to take them all to the fackin cleaners next year.
Maybe
