Tony, my best friend forever from Dial-a-Ride, who drives Mr B and me to Guild Care for my fella’s weekly pamper session, took a different route to usual last Friday morning. Not much gets past me, nosey person that
I am, so I made sure to ask him why.
It turned out that it was partly our fault. Instead of our usual Tuesday morning date, which I had to cancel because I was,
if you remember, proper poorly, here we are heading into town on a Friday morning. Tony explained that if he followed his usual Tuesday morning route, he would feel as if there were three more days until the weekend. I kind of understood where he was coming
It was strange for me, too, being at Guild Care on a Friday instead of a Tuesday morning. For starters, some of the Usual Suspects were absent being Tuesday
People rather than Friday People. One of the familiar faces sitting at our usual table had a little pile of cakes in front of him. What’s with the pastries? I needed to know. It turned out that every Friday afternoon the children of his next door neighbours
would ring on his door bell - and he would greet them with cakes. He is a bit of a curmudgeonly type so I saw him in a completely different light - just because it was Friday.
Most importantly, however, on Friday morning the staff at Guild Care organise a quiz. You know me, I can't resist a quiz. I didn't intend to participate but Mr B was still being pampered and there was a spare piece of paper on the table in front
of me. Plus, I knew the first question so I was hooked.
We were on question 25 when Tony arrived to transport us home, Mr B having joined me at the table. At what
racecourse was the Irish Grand National held? Mr B said one thing, Tony another. Loyalty made me write down Mr B’s answer. I still couldn't work out the connection between a Staffordshire town and a root vegetable, nor name the sitcom in which the actors
kept their own names. We had to leave before the answers were read out and the results announced - a generally unsatisfactory state of affairs but then there was always Google, don't you know?
Over the weekend, with the help of my brother in law, we solved the question of the Staffordshire town and the root vegetable. Leek! Did you guess, you clever things? Meanwhile Google proved Tony right on the Irish Grand National.
I'm still torn on the sitcom - could it be Hollyoaks?
Yesterday Tony arrived as usual to drive us to Guild Care. Like me, he had been agonising over the
answers to the quiz questions all over the weekend. He was pleased to hear that he had scored one over on Mr B where the Irish Grand National was concerned and delighted to learn the answer to the Root Vegetable Related question. This is the thing about
quizzes, the questions wriggle themselves into your head and refuse to be dislodged.
It's the same every night when I listen to “The Bag” on BBC Sussex,
a general knowledge quiz hosted by Paul Miller. There are six questions to be answered every night: if you score two or fewer then you find yourself outside on the virtual Naughty Step. My problem is (i) staying awake long enough to hear the answers and (ii)
remembering the questions so that I can Google the answers in the morning.
Apparently, so I am reliably informed, I won Friday’s quiz. I had impressed everybody
with the breadth of my knowledge which, given that the majority of my worthy competitors have memory problems, is not quite as splendid a compliment as you might imagine. However, because I had left the building before the results were announced, I had
forfeited my prize - not that anybody round the table could remember exactly what I had missed out on.
I am not in the least bit bothered because, after all, I'm
not in it for the prizes.
Just for the glory.