Quizzical

In the field of human contact, man has often pitted his wits against a multitude of foes and rivals.  It is mooted that sporting conflict will supersede military demonstration of prowess but the purest distillation is filtered through the mind, the place that nature has imbued with women the ability to compete (and excel) on a level playing field with the menfolk.  The competitive identification of trivia can be seen as an advance over bashing each other over the head with clubs and swords, the useful expulsion of such energies along the plane of mental acuity.  Hence the popularity of the quiz format.

Wine and wisdom might seem counter-intuitive to the achievement of unlocking the relevant portals of memory, dulling the senses at the expense of enhancing bonhomie. Such lubrication can lead to new ideas illustrating the human experience – fermentation of the grape bringing fermentation of the intellect.  In the 4^th century AD, during China’s Period of Disunion, the Seven Sages in a Bamboo Grove certainly took this to heart in their philosophical discourses, one of their number, Liu Ling, being always accompanied by a servant with a bottle of wine and a spade with which to dig his grave.  Is it a sign that we live in a more classless age given that we now carry our own wine?

As I open the third paragraph (and, was this a graphic novel, comprehensively demolish the fourth wall), one might have deduced from this peroration that I am toiling under a heavy yoke to expand on what is essentially a question and answer forum.  When the crucible of interaction is confined to a self-identified grouping, each isolated from all others in an archipelago of tables, it is hard to get an overview of the entire tumult, bar what is boiled down to the scoring sheet.  I would not be alone in thinking ‘I am not a number, I am a free man’ (granted, not many would have that spark, but I would not be alone).  The anecdotes can only ever be from a personal perspective than a collation of the best rapier-like verbal forays of the night.  So, as now declared, under such limitations I do hereby labour.

The Friends of St. Mary’s (really that different from the Seven Sages in a Bamboo Grove?) pulled out the stops in organising their event.  In November’s staging, less than a dozen teams could be mustered.  But last Saturday, 24^th March, there was a bumper crop of eighteen parties to the cause, one social set even permitting themselves to be labelled thirteen.  Maybe the clement weather or being very close to British Summer Time made people more outgoing.  There was added spice for us as our pre-defined panel had sheared in two, with one of our principals asking a hitherto outsider to join us who asked another and, before we knew it, there was a new squadron ranged against us, comprised of several with whom we had long association at these gatherings.  A grudge match was therefore in the offing.  They were Team One and we were Team Two but in this particular context, we were determined to reverse the order of things.  After all, it was the Rump Parliament that held the upper hand in the English Civil War.

What was left of us stared at the listed rounds with grave faces.  None appealed, much less so to allocate our joker in order to double our haul of points on the requisite subject.  There was no capital cities, Christmas Number Ones or somesuch as fitted our range upon which to nail the bunch’s colours.  Excursions into matter as regarding ‘airports named after people’, ‘body parts’ or ‘time, gentlemen, please’, whilst on the surface self-explanatory, seemed fraught with uncertainty and hidden shoals.  As if to compensate for those befuddled, a ‘general knowledge’ harbour offered succour to tossed ships’ crews.  We alighted, with reluctance, on ‘London (old and new)’ given that my parents and I had once lived there (they longer than I) and that a book detailing the history of London had formed my reading matter some years back.

There was a welcome return of the table round, absent on the last few wine and wisdom occasions.  Though it did not add to the overall points total this time, there was a prize for the family-and-friends combination who answered all the riddles correctly (such as “What can go up a chimney down but not a chimney up?”  No, not Santa in flared trousers, rather an umbrella) and in the quickest possible time.

Clive, our genial question-master, Nicholas Parsons run close in the avuncular stakes, proceeded at a lickety-split, sharpening our brains to extract swiftly the right rejoinder.  Clive was ably assisted by Brian squiring the floor and the band of markers behind the former on the stage.

There was the odd rick, not of Clive’s own making as he was reading out what was presented to him.  The answer to whose name adorned New York’s airport was a bit tricksy as there was more than one airport in the district of Queen’s, let alone the city or state.  JFK, a man with no strong connection to the Big Apple, was announced and it is true.  But what of Fiorello La Guardia, New York’s doughty, probably greatest, mayor, who served three times between 1934 and 1945?  Suffice to say, we respected the question-master’s pronouncement as final (as alluded to on the introductory sheet).  Further into the evening, the question of who was British prime minister during the years 1880 to 1887 was another taxer.  William Ewart Gladstone fitted the bill most closely, though did not serve the whole period.  Yet Benjamin Disraeli was delivered as the head of Her Majesty’s Government for the era, which was impressive, seeing that he died in 1881.  To pull at a loose strand of a flaw here or there does not unravel the complete edifice, however and is akin to a football manager criticising the referee to deflect blame from the players.  Certainly for my team’s part, we got more questions wrong than was comfortable.

The second half of the quiz went somewhat better than the first, which was disappointing as the Joker was squandered on a half-measure of points, even though I prevailed against a welter of opposition that Tyburn Gallows was now Marble Arch ( I travel past it when leaving London for the north on the National Express coach service and am stirred to think of what once it was).  A happy occurrence was felt in ‘time, gentlemen, please’ when naming a cocktail of whisky and Drambuie as a Rusty Nail – a hopeful punt as I had never consumed this beverage.  This is the serendipity that can arise at wine and wisdom conclaves – I really pulled that one out of the bag, as would have been dangerous in the literal sense to do so.  After the interval, we had a few either/ors on ‘food and drink (geographical)’.  Scotland or Japan as home to the biggest malt whisky distillery?  Jamaica or Cuba as the biggest exporter of sugar cane?  Although we divined such options ourselves out of the poser put to us, in both cases we plumped for the wrong option (i.e. Scotland and Jamaica, the latter ironically being the answer to another question in the round – the home of Red Stripe beer).  On the ‘money’ lap, my friend who was with us and who is an intense James Bond aficionado, was gratified with a 007 query (which actress played Miss Moneypenny from Dr No in 1962 to A View to a Kill in 1985? Answer: Lois Maxwell).  In ‘general knowledge’ the title of the Cher record Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves was asked from the quotation of a line and, as it happened, I had been listening (and watching) that very song on YouTube earlier in the week (after years without hearing it).  The home straight of ‘sweeties’ was a confectionary or delight as we did well there.

The winning team (numbering only four members) racked up 80 points out of a possible 90.  After finishing in second place in November, we had a bit of a comedown, languishing in joint 13^th position with 61 spots to our credit, though ten ahead of bottom.  And who shared our ranking?  None other than the turncoats of table one!  A draw then.  We got more answers correct though they were more judicious in playing their Joker, reeling in a maximum 20.  I must dismiss my first paragraph and sharpen my sabre to decide it once and for all – or try to do better on the next fixture after the clocks have gone back.

So that leaves the raffle and at least we were victorious in some aspect, my wife’s ticket emerging second from the bag (she chose a red body throw).  Pauline was doubly successful, though as she and her husband, Kevin, had donated a fair shake of the prizes, her choices were limited.  And Clive, after all these years as compère, won a goodie too.  With the conclusion, there was a clattering chorus of packing and stacking, as he tables and chairs were cleared in short order and put away by those still left with the energy.  After, we dispersed into the night, ruminating on what had gone before.