These days I don’t go to pubs as often as I would like, the exception being a weekly quiz night at one or other of the two venues a couple of my friends seem to like. We have not done too badly overall, having experienced both smashing victories and the occasional humiliation. At least the ones I attend in Ipswich now are not taken too seriously by the participants, unlike a few I went to in London in the eighties. In those days you had some deadly serious teams. I remember one in particular, three guys who all looked and spoke like Lenin (except that they all had beer guts, for they were also into real ale), who were visibly outraged if their sense of entitlement to first prize received a setback. One of them, I discovered by accident, was in the computer section (they didn’t call it IT in those days) of the same Government Department in which I worked. I met him in the canteen a few days after one of his team’s (admittedly rare) defeats, and he told me they would not be going to that pub again as it was full of Tory bastards.
I am also sometimes prevailed upon to go to the occasional karaoke nights, mainly because a friend of mine is a regular karaoke host. Although I enjoy those evenings (though I try to keep my own participation to a minimum), I did have an ambivalence to karaoke ever since the first one I attended. Some friends were having a private birthday party in a restaurant, and we were all having a lovely time until one of the waiters said they had a karaoke machine. One of the guests insisted we use it, and the rest of the evening was spent mostly listening to her and her adolescent daughter. I will survive they screeched, though the rest of us doubted if we would. Enjoyable conversation was cut short (karaoke enthusiasts seem to love high volumes) and all attempts to persuade them that they had delighted us long enough were in vain. On a more upbeat note, at least you don’t seem to get the same number of old drunks singing My Way. There was a time when it seemed compulsory for people whose lives had been an utter failure to sing this when they were not singing No Regrets.
Apologies for my misanthropic mood. I have probably lost some of my friends by now and it won’t be long before I’m one of those sad old geezers slurring My Way. So on a more upbeat note here’s a quiz question. By chance I came across an old photograph on the Internet yesterday which intrigued me. Do you know whose wedding this is? It’s quite a famous couple, though few people seem to know what they really looked like.
I am also sometimes prevailed upon to go to the occasional karaoke nights, mainly because a friend of mine is a regular karaoke host. Although I enjoy those evenings (though I try to keep my own participation to a minimum), I did have an ambivalence to karaoke ever since the first one I attended. Some friends were having a private birthday party in a restaurant, and we were all having a lovely time until one of the waiters said they had a karaoke machine. One of the guests insisted we use it, and the rest of the evening was spent mostly listening to her and her adolescent daughter. I will survive they screeched, though the rest of us doubted if we would. Enjoyable conversation was cut short (karaoke enthusiasts seem to love high volumes) and all attempts to persuade them that they had delighted us long enough were in vain. On a more upbeat note, at least you don’t seem to get the same number of old drunks singing My Way. There was a time when it seemed compulsory for people whose lives had been an utter failure to sing this when they were not singing No Regrets.
Apologies for my misanthropic mood. I have probably lost some of my friends by now and it won’t be long before I’m one of those sad old geezers slurring My Way. So on a more upbeat note here’s a quiz question. By chance I came across an old photograph on the Internet yesterday which intrigued me. Do you know whose wedding this is? It’s quite a famous couple, though few people seem to know what they really looked like.