Free Life Behind Bars by Linda Tweedie

bars of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut; we stood open
mouthed at his purchases.
     
    “I’m sorry” he said “I couldn’t
get giant Yorkies!”

Quizzical . . .
     
    The average pub quiz is a bit of
fun on a dreary winter’s evening which no one takes very seriously and is an
excuse to get away from the wife and kids.  That is except for the
‘Quizzers.’  These are teams of intellectuals who never miss a match and are
normally sourced from the Social Work Department or the local primary
school.  Their teams have Latin names that not even they can pronounce,
and they consume half a lager and a packet of crisps between them, that is
until they win first prize when it’s brandy and coke all round.  So intent
are they on their quizzing, that if a particular pub caters for the hoi poloi,
they will not deign to enter.
    So, most of our quizzes were
beneath their contempt which suited us fine.  My punters had very few
brain cells between them.  Some of them even thought a GCSE was a make of
washing machine, and by the second half were usually too pissed to write. 
They had team names like ‘The Dogs Bollocks’ and ‘All Fannies are Round.’ 
Referring of course to that well known malapropism by Johnnie Craddock.
    But we did cross paths; you see
we were in the League.  How we ever qualified I will never know. 
Maybe the last incumbent slept with someone of importance.  Perhaps money
had changed hands.  Or maybe, they just needed to make up the
numbers.  Whatever the reason, we were in the League and there were
inter-pub quizzes into which we were obliged to enter a team.  These
quizzes were held monthly in a variety of establishments and they were catered.
    Now we were definitely fourth
division in the quiz tables, but when it came to the catering we were
absolutely top of the Premier League and thus the only reason ‘The Nil Desperandum’s’
and the ‘Quo Quid Pro’s’ would grace us with their presence.
     
    I never had a problem putting a
team together on a monthly basis.  In fact, it was a harder job keeping
most of them out.
    Then of course there were the
groupies.  Each team had its supporters.  Most of whom were very well
behaved and so excited at the prospect of maybe taking part that they spent
most of the time running back and fro to the toilets.  Not so with my
motley crew, oh they were excited all right, and yes they spent the time doing
the toilet run, but for different reasons.
    They would roar the answer to
their team-mates, the fact that it was usually wrong proved no deterrent. 
As for support, by closing time every one of them needed support.  The
fuckers could never stand.  We were frowned upon!  Now I take shit
from no one and I certainly wasn’t taking it from a load of camel-toed,
sandal-wearing hippies who thought they were better than us.  The fact
they were had nothing to do with it.  I had decided the next match held at
home, my team would win.  But how?
    Honestly, I couldn’t get anyone
with as much as an ‘O’ level for love nor money.  I tried importing from
other pubs.  No one would come, not even on the promise of a fabulous
running buffet.  I was getting desperate.  Then I came up with ‘the
Plan.’  Google; I was going to Google and I came up with a devilish plot
to avoid suspicion.
    For two days before the quiz I
had a run through with my team and cohorts and it went swimmingly. 
Basically I had a five man team who would take part and I had a five man team
who would cheat.  Sound okay?
    This is how it would work.  Simplicity
itself.  What would happen was; each cheat was numbered and they would
come through, ask the question, go into the toilet and by the time they
returned I would have the answer which they would then pass to the team. 
We ran through the plan time and time again and had it working to perfection.
    The catering was par excellence,
the bar was warm and inviting and I had a winning team.  The evening
started absolutely to plan.