'In the Parish of Wilton, once a village on the outskirts of the town, stands the oldest recorded inn in Taunton. Today, the pub is located behind the park and only five minutes' walk from the main shopping centre, still maintains the characteristics of a Somerset rural pub, with its low- beamed ceilings and relaxing atmosphere.'
It is indeed a very old pub with a charming snug area from where you can view the dark solid beams criss-crossing the room, and the exposed wattle and daub wall section which is cleverly framed and protected by a perspex casement window. The games room however, where the quiz takes place, is a grim adjunct. True you can still see some of the beams and features of the rest of the pub's interior, but this room is all about its dusty dartboard, its shelves of dog-eared playing cards and its huge covered pool table that the vast majority of the local quiz players sit around like expectant poker players when waiting the for the quiz to start. A couple of inglenook areas for temporary visitants with wobbly circular tables and wooden stools, and a grimy window seat complete the fixtures and furnishings.
The quiz itself was due to start at half past eight - satisfyingly early I thought as pub quizzes that start an hour later often run the risk of players being too inebriated to think straight. I know this to my cost. As the quiz sheets were delivered the real differences between my local and this place became apparent. In the place numbered though otherwise blank sheet, was an odd arrangement of coloured linked and numbered balloons. The idea, we were told was to fill in these balloons with the answers and get a blockbusters style linkage between the left and right of the page or from top to bottom. All the papers were differently patterned in the manner of a bingo card, and instead of their being a winner there would be winners based on successfully answered links being made.
At the start of the quiz I looked forward, as an original son of the south west soil, to being able to understand every word uttered by the quiz-master rather than having to cope with straining to make sense what always sounds to me as cod scouse north Walian mangling. But I was to be disappointed. This man (why is it always a man?) not only had trouble with his articulation, making for example 'f' sounds too much like 's' sounds, he had also chosen to go without a PA system. This meant every question had to be shouted out rendering any clarity that might have been achieved easily muffled by the background hum of the snug area and the garrulity of the quiz participants. The regulars seemed to believe that the way these things are played include at least one person to shouting out something feasible in response to a question before the question master has finished asking it, before someone else then shouts out something ludicrous, completing what might be an intentional spoiler for the visitors.
And then of course there were the questions. To be fair some of them were reasonable: What is a bridewell? (a prison) the most populated country in Africa (Nigeria). I like these sorts of questions - even if you and your team don't know the answers at least you leave the pub at the end just a little bit wiser through the alcoholic fug that's dominating your head. But then he asked a question about square routes which would not have been out of place coming from the mouth of Robert Robinson in the diabolically difficult 1970's Ask The Family. So boring. So pointless (well not literally but you know what I mean.) And then (perhaps as a sweetener) a question about a girl pop group Little Mix about whom I know absolutely nothing - nor do I want to. As it progressed there was something about Dr Christian Jessen, (his surname, who knew? we didn't!), and then a real devious question about Harry S Trueman.
I was so cross with myself about the question about Harry S as I have spent hours learning about initials. AA Milne (Alan Alexander) E M Forster (Earnest Morgan) HG Wells (Herbert George), there's so many, and plenty of them are sufficiently interesting Cecil B DeMille (Blount) e e Cummings (Edward Estlin) TS Eliot (Thomas Sterns) PG Wodehouse (Pelham Grenville). There are so many, and I have learnt quite a few. But I hadn't learnt this one and was amazed that I'd missed it. The answer however was simple. The 'S' stands for nothing. It was a sop to his two grandfathers both of whom had names beginning with S - so instead of choosing one of them (I don't know why his parents couldn't have taken both) they chose the letter 'S' instead. So the 'S' stands for nothing but the letter 'S'.
We didn't win anything in this quiz, but it was fun. And no experience isn't worth having. Unless you count torture, or illness, or pain,
The quiz itself was due to start at half past eight - satisfyingly early I thought as pub quizzes that start an hour later often run the risk of players being too inebriated to think straight. I know this to my cost. As the quiz sheets were delivered the real differences between my local and this place became apparent. In the place numbered though otherwise blank sheet, was an odd arrangement of coloured linked and numbered balloons. The idea, we were told was to fill in these balloons with the answers and get a blockbusters style linkage between the left and right of the page or from top to bottom. All the papers were differently patterned in the manner of a bingo card, and instead of their being a winner there would be winners based on successfully answered links being made.
At the start of the quiz I looked forward, as an original son of the south west soil, to being able to understand every word uttered by the quiz-master rather than having to cope with straining to make sense what always sounds to me as cod scouse north Walian mangling. But I was to be disappointed. This man (why is it always a man?) not only had trouble with his articulation, making for example 'f' sounds too much like 's' sounds, he had also chosen to go without a PA system. This meant every question had to be shouted out rendering any clarity that might have been achieved easily muffled by the background hum of the snug area and the garrulity of the quiz participants. The regulars seemed to believe that the way these things are played include at least one person to shouting out something feasible in response to a question before the question master has finished asking it, before someone else then shouts out something ludicrous, completing what might be an intentional spoiler for the visitors.
And then of course there were the questions. To be fair some of them were reasonable: What is a bridewell? (a prison) the most populated country in Africa (Nigeria). I like these sorts of questions - even if you and your team don't know the answers at least you leave the pub at the end just a little bit wiser through the alcoholic fug that's dominating your head. But then he asked a question about square routes which would not have been out of place coming from the mouth of Robert Robinson in the diabolically difficult 1970's Ask The Family. So boring. So pointless (well not literally but you know what I mean.) And then (perhaps as a sweetener) a question about a girl pop group Little Mix about whom I know absolutely nothing - nor do I want to. As it progressed there was something about Dr Christian Jessen, (his surname, who knew? we didn't!), and then a real devious question about Harry S Trueman.
I was so cross with myself about the question about Harry S as I have spent hours learning about initials. AA Milne (Alan Alexander) E M Forster (Earnest Morgan) HG Wells (Herbert George), there's so many, and plenty of them are sufficiently interesting Cecil B DeMille (Blount) e e Cummings (Edward Estlin) TS Eliot (Thomas Sterns) PG Wodehouse (Pelham Grenville). There are so many, and I have learnt quite a few. But I hadn't learnt this one and was amazed that I'd missed it. The answer however was simple. The 'S' stands for nothing. It was a sop to his two grandfathers both of whom had names beginning with S - so instead of choosing one of them (I don't know why his parents couldn't have taken both) they chose the letter 'S' instead. So the 'S' stands for nothing but the letter 'S'.
We didn't win anything in this quiz, but it was fun. And no experience isn't worth having. Unless you count torture, or illness, or pain,
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