Remind me again why I bother...

Tuesday night and it’s quiz time again.

This is our last game before Christmas, and quite frankly I would prefer not to go. I am finding it harder and harder to drum up the necessary enthusiasm. Tonight I would rather go home, get something to eat, put my feet up and watch Chelsea and Liverpool grind out the inevitable 0-0 draw in the European Cup (It’s a meaningless fixture as both have already qualified for the knock-out stage), or maybe listen to some music, or watch the double bill of CSI Miami and CSI New York on Channel 5.

Going to the quiz, on the other hand, involves sitting in the office until around 7.30 or 7.40, wandering across the city to Borough and then losing a game (I don’t mind the losing so much, but since the league changed the company who set the questions, I am on a completely different wave length, and barely ever manage a reasonable score. It’s demoralising). Assuming I get to play, of course; I might end up reading the questions, not that that is so bad. No, it’s wet, chilly and dark. I want to go home now, not at 10.00 or later, knowing that it will be a long journey home of at least an hour and given the late evening proclivities of the Northern Line, not unlikely that I shall wash up at the Athenaeum Club around midnight if I am not careful.

Ah well.

Later: I was right on both counts: We lost, and Chelsea v Liverpool ground out a meaningless 0-0 draw. Pass me the Lotto form, I'm on a roll.

Remind me again why I bother...

Tuesday night and it’s quiz time again.

This is our last game before Christmas, and quite frankly I would prefer not to go. I am finding it harder and harder to drum up the necessary enthusiasm. Tonight I would rather go home, get something to eat, put my feet up and watch Chelsea and Liverpool grind out the inevitable 0-0 draw in the European Cup (It’s a meaningless fixture as both have already qualified for the knock-out stage), or maybe listen to some music, or watch the double bill of CSI Miami and CSI New York on Channel 5.

Going to the quiz, on the other hand, involves sitting in the office until around 7.30 or 7.40, wandering across the city to Borough and then losing a game (I don’t mind the losing so much, but since the league changed the company who set the questions, I am on a completely different wave length, and barely ever manage a reasonable score. It’s demoralising). Assuming I get to play, of course; I might end up reading the questions, not that that is so bad. No, it’s wet, chilly and dark. I want to go home now, not at 10.00 or later, knowing that it will be a long journey home of at least an hour and given the late evening proclivities of the Northern Line, not unlikely that I shall wash up at the Athenaeum Club around midnight if I am not careful.

Ah well.

Later: I was right on both counts: We lost, and Chelsea v Liverpool ground out a meaningless 0-0 draw. Pass me the Lotto form, I'm on a roll.