University Challenge
My other half, who did at least 50 billion years at university, and who after the aforementioned years at various universities across the North, announced 25 years ago that he “Fancied doing an MBA”, to which I promptly replied, “Enough now, get a bloody job love,” has been out to pick up our Martha from her adult special needs social group.
What he doesn’t realise is that I’ve already watched University Challenge, so he’s come back into the house and started watching it on iPlayer. Meanwhile, I’m getting all the answers right before he gets a look in. I’m having a very, very nice time. I think he’s in awe of my genius and also simultaneously irritated by his own lack of correct answers. We’re very competitive. I’m feeling very important.
Amol Rajan: “Which musician is this statue of?” Me: “Oh that, it’s Handel. I know that because I played the flute at school.”
Amol Rajan: “It’s Handel.”
Amol Rajan: “Which musician does this seashell statue represent?”
Me: “Oh, it’s got to be Benjamin Britten, hasn’t it? Could be Elgar but I’d go Britten.”
Amol Rajan: “It’s Benjamin Britten.”
Me beaming.
I go quiet at the maths questions. I’d like to think it’s because I want my deception to look sophisticated, but basically it’s because my brain switched off when they were on the first time around 40 minutes ago.
Some textile questions come on.
“Oh houndstooth!” I shout, followed quickly by “Honeycomb weave!” and then “Herringbone!”
Darren’s so impressed. The frustrating thing is that I knew 2 of those 3 anyway. I didn’t even need to cheat on them.
Inside I’m cackling with hysterical glee. All those years at uni, Dr Daz we call him, take your fancy squishy important velvet hat off for a moment sunshine and look at me! LOOK! I’m basically Professor DEBS! For a fleeting moment I could have gone to “CAMBRIDGE JESUS!”
Then I remember I’m actually cheating, and like the epiphany of watching the weak story device of Bobby Ewing coming out of the shower I remember that it was all just an illusion. Even weaker when I consider that the Bobby Ewing thing was just a dream and this isn’t. I don’t know why Dallas just came into my head. I’m trying to sell pants and I think Bobby Ewing was in a towel and we don’t sell those. Although, had I been in the habit of selling dressing gowns when I was about 10 years old he could have had one of those.
I don’t know what’s going on.
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