Withington Pub Quiz League - quizbiz 03/02/05

Results & Match Reports

Albert Park lost at home to the improving Electric Pigs

X-Pats slipped up against the History Men who just maintain their slender lead at the top of the table over the Fingers

Albert continued their upward course beating St Caths at the Fletcher Moss

Fifth Finger crushed Ethel Rodin at fortress Griffin

and Snoopy's Friends were embarrassed at home against the bottom club, the Opsimaths

Quiz Paper Verdict

This week FCEK set our paper. Tough but fair seemed to be the general response. Plenty of geography with little "Erinality" this time. There were a number of nominations for QotW which is usually a good sign. The Schleswig-Holstein/Scarborough one at the start of Round 2 was mentioned in despatches as was the 'Oz origin' one in Round 4. The concentration around a theme in Round 1 ("All at Sea") didn't prevent plenty of water, islands and geography cropping up later on. But that suited me fine. St Caths were so taken aback by the lack of the bingo format that they went and lost to Albert. And finally if, like me, you were desperate to remember the complete lyrics for Mr Tambourine Man (surely the best lyrics ever written?) here they are:

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though I know that evenin's empire has returned into sand,
Vanished from my hand,
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping.
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet,
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Though you might hear laughin', spinnin', swingin' madly across the sun,
It's not aimed at anyone, it's just escapin' on the run
And but for the sky there are no fences facin'.
And if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme
To your tambourine in time, it's just a ragged clown behind,
I wouldn't pay it any mind, it's just a shadow you're
Seein' that he's chasing.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to.
Hey! Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me,
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come followin' you.

(and the line I was struggling to remember all evening, Brian, was "and if you hear vague traces of skippin' reels of rhyme")

The Question of the Week

This week the award was determined by Mark of the Park. He went for Round 4 Question 3:

The title of which famous novel immortalises an albino cachalot?

Click here to see the answers to this and the rest of the week's questions and answers.

Chatterbox

Des de Moaner

A new feature this week. I have obtained the occasional services of a particularly grumpy old quizzer (no names no pack drill). He (or she) will vent their miserable old spleen when called upon. Here goes with moan number one which relates to this week's FCEK paper.........

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eggheads

Happily both of our composite teams are now safely entered. The Didsbury Allstars feature Barry, Damian, Andrew, John, Mark and Copland, whilst the Withington Allstars have Kieran, Gerry, Anne, Pete, Dave and Brian.

They both submit themselves to an audition in the Manchester BBC studios this Sunday (February 6th) at 4.45pm. Let's hope telegenicity is not the crucial consideration!!

Thanks to all those who offered (or were volunteered) and were not needed.

I will keep you posted.

Fr Megson

A Quiet Night in Ladybarn

A Chairde,

Inactive brains for Fr. Megson's social inadequates last night as FCEK sat out a one match ban imposed for harbouring impure thoughts in their recent match against The Histrionic Men (Fr. Megson still reckons that at least one of them isn't really a man but there seems little point in arguing with referees these days if you haven't got a Scottish accent and an M16 post code). The ban came at an unfortunate juncture as Damian, Fr. Megson's stunning amanuensis (pertly played by Sylvia Kristel), caught sight of some of the questions as he was typing them up and he reckons that he might have been able to get some of them right especially the ones about old queens and other filth that never appeared on the seminary syllabus in Fr. Megson's youth.

Still, it was nice to relax. Half past nine saw a freshly horlixed Fr. Megson already curled up with a torch and a good Trollope underneath the bedclothes. Funny, but there seems to be something about the scribblings of Trollope that appeals to charismatic men of action like Fr. Megson and John Major.

Alas, 5867 sheep later our eponymous pastor was still tossing and occasionally turning, bedevilled by feverish images of Wayne Rooney in a sarong and Timbo Henman in a construction worker's kit. The teatime of his soul grew even darker when his past failures came rushing back to haunt him: agonising memories of spineless moments when he had refused to fly solo for a much needed two-pointer and, even more painful to recall, those involuntary and unilateral ejaculations of absolute balderdash that were fast becoming his trademark.

In desperation he reached down for his trusty hotwater bottle which contained an emergency supply of Merrydown for such moments. Soon he was hurtling through the astral plane. Looking down on the cosmic speck that is South Manchester he saw several Greybeards trapped in a gigantic glass bubble of many hues. There they would remain until they had solved the 64 enigmas set by 4 gnomic dwarves known as the Homines Pedantici or, in family circles, as the Norman No-Lifers.

The more the captives tugged at their greybeards and the more they poked at the walls of the giant bubble the more the answer to the mystic riddle of "Who won the Eurovision Song Contest in 1970?" receded from their grasp. They twisted and writhed in their agony; they conferred arcanely using ancient masonic wrist movements; they spilt their entrails on the floor and examined them rapturously (the landlord was less than rapturous); they conjured up mendacious desires to relieve themselves so as to send secret textual messages to their friends. But still they could not persuade the runes to spell out the one Druidic word that would end their gut curdling misery (if you don't want to know the answer look away now)..........DANA.

"I'm glad I'm up here with a big big bottle," mused Fr. Megson's astral body, "and not down there. It must be an awful way to spend eternity."

There you are now. I've been telling you for years that any oul' eejit could have written LORD OF THE RINGS in half an hour.

Fr. M.