"Despite the footie the snug of the Red Lion was unnaturally deserted and we were able to have a home game at our usual venue.  Anne with 6 '2's was the MVP (Ed: Most Valued Player?) once again.

I QM'ed this evening and am in the QM seat next week at the Griffin (it will be the third week in a row).  Peter tells me I am enjoying this role to the extent I am moving away from being a neutral, anodyne, anonymous straight man to becoming more a master of ceremonies.  Shock, gasp, horror!  Is this a deviation from quiz etiquette?

Anyway, a very pleasant evening spent in the company of Ethel, who, of course, spawned half of our team in the early 2000s.  It’s a shame that twice a season we have to return to try and give our 'mother' a damned good thrashing (only succeeding half the time).  Ethel are always the easiest team for whom to buy a drink, should they lose.  'Four pints of bitter, very bitter' is the regular order."

Opsimaths fought a fairly close first half against TMTCH but then raced to a 16 point victory after the break.

Albert weren't too far adrift at the final whistle, but just couldn't quite manage what no other team has managed this season and BEAT SPW - Kieran twitters in:

"For the second time this season we played three-handed on a Pigs paper (Barry for some reason preferring to attend the ritual slaughter of a bunch of Milanese pensioners) and for the second time we scored heavily."

Ivor's verdict from the QM seat at the Red:

"Because the QM can see all the answers it is difficult to assess the degree of difficulty of the paper but the combined scores suggest a moderately difficult quiz.  It was certainly full of interesting teasers.  This is always alarming when we realise we have seven days to produce the next quiz ourselves and so far there are three half finished rounds, no good ideas and the terrible thought that we might have to resort to 'what is the state capital of New Mexico' or 'who was in the news last week with…'.

....and Kieran from the Fletcher Moss:

"I have to say we love these swinish quizzes.  You could pretty much reproduce my comments from earlier in the season: 'inventive themes and a good spread of questions contributing to a very enjoyable evening - especially for the absent Barry who will be accessing the website until the paper appears and he can get his weekly quizzical fix.

As I said in my weekend ramblings, I think the papers this year have been excellent and Andrew (who appeared in the Fletcher Moss to claim his laurels just as we finished) and co. certainly continued the very high standards that have been set.

EXCEPT!

THE most unbalanced pair in the history of the league (Ed: Don't get alarmed - this is standard Kieranic hyperbole): some not very good representation of Gauguin, which may as well have been Degas, Cezanne or Pissarro for crying out loud, paired with the most famous self portraitist of all time - fcekin' Rembrandt!  I ask youse."

Which word, which has passed into the English language with a more general meaning, was the capital of Hell in Paradise Lost?

Fr. Megson was busy googling in his underpants last night when he was interrupted by a loud crash overhead.  It was Dusty.

"Sorry to bother ye Father," she said, "only I was passin' and I thought I'd drop in.  Sorry about your skylight, Father, only I thought it was open.  I won't stay long Father, I feel like a right eejit standing here drippin' blood all over your nice new bit of lino.

"I see you're busy googlin' in yer underpants again, Father.  Are ye sure that's wise?  Aren't ye frightened of poor demented women with no aesthetic taste lookin' in the window and beatin' themselves into a paroxysm of lust at the sight of a priest without his keks?  Relax, Father, I'm a woman of unbridled purity so I won't be pouncin' on ye tonight or any other night.  Mind you, I have to admit that there's something very spiritually arousin' about a priest in his underpants - it brings out the Mary Magdalene in me, whoever she was.  Who knows what might  happen if ye had a better class of chassis and didn't have them annoyin' wee tufts of ginger hair down yer back.  That's why I never look into Father Donely's window when I be out prowlin' at night.  If I happened to see him googlin' in his underpants I'd  be up on the roof like a helium balloon quicker than you could say 'kyrie eleison'.  Ye could get pregnant just by imaginin' that man in his boxers, Father.

"But I digress, Father.  I'll leave you alone.  I'm sure ye have fierce important things to google.  It must be a handy way to get in touch with the fallen women of  the parish.  I hope ye don't be passin' on this confidential information to Mr Dusty, Father.  Before I go, Father, could ye give me a quick confession?  Don't bother lookin' for yer keks, sure ye'll be fine and dandy in yer unmentionables.

"Bless me Father, I was in the Swan recently quizzin' away like the clappers against Ethel Austin when the QM sin-binned me for foul and abusive language, the oul hoor.  While I was waitin' to come back on I got chattin' with Roddy's bicycle.  Well Father, we clicked immediately.  He's a lovely bike.  Very quiet but broodin' and deep.  I  would say without fear of contradiction that he is one of the most philosophical bicycles that I have ever chatted up in a pub.

"He was sayin' that he loves quizzes but is far too shy to play on the team.  He prefers to stand there thinkin' up hard questions which he whispers to Roddy on the way home and then Roddy takes the credit for them when they come to set.

"Anyway, before ye know it he's askin' me out for a spin and now we're savin' up for a deposit for a flat in Ladybarn.  Mr Dusty was a bit taken aback when I told him I was plannin' to leave him for a bicycle but  on the whole he thought it was an excellent idea, provided of course that we could come to some agreement about his beer and fags money.