Pedigree preparation
The year 2002 saw the 40th anniversary of University Challenge. Previous participants were invited to play in a series of past meets present. However no invitation arrived at chez-maison, which is surprising as for 16 years I could claim to be one of only four persons in the world who had been in a Warwick University Challenge team and won a game. Okay, so I accept that our 1978 record of played two, won one, lost one, may not appear to some that impressive but it's what we Sheffield Wednesday fans would call a dream start. As a Student Union officer, I had taken the economic decision to introduce Marston's beers into our bars on the sound strategic and commercial basis that I liked Pedigree. After a couple of pints (to relax) I had entered the heats for the University Challenge team. Two Pedigrees later, I was buzzing (in more ways than one) with a philosophy based upon the motto of the Italian SAS: "Who cares who wins!" Amazingly, I got a few correct and landed a place in the quartet. When the big day came, we found ourselves at Granada Studios. We received a stern warning regarding good behaviour. The last Warwick team had noticed that they were on screen below the ladies from a Cambridge College and two members spent the half hour gazing upwards with silly grins. I suggested a visit to a pub for some "Burton Courage" but alas I was outvoted 3-1. I sat nervously. Behind the impressive frontage everything was cheap and tacky chipboard, full of graffiti eg, "Bamber ask a f***** easy one!" I knew the answer to the first question instantly, but in a moment of Pedigree deprivation, hesitated, thinking "my mum's watching, what if I'm wrong?". I buzzed, but a chap from York pipped me by a nano of a second. I was mortified and spent the next 30 minutes in self-critical depression. However, we won and in the next round faced Bamber Gascoigne's old college Magdalene, Oxford. Despite there being no Pedigree in sight, I did manage to buzz in a few times and even got a couple right. However, every time we drew level, Bamber seemed to always ask a classical music starter. (He had actually written a musical, Share my Lettuce, in 1957.) After the third music starter, I was told off afterwards for clearly mouthing "not another f***** classical music one". In the end, we were just beaten, but returned with the distinction of at least winning one game. The graduates of 1978-79 then made their most vital contribution to improving the academic reputation of Warwick University ie, leaving. Tempting fate Do you recall the 1973 Temptations classic Papa was a Rolling Stone? After a stunning two-minute intro the song begins with "It was the 3rd of September, a day I will always remember". Well, it wasn't the 3rd but the 23rd when the town of Dudley had the unforgettable experience of being startled by an earthquake (4.9 on the Richter scale). The town was traumatised; nothing that interesting had happened in years. This, after all, was a place where the licensing magistrates ruled in 1995 that though the Second World War was significant, the 50th anniversary of its ending was not a special occasion. Living just nine miles away, we felt the full force. As books fell off shelves, my comment to the beloved one: "Bloody hell! The bed's not moved like that since my first marriage!" was, with hindsight, not the most diplomatic I could have uttered. A wine of the times No worries. A half-term sojourn wine tasting in Burgundy was imminent. Dining out in Troyes and Auxerre, I could not help but notice that the majority of locals were drinking water with their meals. "Was this as a result of a drink-drive initiative?" I asked the lady at the Maison de Vin. "Oh no," she replied, "it is due to the fact that they object to the mark-up on the wine, which in their opinion is too much. They will not pay 16 euros for a bottle that only costs four euros in the hypermarket." Now, where have I heard that before? You cannot get a more knowledgeable wine consumer than the French. Yet once again, the search for unrealisable margins on wine is putting the customer off a purchase. Let me put it succinctly. The profit on a pitcher of filtered tap water is nil. You may make 75% GP on abottle of wine but you have to sell it first. Auxerre is a fascinating city, famous for its football team. It also boasts a mighty cultural history a 6th-century Abbey founded by Clovis's wife on the site where St Germanus is buried, St Etienne Cathedral (13th century) and a host of mediaeval buildings positioned beautifully on the mighty River Yonne. One question, however, remains baffling: How did it ever get twinned with Redditch? Pride before a fall? I was brought up in a typical Yorkshire pit village. The War Ministry came in 1940 to take photographs to send to Adolph Hitler they said it might put him off invading! The rag and bone man had "groupies". Cricket was a religion in primary school we were taught to count to five and then look for the single. I have just completed my 34th year of league cricket, turning out in the fairly serious Worcestershire County League for my local neighbouring village, Cookley (winners of the 1977 Haig National Village Knockout competition and not a lot since). Playing against Evesham (ex England's Neil Radford was fortunately not available), I had seen off (survived) their rather rapid South African, only to run myself out on 35. The next week at Malvern, the same occurrence run out, and on 35 again. It must be said, though, that our Aussie, whose running between the wickets has been compared to Douglas Bader, made a significant contribution. Even so, enough was enough. I needed to get leaner and fitter. I acquired all this Dr Atkins stuff and decided to give it a go. It had worked for Mary Curnock Cook (at the British Institute of Inn-keeping) why not me? The downside was having to abstain from drinking beer. I began to re-route my way home to avoid the Batham's local and other favourite pubs. I still indulged in a post-match pint or two (of Soave). The weight began to drop off. However, on a particularly hot day, I began to get withdrawal symptoms, so bad, even the John Smith's Smooth adverts looked appealing. I arrived home meditating that Diet Coke is good for you, banishing all thoughts of ale out of the brain. I found the beloved one with long green gloves holding three 5ft canes and wearing her best wellies. I said: "We haven't got time for that, shouldn't you be out in the garden!" The garden was blooming; in the centre was an array of plants giving off a beautiful kaleidoscope of colour. "Are they new?" I asked. "Yes, I only planted them a few weeks ago," she informed me. "What's that plant called?" I enquired. "London Pride" was the unwelcome answer. Merry Xmas phildixonCMBII@aol.com
