Meet My Inner Quiz Dominatrix...

Zoom quizzes. Did they exist before all this? Putting aside the hardcore quiz community, who I'm sure accessed competitive trivia in all sorts of ways, did anyone else hit their video conferencing app and bamboozle their friends when we could actually go out? I don't think so. I mean, did anyone even sit face to face with their pals, and quiz themselves silly before COVID started? Did they? 

Zoom quizzes have
replaced galleries. FACT.

Oh. Well yeah, they did. You don't need to be Paul Sinha to enjoy a pub quiz. For all the Egg Heads and Chasers out there, there are plenty of amateurs who like a pint with their picture round. I suppose once the pubs closed, those causal quizzers found their way to Zoom to keep a social life going. But people virtually quizzing isn't really my query. I guess the question I'm asking is, how come I - whose attendance at a pub quiz is infrequent at best - now participate in a weekly family quiz?


The Bond Family quiz usually happens on a Sunday. That's to accommodate other quizzes that family members attend. (Quiz clashes are the new #firstworldproblem.) Anything up to thirteen people have taken part over the weeks, spread across seven households. Some of us are flaky and occasionally have things to do. (Excuses for non-attendance have included another Zoom meeting, a phone call to make, and tiredness.) But each week, there are enough of us logged on to have a decent competition. It's - insert trigger warning here - the new normal. 

Jauntily angled evidence of the Bond et al quiz.
You can feel the concentration.
You can sense the confusion.

It's not that I'm against quizzing. Far from it. Only Connect has a gold-plated reserved space in my planner, and in my twenties I regularly quizzed with my mates in a pub, where as memory serves - just like Smithy with Gary Lineker - every answer appeared to be Del Shannon. But it's been a pastime I've forgotten in recent decades. Pub quizzes usually sneak up on me now. You manage to coordinate diaries with a mate, sit down with a pint for an overdue catch up, and then a grumpy local taps a microphone and you're suddenly forbidden to speak. This has happened to me multiple times. Perhaps it's where my bewilderment comes in. How is it that I've managed to become a committed Sunday night quizzer when I've got all that baggage? Heaven only knows.

Toasting my success.
Here's to ME.

This week, the stakes are even higher. After an unbeaten run of quizzing genius from my brother and his girlfriend, there's a new champion. ME. Yeah, did you hear that? I ONLY WON THE BLOODY QUIZ. To be strictly truthful, it was not a solo victory. My usual placing of mid-table, was enhanced by some corroboratory support from the sofa. But it still counts. I am the reigning champion. Shower me with rose petals. Waft me with palms. Kiss my ring. 

And now it's my turn. You see, every household in the extended Bond family has taken a turn at being Quiz Mistress. I've managed to dodge that particular time-consuming bullet so far. This has been good news for the rest of my week, but bad news for the likelihood of scoring highly. When siblings throw in sports rounds willy nilly, (two in one quiz! I'm still not over it!) then I'm in danger of relegation. This week, I get to take control. I can inflict all sorts of indignities on my family. I will highlight all their intellectual weakness with the sadism of an evil Magnus Magnusson. I can't wait. 

Well not yet. But soon.

For now I have to write the thing. I've no intention of copying and pasting something from the Internet. No way. I want the personal touch. At the moment I'm at the stage of compiling possible topics. We've had lots of sport, general knowledge, and geography over the past few weeks, so I need to be more niche. Facts about the McAuliffe family would show up those relatives who have not read my book. Or I could dust off my Uni files and see if anyone can match the feminist academic to the quote. Or I could do a picture quiz where they have to identify my favourite fictional characters, from the abstract sketches I've drawn with blunt crayon. (I could have a good go at the Hot Priest, Connell, and Mrs Madrigal.) So many options. So much to do. At the end of the last quiz, the one collective request thrown my way was... no Eurovision. So, OF COURSE there will be a Eurovision round. It's only fair. I've blagged my way through countless questions about Everton, so it's time for my revenge. Buckle up Fambo, you're about to get tested. 

Have a lovely week, folks.