The Last Quiz of Summer

All good things, so the saying goes, must come to an end. The phrase was very popular on fifties and sixties radio shows, and would usually be followed by a quip along the lines of "and not just good things either, for this is the last show in the present series" or some such.

Monday saw the final quiz of this season, and so, Mush, back from his short holiday; Sam; Hugh and myself, and joined by Frank, still on the books though only an occasional player these days, settled in at our usual Table (5). Despite the absence of Tony and John, we somehow knew it would be Our Night. And so it proved; I think we led all the way, except for the end of Round 7, when we were two behind our old rivals the Old Farts, who were welcoming back their long-standing team member Antonio on a flying visit from Rome, where he now lives and works. However Round 8 was sport, about which the OF's know only a little, given the wide range of sporting activities which fall into this category. Except for football, I don't take much interest in sport either, so I more or less sat back as the others answered most of the questions, though a name from my childhood, Jack Brabham, popped into my head as the likely answer to a question about F1 drivers driving their own make of car. We came out with 135 points, the OF's 130, the other three teams nowhere near; I got a spot prize, too, as did Frank and Mush, so we were well content.

Back in the upstairs bar afterwards, the future of the quiz came to the forefront of the conversation, as it always will on the last night. There is a move afoot, supported by our charming landlady, to move it from the traditional Monday night to Thursday. This would attract more people who don't come at the moment because they have early-morning classes on Tuesdays, and it would (and why not?) improve the pub's takings. So we'll restart in mid September, still on a Monday, then have a big meeting about it, and bring the change of day in from October, if it is accepted, which it almost certainly will be.

We then began to speculate about our present team: would everyone still be here? One of us is job-hunting away from the city, we know; another is going to become a father. Another is moving from the inner city to a village beyond the outer suburbs. All (well not the job-hunter) say they will still be coming to the quiz, but circumstances alter; a 20-km. haul home after midnight on a cold night is a different proposition to ten minutes on the underground (Madrid's underground runs till 1.30 a.m., as I think I mentioned once before) or a six-minute taxi ride, and people might be put off when it comes down to it.

Hugh and I, not working this month, stayed on after the others left and spoke a little of the old days; then we took our farewell of the landlady, a very good friend, who has in fact made a bid to join our team, if we need new faces, as she doesn't work behind the bar on Thursdays. Then we were astounded, when saying goodbye to Dave the barman, to learn that he will be leaving the city during the summer to work in the south, as he didn't want to be a barman all his life, and a decent opportunity had come his way, and he was taking it. He has been a great friend to all the quiz gang these past four years, and will be much missed.

I got home feeling slightly sad, as one does when good things come to an end. And the lovely old song which inspired the title of this piece was unaccountably running through my head. OK the quiz hasn't ended, I know, but it won't be quite the same, and yes, it might ultimately be even better, for all I know.

Ah well. Time to consider what is happening at Charlton; pre-season friendlies are starting up. I'll be keeping you posted.