How could he have been so foolish?
First, he’d snubbed the 4 to 6 offer on a Munster club football double for Dr Crokes and UCC which The Reverend insisted was a certainty. It got worse when he’d cocked a snoot at The Reverend’s suggestion that Thousand Stars would turn over Oscars Well and Pittoni in the Morgiana Hurdle. Finally, he’d lumped what was left in his pocket on Chelsea to beat Liverpool.
That Vinny was more lugubrious than usual was not all to do with a bruised ego and wallet woe; it was also the thought of spending time at the 50th birthday bash of Angie’s ex-husband, Big Fat Ron. He couldn’t comprehend why Angie wanted to be near BFR – a smug, self-centred creep. That he was also loaded added to Vinny’s dislike.
“I don’t give two hoots about Ron anymore,” explained Angie, “but he’s
Emma’s father so I have to be there.”
As he turned into the grounds at Oulton Road, Vinny thought it bizarre tennis clubs kept the “lawn” in their name when there wasn’t a blade of grass to be seen any more. Still, a part of him would always have a soft spot for Clontarf LTC as, on the occasion of its centenary in 1987, Vinny had famously pulled Barbara “Babs” Babington on the grassy knoll out by court seven. That midsummer night, his passing had been superb as he took full advantage of Babs, she of the gawky smile, glasses, and svelte ground strokes.
He was wondering whatever had become of Babs as he pushed open the glass doors into the upstairs bar. The first person he met was Angie; the second was Babs.
“You remember Babs?” said Angie. “She was a couple of years ahead of me in Santa Sabina. She and Ron have become good friends, if you know what I mean,” smiled Angie. “Babs is going to join us, Emma, and the Farquarhsons for the quiz.”
At the mention of the quiz, Vinny’s antenna twitched. “Oh?” he said.
“Charlie St John Vernon has cobbled one together on a medieval theme; you know the way he likes to play the Norman ancestry card. It should be fun.”
Before Charlie Vernon got going, BFR was regaling his associates – he didn’t have any real friends – about how he won six club mixed doubles titles with Angie. He spoke of finding true love, through tennis, with Angie and Babs, and how honoured he was to have them in the room. A seething Vinny felt like an intruder.
Always a flashy git, Big Fat Ron then promised “two lucky people the trip of a lifetime” as part of the prize for the quiz.
From the opening serve, The Smashers, as Angie called their team, were on the quiz ball. With Charlie Vernon resplendent in his President’s blazer from Foley’s Golf Society, Vinny’s grey cells clicked into gear.
The first question set the tone. “Lady Guinevere’s apothecary says she must take eight pills, to be taken one at a time every quarter of an hour,” intoned Charlie. “How much time will have passed by the time she has finished her pills?”
The Smashers ducked their heads. “One hour and 45 minutes,” said Vinny.
The next question seemed straightforward. “If you are blind, deaf and dumb, how many senses do you still possess?”
The Farquarhsons, Bill and Bertha, were sure the answer was two, but Vinny spotted a curve ball. “Hold your horses,” he said. “The answer is three – touch, smell and taste. Speech is not a sense.”
Vinny wasn’t finished. When Charlie asked what animal had four feet in the morning, two at midday and three in the evening, the answer struck him like a thunderbolt.
“It’s us,” he whispered. “We crawl when we’re a baby, then we stand upright for years before using a stick when we get old.”
Vinny thought he felt Babs’ hand squeeze his knee – God forbid if it was Bertha Farquarhson – but ignored it.
His only interest now was winning the Billy Whizz.
He knew how to obtain the number 1,000 from a numerical addition containing only 8s, and how tall was a rosebush that measured 30 inches plus half its height?
The penultimate puzzle was a mind-bender. “The son of Lady Isolde and Sir Roland was born on Monday, February 29th. How old will he be the next time his birthday falls on a Monday?” asked Charlie.
Vinny rubbed his jowls, and began to jot furiously on the back of a beer mat. “You’ve got to allow for the Leap Years, like February 29th is next year.”
As Charlie pressed teams for an answer, a little light flickered inside Vinny’s large head. “There’s five days between each fall of February 29th, so the next time his birthday falls on a Monday, he’ll be 28 years old,” he said, triumphantly.
With one puzzle left, The Smashers were level with The Baseliners; the rest were off the pace. By now, Vinny was in full battle-mode; his fingers and toes tingled just like they did when the money was down. He didn’t give a fiddler’s what the prize was, it could be a racket-stringing voucher for all he cared. This was about standing tall in the heat of combat.
“Right, I think this is a two-horse race,” said Charlie. “Here goes. Sir Galahad is trying to get 24 by using each of the numbers, 5, 5, 5 and 1. He is allowed add, subtract, multiply or divide. How does he do it?”
Vinny seized a beer mat and went into a cocoon of concentration. After several fruitless efforts, he puffed, “This is driving me mad, Angie.”
His wife reached over and touched his arm lightly. “Relax love, I have it sussed.”
Vinny looked up at his Angie, her chestnut-curls, brown eyes and slightly upturned nose. She was not only a dinger, but a dinger with intellect. “Put me out of my misery,” he pleaded.
Angie pushed across a piece of paper on which was written neatly: 1 divided by 5 equals 0.2; subtract 0.2 from 5 gives you 4.8; multiply 4.8 by 5 equals 24.
“Angie, your blood is worth bottling,” he said quietly.
Soon, Big Fat Ron seized the mike, thanked Charlie Vernon and announced The Smashers as winners. Vinny liked that bit; he didn’t like Ron planting a smacker on Angie when she went up for the prize-giving.
He was about to go and tell Big Fat Ron where he could shove his prize when Angie returned to the table, clutching an envelope, agog with excitement. “You won’t believe it Vinny, but we’re off to Las Vegas!”
Vinny’s jaw dropped, his mind a tizzy. This was one riddle he couldn’t get his head around, at least not without a pint.
Bets of the week
1pt e/w Wayward Prince in the Hennessy Gold Cup (10/1, Boylesports)
1pt win Chicago Bears to win NFC title (25/1, Ladbrokes)
Vinny’s Bismarck
1pt Lay Italy to win World Cup of golf (10/1, general, liability 10pts)
