Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Where I Become Scarily Competitive. Again.

Where I Become Scarily Competitive. Again.

I probably should have confessed something when I made my last blog entry. I'd like you all to think that the Australian thing was as random as it sounds, but in truth it was about as random as what I was doing. Or - more accurately - what I was carrying. Because - and there is no easy way to get round this - I was in the middle of York carrying a didgeredo. If that is indeed how you spell it, because, let's face it, I don't know how to spell it, it's not in my miny English dictionary next to the computer and it won't be in the spell check in blogger even if I could be arsed to run it after I finished writing. But I'm sure you're getting the picture. I was in York. With an Aboriginal instrument. Previous to being asked if I was Rolf Harris's daughter, I'd been in the non-spurting fountain, posed for a picture at the little Griffin van and bantered with a passing police car as to why the heck I was carrying said instrument. Thankfully, I can't have looked too much like the criminal mastermind that I actually am, and the police were happy to ask whether I could play it rather than where I got it from.

The answer to that question would have been, predictably it being a Saturday night and me being in York, the Evil Eye. Yes, that would be the one with the beds:

In honour of Becky's Birthday/Graduation there was an evening of entertainment centred around something that will always get me excited. A competition. And given the fact that I haven't managed as much as a pub quiz since I left Oxford, that we had a team competition (no less) meant that I was on overdrive. Admittedly the shot in The Slug and Lettuce and the tequila in Evil Eye might have had something to do with my going into overdrive but you should never underestimate my own innate competitiveness. It is, I confess, not one of my most appealing characteristics (as I think I demonstrated with some style when Nik and I started wrestling over a cocktail and the bonus five points its capture would entail*), but I can at least see the extent of its ridiculousness and the subsequent need for people to tell me to shut up at regular intervals**. But it did mean that I wanted to win. I WANTED TO WIN. Because winning is good and no amount of 'it's the taking part that counts' crap is going to convince me otherwise.

So when I ended up with a 'Corinne always aims high, but can you beat a guitar?' challenge the discovery of a didgeredoo was rather fantastic. Because, if only for how random it was, it beats a guitar. Anyone, after all, can take a guitar into the Parliament Street fountain. I like to think that this was the fountains first didgeredoo. Challenge completed, I returned the instrument - with some sadness - to its proper home so that drunken revellers could continue to pretend they were Rolf Harris.

And the most important part? We won***!

*Though this did give me a flash back to a similar and even less graceful tussle over a 'Thank you' sign at Derby Zanzibars which was even less flattering given that that was the inagural 'Derby Top' night. And if I'm wearing my 'Derby Top' I should be staying very, very still.

** Though the chances of getting me to shut up when I've been drinking - as one of the Evil Eye's unlucky security men discovered - are very, very slim.

***We would be Team Griffin, as opposed to Team Fox. Never say that Nik and I aren't original in our choices.


gayle said...

Go Team Griffin! *does rock hand signal*
(and just be grateful your challenge didn't involve men's underwear).

cat said...

or, indeed, men seeing your underwear. the things I do for Team Griffin 'eh? *rock hand sign*

bex said...

humpf, I just wish you had warned me about how competitive you REALLY were prior to having a "that's not fair" sulk.

Although the use of tits on the diogarydoo was rather comical. :)