The winner takes it all

I’ve never been competitive and this has always tended to go against me when it comes to taking part in sporting activities and ‘fun’ family games such as Scrabble (my Nan was killer) and Monopoly.  Winning has just never bothered me and I’ve even been known to let others take the glory just so I can get the hell of there and carry on with my non-competitive hobbies. I’m not sure if this attitude has served me well in life so far but I can’t help it, it’s just the way I am.

However, this all changed on the first night of our holidays last week (read more about family hols here) when, after two fishbowl-sized glasses of red wine and an hour spent listening to a male singer squeezed into tight jeans and a shiny foil-like, buttoned up waistcoat, it turned out that after pleading competition aversion for some forty two years I do indeed have a slightly competitive gene.  And it rather likes music quizzes – particularly when they involve tracks from the eighties

Oh my days, if ever there was a quiz with my name on it, then this would be it! Some people dream of scoring the winning goal for England in the next World Cup, others dream of dancing the lead in Swan Lake.  Me?  One of my fantasies involves a Family Fortunes style rostrum where I’m pitted against my competitor in a tie break situation to win the huge cash prize on offer.  Hands by our sides, we have to buzz in when we can identify the track being played by its introduction.  Which of course I do on the first bar, thus jubilantly leading our team to victory! Ahem, it’s the little things……

And when the DJ announced that the prize was a bottle of champagne, well there was just no stopping me!  Time after time I raised my hand as soon as the first bars of the song were played and time after time I got it right!  Even Pud had a go! The man who has no interest in music and doesn’t know Madness from Mozart correctly answered a Frankie Goes to Hollywood song.  And it wasn’t even Relax!

We were flying ahead and I think the DJ and other holiday makers were starting to get a bit fed up with us.  There were only four other tables with people sat around in the entire bar and I guess they weren’t getting too much of a look in, even though we didn’t know every song.  So the DJ got a bit pedantic and wouldn’t allow me ‘Don’t you want me baby?’ by the Human League.  I knew I’d got the right song though and in the absence of anyone else answering and in my wine-fuelled excitement, I decided to have another crack at it and got it right with ‘Don’t you want me?’  Ha! In your face Mr DJ – nobody puts baby in the corner when there’s a bottle of champers at stake.

And as the DJ’s assistant handed us our winning bottle of Perry (Perry?? What the hell??  If I’d known I’d been playing for that, I would have thought twice about making myself so unpopular with my fellow holiday makers and the DJ), there was a muted ‘Well done’ from the DJ and two parties put their coats on and left.

And when I awoke the next day, looking like Dracula’s Bride and feeling like a large lorry had repeatedly reversed over my head, I felt a bit guilty about winning and worried that I hadn’t given anyone else a chance.  And I guess this is why my competitive streak normally stays so well tucked away; I just haven’t got that drive and determination that would allow me to enjoy the benefits of being ultra-competitive.

But of course, I might be persuaded otherwise with a bottle of wine and few musical questions from a certain era thrown in my direction…..