Fabricationally Challenged

Got an email the other day to go tryout for University Challenge. Fuck it, why not? Not that I'd ever get on but I likes me quizzes and I had a couple of hours to kill. Also wanted to see what kind of people would be going - the students at Leeds these days are all pretty generic (not like back in the nineties, when everyone was in bands and listened to Ozric Tentacles and did the patchouli thing) and I couldn't imagine any UC-types lurking round here. But, lo and behold, there they were: awkward kids; kids with spod haircuts; kids in tweed jackets and older-people's shoes farting about like poor men's dandies; geeks and goofs and twats and swots: ya know, the kinda kids that give a monkey's whether past-participle blah blah blah (I got that question wrong).

Anyways, nothing to lose. So I answers the questions, gets a few right here and there, and, sure, I feel a bit thick but it's a decent use of the time (better than wanking into the neighbour's gutters, like some people do). Me and some asocial kid swap papers and, luckily, he's done rubbish, scored only like 8 out of 60 and at least I've beaten him. I got 21. The quizmaster tells us the average is 15. Hey ho, at least I'm very slightly above average.

Then, outside, the spoddiest, twattiest bunch of little student kiddy-winks are talking and I decide I'm going to ask them what they got and then tell them I got 31, just to wind 'em up. One of 'em had been complaining that the questions were all for old people (tweed jacket arsehole) and I suppose I wanted to prove him right. Thing was, brainy fuckers though they obviously were, they all did shit, got like 10 and 12 and maybe 15. Damn. No need to lie. But I did so anyway. If they were bothered by the outrageous score I claimed they didn't show it. Hopefully later.

Thing is - wow, I felt bad about that stupid little lie! All it was supposed to do was amuse me - but it wrankled in my brain like a rattling loose turd: you know how it is when you tell a lie; it just don't sit right. Man, I know I ain't told any sort of lie in years - but you'd think I might get away with that one, something so puny and small and harmless and daft that don't cause no one no harm. But there it is: I just can't lie. Ah well.

To cap it all, the email comes through that I've passed to the final round. 300 students quizzed and I'm one of twenty-eight to score twenty and above. Top mark was 33; the lowest - don't laugh - just 3.

Not a chance in a million I'll get on there. And not even an ounce of wanting to - you think I wanna look dumb as I stumble and fall under Paxman's mighty glare and the crushing intellects of Spod's College, Oxwank next to three weird-haired toff's ass Leeds kids? No ways. Like: zoiks.

But first round were fun. And I learned something about lying. Which is nice.