In an effort to stop obsessing about the pink toilet scarcity, I pootled along to a pub trivia competition last night. If you heard, from the tippy-top of your turret in Ontario, the heart-rending strains of a bespectacled baron wailing in the wilderness, it was me, at the most heinous excuse for a pub trivia competition of all time. The questions went something like this:
1. How much does Wayne Carey weigh?
2. Who manages the North Melbourne Fooball Team?
3. What is Wayne Carey's wife's name?
4. Which is better, Essendon Fooball Team or Collingwood Fooball Team?
5. [Insert question about the Antipodean Fooball League.]
6. [Insert question about Wayne Carey.]
7. [Et cetera. Ad infinitum. Ad nauseam.]
I s'pose the 'Bourne can't be all trams and skittles, but really, is it necessary to invoke the term "trivia" so very literally? Whatever happened to the sort of trivia a Victorianist bagpiper with entomological interests could excel in? Y'know, questions like "What is the Latin name for the cat flea?", "How many syllables in 'Charles Dickens'?", "Were there any pink toilets listed on ebay today?".*
* Have just realised I don't know how to punctuate this sentence. Corrections and suggestions will be respectfully filed for future acts of pedantry.