Pizza? Are you effing kidding me?!

You may remember a rather intemperate post I made some time ago about the league in the Gwyn Hall monthly film quiz. Basically we built up our expectations through the year, religiously checking how each result might affect the overall table. Then, come the December quiz and the grand finale of the league, we were fobbed off with the news that no announcement about the league would be made on the night, but it would be put on Facebook before the next quiz in January. It wasn’t. Still, we turned up to January’s quiz, maybe not full of expectation, only to be told that the grand prize for each of the winning team was going to be a T shirt.

Yes, I was underwhelmed. The stupid thing was, if they had announced that there would be no prize for the league when it started, then I wouldn’t have been disappointed. T-shirt? Meh. Then I was told earlier in the week that we are not in fact going to be given T Shirts. No. Instead the grand prize for winning the league will be . . . a pizza.

My reaction when I heard this was more – are you effing kidding me? – than – oh, well, that makes the League all worthwhile, then.

So, last night was the February quiz. Now, on 19^th February I returned to work after half term which had been preceded by three weeks off with stress, anxiety and depression, which, incidentally, is also the name of the legal firm I used when I took out my mortgage. On my first day back I was told to pi** off, to f**k off and shoved out of the way by a pupil trying to invade my classroom. Those are just the most serious incidents. So I’ve been coming home knackered. That’s not the problem. I’ve been going into work knackered as well, dreading what some of these kids might put me through.

So come last night I just could not shake myself to attend. Just couldn’t. This despite the fact that it was about one of my better categories – Sci fi. I’ll find out how the guys got on when I see them tonight. It was just as well I didn’t go, because the way I was feeling I might have told the organisers to shove their pizza right where the sun don’t shine.