Etiquette, politesse, morality, trawthe and last night's School Quiz.

Last night, the School Quiz. A Fundraising event with the emphasis on FUN. Or in other words a complex minefield of morality and politesse that would cause Sir Gawain to blanche.

Firstly, you are in a team with other people - complete strangers, although doubtless very pleasant, whose relationship with the school you will only tease out slowly through the rest of the evening. Only two join your table at first but you fear there may be a large extended family waiting in the wings. You and yours have already chosen your team name (a challenge in its own right, as you have to deal with different ages and the resulting multiple aesthetics), and in which round you will play the joker. Then you have to try and share these decisions with your new, strange, team members in such a way that they won't think you are dictating to them (which you are) and yet don't want to change any of it.

And then there are the answers. When you are nearly sure that you know the answer but one of the others, who you don't know particularly well is of a different view, how may you reasonably negotiate? Also, when the answers are read out, exactly when is it acceptable to shout Yes! Yes! Yes! and punch the air? (I only indulged in that once last night) ** Remember, this is meant to be FUN but THE TEACHERS MUST NOT WIN. That is the only, the overriding imperative. But as Gawain discovered, winning takes several forms - and I think we were reminded of that last night.

So, to cut to the chase, let me set the scene: We had completed four of the five rounds, we had all handed in our answer sheets (none of this swapping sheets malarkey - too open to abuse), and the marks were coming up on the data projector. A simple Excel spreadsheet. And...

We were in the lead!!

Not alone, and the scores were pretty tight, but...

We were in the lead!!

But the IT teachers on a nearby table were mumbling and niggling. At least I think they were, it was hard to tell; quite a lot of generalised grunting had been coming from that direction anyway - it being their favoured approximation to human language. Anyway, they weren't happy, and kept pointing at the screen. So I had a look too.

There was an error in the spreadsheet. The numbers didn't add up.

A real ethical quandary. Not the obvious thing (do you argue back and try to assert that the arithmetic is correct, they've just been drinking too much). No. It's the 'Do you offer to try and fix it so the IT teachers don't get their hands on it' question. The 'Would they make it worse, or set it up so they would automatically win' question.

How much do you trust your children's teachers?

I couldn't risk it. I got up and vounteered to fix the damn spreadsheet. Sigh.

(The error was obvious, and I simplified the sums, and thankfully they switched the data projector off while I fiddled with the laptop, so my hamfistedness witht he mouse wasn't shown to all and sundry).

Once fixed, all the scores had adjusted themselves, and we were now in joint second place (with the IT teachers). Another team (with yet more teachers on it) had taken a small lead. (Boo!)

Then I had to explain myself to the rest of my table. Why were we no longer winning?

Anyway, we had a break (auction/fundraising - more moral challenges: is the table of drunk ex-students and sixth formers at the back really to be trusted when they bid large sums for more booze?) and then into the final picture round. We did OK (missed Winchester Cathedral, got the Collisseum). Headscratching by the organisers, and then the results flashed up on the projector.

A completely different team had won. No teachers on the team (hooray!), but the scores made no sense. If the projection was correct, they had been winning last round also (and the round before that too). But that wasn't what the spreadhseet had said last time we saw it.

Of course, there was a remote possibility that I had messed up the spreadsheet. But in my arrogance I assumed that wasn't it. Or maybe the organisers had quietly realised that they'd mis-entered the results earlier. But no - surely they would have said so. It was suddenly crystal clear what happened:

There was a fiddle going on. Someone was fixing the School Quiz.

I got a little upitty. My family, (not wanting a scene), calmed me down. Sssshhh!
The results carried on coming in. There was a team of teachers in second place.

OK then, let the result stand. Otherwise the blasted teachers will win. (What would the Green Knight say to that, I wonder? The correct answer - maybe - or at least the one most full of politesse, but certainly for a reason lacking in inner trawthe.)

And we were joint third. With another team, most of whom had left, and with...
The IT Teachers.

We could have just shared the third prize there and then. A big box of chocolates. But everyone's blood was up. A tie-break was called for. The chief organiser-person stood at the lectern and asked the question - first to answer this got the third prize. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife:

"What do the letters CPU stand for?"

Now, I may be biased, but I KNOW that I had said "Central Proc-" before any of the teachers started to say anything at all. I KNOW that the judges both pointed to me when we answered. And I KNOW that I said the whole answer, and correctly. And I am of course completely unbiased. But the IT teachers started chanting:

CENTRAL PROCESSING UNIT
CENTRAL PROCESSING UNIT
CENTRAL PROCESSING UNIT
CENTRAL PROCESSING UNIT

... and the judges wavered. One pointed at them...

So after some loud and heated debate, there was another tie break question made up on the spot, which no-one could answer (although the IT teachers, flushed with success, tried chanting "Central Processing Unit" again, just in case). And so we all gave up, shared the chocolates, and called it a day. The fun fundraising was over.

And I still bear the scars.

We'll beat them next year.

(** For knowing - or kind of working out - the year of Shakespeare's birth)