Winners and Losers

First it was squash, then it was Sudoku. I must have been in my early twenties when I was completely trounced on the squash court by the then elderly Dr Bobby Wright. My humiliation was such that I don’t think I’ve picked up a squash racquet since. The good doctor is now in his nineties and has very poor eyesight, but I have no doubt that if I challenged him to a re-match the result would be the same.

I was reminded of that game of squash last weekend when I met up with my sister and the younger brother (bless them both), and was surprised to find that they are both much, much more adept at Sudoku than I. So good, in fact, that I’ll have to find another pastime, especially as the younger brother does the “Fiendish” Sudoku in “two cigarettes” (around 15 minutes), while the sister criticises him for annotating the squares with possible numbers (rather than carrying them in his head). I was still struggling with “Gentle” and “Moderate” Sudoku games and reckoned that completing one of those in two or three days was a not inconsiderable triumph.

The gathering of members of my family was because of a party being held in Wimbledon as part of a summer-long series of celebrations to mark my sister’s (forthcoming) historic second term of marriage. Here were great friends from our past and it was heartening to see them again. Many were curious about my failed business ventures and relocation to deepest West Sussex. Rumours were also spreading about my “blogging” activities (“What’s a Blog? Why Nappa? And what does he Rant about?”).

But it took the brazen-ness of the Irish to put matters into a refreshing new perspective: “Well, your business was doomed from the start wasn’t it; those stupid computer books – no-one wants to read those things – it couldn’t possibly succeed”, declared my old pal Francis O’Toole, who I hadn’t seen for several years. “And what is more, it is all to the good, because of course you can now make pots of money out your lack of success. Just sign up as a professional after-dinner speaker and people will listen in wonderment to how you almost made a success out of such a damned silly idea – seven and half thousand pounds a time I shouldn’t wonder, and maybe more.”

Fortunately my business advisor (bless him) was out of earshot during this tirade, and now that I am safely out of range again, I will admit that Frannie’s idea, though fanciful, does betray a certain elegance. I don’t think however that the after dinner fees will roll in automatically, and so I have decided to write a memoir to fall somewhere between the “Humour” and “Business” sections of your local Waterstones so that I can be referred to as author of the best-selling “How to Make a Complete Arse Out of a Successful Business” or something similar. However I’ll have to complete the other masterwork (my French-English Dictionary of Fish) first…