We like our team name tonight. It’s great. Now that is scientific fact – there’s no real evidence for it – but it is scientific fact. Unfortunately no-one else in the pub tonight is a fan of Brass Eye, it seems, and no-one else finds it particularly amusing.

It’s St. Patrick’s day outside the pub, and Evil Patrick’s day inside. Sometimes we win his quizzes; sometimes we leave the pub humiliated and ashamed. Tonight starts off quite promisingly, with a spectacular guess about a highly obscure cricket question. For those of us who are not Ivan, all cricket questions are highly obscure, and a question asking for the silver medallist at the 1900 Olympics is as baffling as any. Ivan is not here, so we guess France, and we turn out to be right.

After the first couple of rounds we’re in a solid-ish fourth place, only a few points away from big money. But then it goes horribly wrong. Poetry and classics are really not my thing at all, and they’re not Oli’s, Stu’s or Eldrik’s either, but they are definitely Patrick’s, and they feature heavily. We score a woeful two points in round three, hurtling down the order from quite near the top to very near the bottom. The fourth round sees no recovery. And then, adding insult to injury, someone wins 250 pounds on the snowball.