David Green

David Green (Books) is the imprint under which I published booklets of my own poems. The original allocation of ISBN numbers is used up now, though. The 'Collected Poems' are now available as a pdf. The website is now what it has become, often more about music than books and not so often about poems. It will be about whatever suggests itself.

Friday, 6 November 2009

Eggheads


One wouldn’t want to admit to being an avid television viewer or else you might give the impression of being a low-brow and readers would never visit your website again. But I do watch a few editions of Eggheads each week, later on the iplayer or some such piece of technology. It is likeable, cosy, comforting viewing and I’ve gradually come to like all of the eggheads, from the pouting and preening C.J. to the immensely sensible Kevin Ashman but my favourite is probably posh Judith.
One quiz team I used to appear with were invited to represent a pub in Southsea for the first series before we knew what the quiz was like and I’m now quite glad that never happened.
However, last week during the sister programme, Are You an Egghead, it almost began to look as if I’d written the questions even though I had no memory of doing so. Firstly there was a question who wrote a Novel on Yellow Paper. Well, we all know it was Stevie Smith, of course, but given the options of Thom Gunn and Stephen Spender, the hapless contender went for Gunn. But I stared at the screen in disbelief. Thom Gunn was an option on a daytime TV quiz show. It said ‘Thom Gunn’ in writing on the screen. It wasn’t a dream either.
Later they were asked which poet’s letters were edited by Anthony Thwaite and had a biography written by Andrew Motion. Neither contestant knew but Barry thought it was Larkin. I stared at the screen more intently wondering which iconic figure from the pantheon of my literary heroes was going to crop up next.
No others did but a further question asked at which club some footballer had begun his career and although the answer was Tottenham, Fulham was an option.
I did once promise at one of Pete Custer’s Portsmouth pub quizzes that if Philip Larkin was ever an answer in one of his quizzes then I would pay the prize money. It never happened because most of the questions were about soap operas or Westlife but, it just goes to show, the poets of the 1950’s are on the fringe of quiz question material.
At this rate, I’m looking forward to when they ask who wrote The Last of the Great Dancers, was it Lionel Blair, Fred Astaire or David Green. They’ll never get that one either.

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