Don’t get excited. I’m not talking about winning.
On Tuesday night I was invited to go to bingo tonight (Thursday). Now it’s not that I am antisocial or anything, but, for me, on a scale of enthusiasm of 1-10, an evening playing bingo rates about two or even less.
I would love to be good at bingo or even just enjoy taking part. On the rare occasions I have been to bingo, I have watched other people in action, yielding multi-coloured dibbers, jaws set in determination, concentrating hard on not missing a number. Their dexterity and mental agility in managing multiple sheets is a source of great wonder to me. (Kelly – you know who you are.)
How do they do it? How do they block out the mesmerising mumbles around them, fail to be distracted by the number caller’s cheeky comments or even manage to find the right numbers in the right place on the sheet within about a hundredth of a second? It is a complete mystery to me, is bingo. No matter how hard I try to concentrate, I can’t help my mind wandering off like a recalcitrant toddler, and before I know it I am about four or five numbers behind and dibbing my dibber in places it really shouldn’t be dibbed.
Is this uneasy relationship with bingo because my mind prefers to play with words instead of numbers? Do other writers feel the same as me? Or am I antisocial after all?
I think I’ll pass on tonight’s invitation. I really think I would be a liability to those who have invited me. Perhaps I could go, but not play ….?