Scottish money

Last night I went to the local pub quiz of the friend I am staying with here in London, along with some of her other friends.

It is apparently renowned for being very difficult, but not only do I love pub quizzes, I’ve also got a bit of form – I’ve won trips to New York and Cairo in university quizzes and also a weekend in Prague at a work conference a few years ago.

I was further boosted by the specialist round this week being “Scottish entertainers”. Never before have I been regarded as a group’s expert on the Bay City Rollers, and I doubt I ever will be again.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, we came second, and were joined by the first and third placed teams in a sudden death “Going for Gold“-style “Who Am I?” round. We won, going through to a “Play your cards right” final, where we had the chance to win £200.

Sadly we lost that, but among the prize money was a Bank of Scotland £20 note, used earlier by yours truly to buy some drinks. I’d used a similar note earlier in the day to buy some lunch from a takeaway place, and had been left standing for five minutes while the suspicious attendant ran round to the nearest bank to have it confirmed as genuine.

The pub had initially taken my money but when the quizmaster said in dismissive tones that the prize money included Scottish money, I proudly owned up to it having been mine, and at the end he just gave it back to me.

I wasn’t sure whether to be offended by the affront to our financial sector and national pride, or chuffed to effectively have been given a free round of drinks. I’ll now have to see who else refuses the money or chooses to give it me back while I am down here…

Oh and one last thing: the answer to the “Who Am I?” round was none other than Stephen Fry.

Spooky…

2 thoughts on “Scottish money

  1. It took a while for a guy in M&S round the corner to serve me when I presented my Scottish £20 note to him in September that I was sent as a housewarming gesture from a relative. He eventually got met by a colleague who said “Of course it is real. It is Scottish!” which was kind fo lovely. It was great seeing you this weekend.

  2. I’m always a bit bemused at these stories. It’s not that I doubt their veracity; obviously, I believe everything Simon says so long as it doesn’t involve wee purple men. But I have only once, in my life, had trouble spending Scottish notes in England. The café at the Amberley Chalk Pits Working Museum (with possible subtle changes to the spelling – it was a while ago) was very rude about one and refused to let me eat in spite of my being there as part of a private function, and therefore both a relatively “known” person, and unable to go off-site to eat anywhere else. Bah, grump. But really, the rest of the time, I find them an amusing conversation piece that never raise anything other than a smile and maybe a comment or two while they’re being tucked into the ringing cash register.

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