Easy come...
A fellow b3tan, his mate and I were enjoying a commiseratory pint one Sunday evening when a girl came around with entry sheets for the pub quiz. "Why not," thought we and duly entered. Pound each, top prize was a £50 bar tab.

The quiz began, nothing too hectic, probably the first round softening us up. Second round, bit obscure but this other guy knew quite a lot about film, it seemed, and was happily hitting them out of the park. Picture round was a bit ropey - definitely a few guesses in there - and the final round we were a bit clueless on. Anyway, we handed in our sheets, waited for the final scores.. and found we'd won.

At least, we had won until another team started kicking up a fuss about one of the answers. It slowly became apparent that they knew the manager and were pissed that he hadn't let them win. After some haggling we let them have the point before gently breaking it to them that we'd actually beaten them by a margin of five, which is sadly greater than one, and so we still took the prize and ordered a last round of pints.

Of course, with our hackles up at this point when the manager said the £50 all had to be spent in one night my flatmate, without missing a beat, simply ordered the balance in assorted shots which we triumphantly knocked back within the subsequent twenty minutes while pointing, laughing and generally giving the other team what we judged to be their just deserts in unabashed mockery.

The ten minute walk home, as I recall, ended up taking nearly two hours after I blundered onto a rose garden on a roundabout and declared myself so incapacitated as to require a trip to a nightclub "to dance the booze off a bit".

Did I mention it was Sunday night?

I paid for our swift-drinking arrogance with the single worst Monday morning on record. Apparently, double-winning doesn't work like that.
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Sun 1 May 2011, 22:40, 2 replies)

So, your story is
Easy come...
A fellow b3tan, his mate and I were enjoying a commiseratory pint one Sunday evening when a girl came around with entry sheets for the pub quiz. "Why not," thought we and duly entered. Pound each, top prize was a £50 bar tab.

The quiz began, nothing too hectic, probably the first round softening us up. Second round, bit obscure but this other guy knew quite a lot about film, it seemed, and was happily hitting them out of the park. Picture round was a bit ropey - definitely a few guesses in there - and the final round we were a bit clueless on. Anyway, we handed in our sheets, waited for the final scores.. and found we'd won.

At least, we had won until another team started kicking up a fuss about one of the answers. It slowly became apparent that they knew the manager and were pissed that he hadn't let them win. After some haggling we let them have the point before gently breaking it to them that we'd actually beaten them by a margin of five, which is sadly greater than one, and so we still took the prize and ordered a last round of pints.

Of course, with our hackles up at this point when the manager said the £50 all had to be spent in one night my flatmate, without missing a beat, simply ordered the balance in assorted shots which we triumphantly knocked back within the subsequent twenty minutes while pointing, laughing and generally giving the other team what we judged to be their just desserts in unabashed mockery.

The ten minute walk home, as I recall, ended up taking nearly two hours after I blundered onto a rose garden on a roundabout and declared myself so incapacitated as to require a trip to a nightclub "to dance the booze off a bit".

Did I mention it was Sunday night?

I paid for our swift-drinking arrogance with the single worst Monday morning on record. Apparently, double-winning doesn't work like that.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Sun 1 May 2011, 23:52, closed)

Yes
I have a strangely ominous feeling about you quoting it, as if you're going to reveal some horrendously embarrassing context which will make me want to edit but, well, no matter because here comes a man and I'm going to ask him something about shirts.
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Mon 2 May 2011, 0:19, closed)

I'm sorry, I can't help it....
It's "just deserts" The cake shops made a pun by saying "desserts" and now people get it muddled.
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Mon 2 May 2011, 20:43, closed)

You are, sir
completely correct. A slip of the finger for which I trust you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
( pineapplecharm D d M Y, H:i, Tue 3 May 2011, 1:43, closed)