I'm twenty-eight years old, twen-tee-eight, and I'm on the village pub Sunday night league quiz team. Trotting out of my front door to go to the pub the other night I found myself wondering just how it all came about.

I was born and raised in a large industrial town in the north-west of England. As a kid I ran around concrete streets, occasionally, well more often than not really, dirtying my knees (and everything else) on the paving slabs and gravel round the back of my house, and in one incident dodging a grubby mac-ed flasher (true!). A far cry from where I sit now. I hold political views that are at polar opposites to those I held in my teenage years, and all those things I scorned as unnecessary possessions even seven years ago are now creeping their way into cupboards in my kitchen and bathroom.

The quiz team has not won one game this season, but it doesn't really matter, as they say 'it's the taking part that counts'. Hhmmm. At least at the end of every game, home or away, there is free food (better in some places than others), hand shaking and sincere smiles from the opposing team (well, they have just won) and then either a mad dash back to our village pub to recount our woes and get a drink in before last orders, or just a general sense of relief that the other team have gone thereby giving us a chance to dissect the two sets of questions from that nights game and to conclude, unanimously, that theirs were easier.

Ten years ago my social life consisted of an extended group of friends all hanging out (sometimes it was that full) at the same pub, same time, often the same seats, every week. The predecessors of my Barbour wax jacket and wellies were a German army great coat (far too large, and with no zip, kind of became a wraparound job) and Dr. Marten boots with [insert colour of choice] tights and tie-dye skirts. Drinks of choice were either Southern Comfort and Coke or Hooch, now sadly demised. Today, my tolerance for alcohol is lower, spirits are reserved for Christmas, and that little voice inside my head tells me that red wine is just that little bit more, well, refined. Never a word I would use out loud about myself, but perhaps now I take my appearance that bit more'¦seriously.

Life in the village is often dull, lets be honest its not all Emmerdale, but the pub lights are a constant and the quiz league gets you through the darkest months of winter with many a surprise, quite a few genius moments and a reserved seat by the fire.

Maybe it all came about because these are the things that I've been drawn to without realising it, a good old gossip without the evening being excessively drunken, a comfortable environment where you do know everyone and don't have to worry about how 'alternative' you can make your attire look and a walk home where it doesn't bother you in the slightest that there is no street lighting'¦.Oh my god'¦.I'm getting older.

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