Beloved pub quiz night saved!
The pub quiz with a difference!
Yorkshire’s most charming pub quiz!
Hello, Dolly!
I click on them, but my mind is whirring too fast to read the words.
The screen blurs in front of my eyes as I scroll through pages of write-ups about the quiz night, and more specifically, aboutme. Every single article has photos of me, or the campervan, or both. There’s an entire article about my arrival here, the campervan and the café, and how none of the locals know where I came from, but they think I was sent to restore the heart to their village. Another article recounts the story of the heartless second-home buyer determined to rid the village of their humble pub quiz and how I’m leading the fight against it.
This is a calamity.
I trace it backwards. The articles reference a video on YouTube, and I think of Lettie’s clips again. I knew they were filming bits and pieces on the night, but I didn’t think they’d be shared beyond their 225 followers.
I find the village social media pages, which are awash with photos and clips from Friday’s quiz night. Likes, loves and comments. So many comments. I scroll through but my hands are shaking too much to hold the phone steady and I end up accidentally ‘liking’ comments that say things like ‘So glad to see you guys back at it!’ and ‘I knew something so wholesome wouldn’t stay gone forever! Long live The Agatha Quizties!’
Every post links to a longer YouTube video, which has short clips of the best moments recorded from the night, and a full livestream which was broadcast on the night is still available to watch, and it’s all hosted on Thimblenouth’s own channel that has… definitelynot225 followers.
The thumbnail picture of the video is a still of me leaning out of the campervan window when Lettie had called over, ‘Say hello, Dolly!’
‘Hello, Dolly!’ I’d obliged, because it’s a joke I’ve heard many times after so many years of sharing a name with the famous Barbra Streisand film. And now it’s the main photo that’s plastered across the internet.
‘Did you know they were filming?’ I stumble out of the campervan in a daze and look around for Reece, who’s bringing empty cups back to the serving hatch.
‘Yeah, I said it was okay. It was me the camera was on the most so they wanted my permission to livestream it. They said their subscribers liked to play along at home.’
‘And youletthem?’
‘Yeah, of course. Why not? I didn’t think it would do any harm. They only have 225 followers.Ihave more followers than that and I haven’t posted on social media in about fifteen years. I thought it would be good publicity for the Marzipan Campervan if any of the followers were local.’
‘There’s something they missed when telling us about those 225 followers – three zeros.’ I push the phone at him. ‘It’s 225,000 followers, Reece! At least, itwas. It’s shot up to over 300,000 now! Some of these clips have got nearly half a million views!’
‘Oh, sweet niblets, that’sbrilliant!’ He instantly realises I don’t mean it in a good way and tries to backpedal. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…wow. I had no idea thatsomany people would be interested in what we did the other night. That’s… um…’
‘There’s a photo of me in mystolencampervan advertising it!’
He grimaces, but he’s trying not to show his excitement. He’s front-and-centre of that video, and there arehundredsof comments saying what a good host he is, and as he scrolls down them, there’s a smile twitching on his lips that he tries to hide.
And I feel a bit guilty. In any other circumstances, this would be an amazing thing. The kind of attention that could make or break a new business like the Marzipan Campervan, but these are not normal circumstances, and this is the kind of attention that gets you found by people who are looking for you.
Reecedeservescomments saying how wonderful he is. He deserves people from far and wide tuning in and enjoying his masterful handling of quiz night. The village ladies have earned their thousands of followers. I’ve never before met anyone who’s made me feel as welcome as Lettie, Madge and Wilma have made me feel here. They deserve their big comeback livestream. They deserve to enjoy their pub quizzes as much as they used to and to share that with as many people as they want.
But the one thingIneeded was to stay anonymous.
Anxiety floods my entire body in a wave and coldness settles in my stomach like I’ve swallowed an ice cube whole, and I can’t get my words out properly. ‘I need some air.’
‘You’re outside. It doesn’t get any airier than that!’ Instead of laughing, Reece pulls a chair over, pushes me to sit down on it, and crouches in front of me.
‘Jared’s going to see these articles,’ I say after a few deep breaths. ‘It’s going to lead him right to my door. This was supposed to be somewhere I’d never be found, and somehow, we’ve made enough of an impact that half the internet is talking about us.’
‘Breathe.’ Reece’s hands cover my knees and he waits until I look him in the eyes and push out a long breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts. ‘Let’s think rationally. I know it feels like a lot of people, but that’s not half the internet. It’s a very small fraction of a few people who might read one article or watch one clip and then never think about us again. Does Jared have any specific interest in pub quizzes?’
I shake my head.
‘Then it’s highly unlikely that he’s going to be browsing videos of Yorkshire pub quiz nights. It’s a small thing that appeals to a niche group of people and it doesn’t sound like Jared would be one of them.’
‘But when something gets a lot of attention like this, it pops up everywhere. We’ve all seen a quirky local news story one day and by the next day, it’s been reported on by every major outlet and is all over everywhere.’
