Gettin Jiggy Wid It

Staring at a large image of two black labrador pups playing in a garden, after forty years of marriage we broached the subject. Are we compatible? It may seem to you to be a long time to wait before deciding but some things are best not rushed. So we had a conversation. Tentative at first but then more passionate, about the right way to do it. And do you know, we agreed. So we did it. And enjoyed it.

First we sorted the straight edges from the rest of the pieces. Then we identified the four corner pieces and assembled the framework.

Then we carried out a thorough sort, identifying some obvious colour groupings. The black pieces were mainly dog. The grey ones paving slabs. The brown bits crate or barrel (hard to tell apart).

As the crates and paving became more complete we sorted more thoroughly learning to tell brown crate from brown slab. and although there were some subtle differences in our technique - I was the more patient and fastidious sorter; she the more emotional commentator on how difficult the whole task was - we worked together on a task, chatting, drinking from tea into wine and listening to music.

Instead of spending our holiday evenings sitting at opposite ends of a sofa reading; or sitting gazing lovingly at iPads, or watching one too many episodes of a box set before retiring, we did a 1000 piece jigsaw. I say 'did'. We had to give up at about 800 because we ran out of holiday and by then it was obvious that we had at least ten bits missing. Although we did identify four pieces that belonged in one of the other jigsaws - a puzzle two previous solvers had noted on the box had five pieces missing. Make that one.

But even the decision to put an unfinished jigsaw puzzle back in the box was taken agreeably.

So now we have a new leisure activity. We have bought ourselves a couple of puzzles and visitors to Vynes Mansions are welcome to join in.

And if you fancy a swap some time. Well we'd be up for that. And with the door into double entendre room firmly ajar I bid you good afternoon.

Odd Socks Anyone?

There's a Facebook-connected game called Odd Socks which I play a lot. To get the truth out there, I have made getting on for 40,000 moves in this low-skill game over the last year or so.

If you haven't seen it don't worry. There is a washing line with socks on it. Touch two that match and they disappear. Random socks then appear from a washing-machine. You can swap socks from other players' discard piles and also with a gamebot called Susie. Swapping with Susie can only happen once a minute.

After discarding five socks you have to use game points to clear the bin. These points are built up 10 at a time by each matching. Clearing the bin costs 250 points. It is a well-designed and delicate game balance. If you don't want to pay real money to continue (I don't and never have) you will get about ten minutes play twice a day. Or one minute twenty times a day.

Why am I telling you this?

Back in the early days of PCs offices were full of people playing Minesweeper, Solitaire, Freecell and the like - during lunch breaks or while waiting for slow printers to work.

A chance chat with a colleague led us both to realise that we were using the games differently. Those games - and Odd Socks is the same - use just enough mental activity to keep your mind keen. But they also allow a lot of free left brain to ponder and think about other things.

I use these games, Odd Socks being the current help, to solve other problems. Whilst playing my mind is wandering over the day to come, anticipating things to look out for, stuff to say and tasks to do. I don't like surprises so try to avoid them. There may be something of the lawyer about me.

It is neither distraction nor displacement.

All non-players mock. They call me a time-waster. They joke that they would never have time for such a thing. Nobody who doesn't get it, gets it.

But I am a better-equipped person for playing. I almost don't expect you to believe me.

Estate Agent, Nanny, Thief

A game, totally lacking in Christian sensitivity or political correctness (I know, I know), for those who like people-watching and wandering round unfamiliar towns.

Choose three random occupations.

As you pass people in the street you have to decide which of the three they are most likely to follow. You cannot ignore people. Everyone you pass has to be compartmentalised.

The game ends either when a) you are laughing so much you cannot continue or b) you pass someone to whom all three occupations could equally apply, in which case a) normally applies, or c) you change towns.

At this point start again with three new occupations. The person who contributed two of the three in the previous game may only contribute one in the next round.

Taken from a line in a Tom Robinson song, 'Prostitute, Pansy or Punk?' is a particular amusing round.

The game is named after the three jobs we used the first time we ever played the game. It was in Tunbridge Wells.

Know Ideas 5

Lots of shops give you a paper bag for your goods at Christmas and in the sales, especially clothes shops. These bags often have string, cloth or ribbon handles. There will be two, identical pieces of material if you pull them off the bag. Do so and save them.

Every now and again you will need to break a large group of people into pairs and you will want them to work with a relative stranger rather than a best friend.

Have a container full of pairs of former bag-handles. Shuffle them and shake them. Ask everyone to draw one out, blind. Then ask everyone to find their partner; the person with the matching handle.

Connect 4

We bought a giant Connect 4 to play in the garden but haven't been in the garden since last week due to the cold and wet. I challenged Mrs T to a game and she accepted. Well shiver me timbers. We never play games and that may be one of the secrets of a long and happy marriage. I am a terrible winner. Apparently I pull a particular face.

But she won. Double shiver. She won fair and square. She won because her strategy was so rubbish I missed it whilst trying to be complicated.

And now she doesn't believe me. 'You let me win,' she complains. And I can't convince her. I didn't want to lose. I didn't try to lose. I could still win by saying that I tried to lose. But I didn't really. Honestly. Look I even blogged it. I wouldn't lie to that audience.

Do you believe me?

Psychology of Sport

I'm not a great lover of darts. I find the insistence of the half-time fag-smoking, beer belly incumberanced competitors that it is a sport not a game a bit rich.

But I found myself watching on BBC2 the final of the World Darts from the Lakeside last night and the favourite Martin Adams take a predictable six sets to nil lead in the first-to-seven match against outsider Phil Nixon. One for victory.

At this point there was a break. After this Phil, who his brother said had been advised 'just chuck the darts at the board' making you wonder what he had been doing up to this point, came out and won six sets in a row too. 6-6.

What reserves do you find in your inner psyche to win six and equalise from 6-0 down? And what more do you find to be dragged back to 6-6 and then do what Adams did and go on to win?

Big bellys, but cool heads. Entertaining.