Magazine article The Spectator

Single-Minded

Magazine article The Spectator

Single-Minded

Article excerpt

I'm getting married this week, and I still haven't found the right dress, or booked the florist, or worked out the placement at lunch. Frankly, I've never been this unprepared for a bridge tournament.

My husband-to-be doesn't play bridge (I doubt he'd ever have fallen for me if he did, given how many faces I pull when I concentrate), but he's very tolerant of the amount of time I dedicate to the game. People keep asking me if he's going to learn, but he doesn't want to - and I'm relieved. It would take years for him to catch up and anyway, I'm mindful of how fraught husband-and-wife bridge partnerships can be (think of John Bennett from Kansas City, whose wife shot him dead when he went down in 4[spades]).

Given that this is my last column as a singleton, it seems appropriate to describe a hand that cropped up last week in which my friend Henry Dimbleby was canny enough in defence to use my singleton against me:

West led the [clubs]2. …

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