Turning 50: how the ambitious Highland fling became a Zoom quiz

Johnson’s roadmap to nowhere put an end to any chances of Trudy celebrating her friend’s 50th birthday in person, and so once again she logged on to her computer. By Christine Manby

(Illustration by Tom Ford)

This time last year, my friend Hannah and I celebrated her birthday over lunch. We had just one glass of wine apiece as we both had to go straight from the restaurant to meetings. In any case, we told each other, Hannah’s next birthday, her 50th, was going to be epic. She’d already booked a huge house in the Highlands, where 25 of us would be gathering for a whole weekend.

Cut to February 2021 and Boris’s “roadmap to nowhere” dealt the final blow to that plan. With a one-to-one on a park bench still the only legal celebratory option until April (though I wouldn’t put any money on that deadline), the country house weekend was downgraded to a Zoomquiz.

Hannah and I have known each other since Brownies. I joined with enthusiasm but gave up after Brown Owl failed my third attempt to get a House Orderly badge when I slopped tea from cup to saucer while serving the lady mayoress. Hannah stuck with guiding, later joining the Venture Scouts, where she met her husband Matt.

Despite my disillusionment with uniformed youth organisations, Hannah and I remained good friends and when she had her first child, she asked me to be godmother. I was delighted to “renounce the devil” for Coraline, though I’m not sure it helped. She’s insisted on being called Caroline since she joined the Young Conservatives.

It was Caroline who put together the Zoom alternative to her mother’s Bacchanalian bash. With the help of her father, whose input was required in the form of a credit card, she arranged for everyone on the guest list to receive a three half-bottle wine-tasting pack to drink during the quiz. “And not before,” as Caroline’s instructions made clear.

On Saturday evening, I placed three cleanish glasses next to my laptop in preparation for the big night. Caroline had also arranged for all participants to receive a box of snacks and a fairy cake. Really, it was far better than any PR event I’d pulled together. None of the snacks were made of parsnip for a start.

I spent a lot of time wondering what I would wear. I’ve got Zoom dressing for work down pat – business up top, trackie bottoms below – but Hannah’s party required looking like I’d made an effort. I pulled out the outfit I would have worn were we celebrating in a Highland Castle: a sequinned dress from Zara, bought in the January 2020 sales. I’d expected to get a lot of use out of it in December of that benighted year. I kept the tags on. If the dress was only going to get one airing at a Zoom quiz, I wanted to be able to flog it “brand new with tags” on eBay.

The screen filled with faces I hadn’t seen in ages. There was Hannah’s brother, Todd. Either he was using a Yoda filter or he’d had a very hard lockdown indeed

At 7pm sharp, I logged into Zoom. The screen slowly filled with faces I hadn’t seen in ages. There was Hannah’s brother, Todd. Either he was using a Yoda filter or he’d had a very hard lockdown indeed. There were Hannah’s parents.

“Hello, Trudy! Still single?” asked her dad.

“Of course she’s still single. Look at the state of her kitchen,” said Hannah’s mum, having failed to put herself on mute.

There were Chloe and Damian, Hannah’s sister-in-law and her husband. They were flanked by four daughters looking like Russian dolls by Boden. And there was Jenny, part of the original Brownie Mafia. She still had the same blunt fringe and slightly dazzled gaze. She shared her screen with her husband, who had a matching hairdo. They definitely haven’t been visited by an illegal lockdown coiffeuse.

Caroline played MC. The first round was “politics”, of course. I only got “who is the attorney general” right because I answered “Suella Braverman” to every question. I used the same tactic in the sports round, answering “Chelsea FC”. For the general knowledge round, I alternated between “Sars-Cov-2” and “Henry VIII”. Between rounds, Caroline invited each of us to taste the wines and guess the grapes. I came out top on that.

“Lots of practice,” said Hannah’s mum. Still unmuted.

Then Caroline asked us to tell each other what we’d been doing in lockdown 3. Todd had set up a successful cheese delivery company. The Boden girls had been fielding offers from various talent agencies since their rendition of “So long, farewell” went viral. Jenny and her husband were building an extension…

I’d forgotten to put myself on mute . Three half bottles of wine to oneself is quite a lot, it turns out

“Bastards,” I muttered, thinking of my own neighbours.

“What’s that Trudy?”

I’d forgotten to put myself on mute . Three half bottles of wine to oneself is quite a lot, it turns out.

The last round of the quiz was personal to Hannah. She feigned modesty as Caroline asked the zoom attendees questions such as, “How many badges did Mum earn in Venture Scouts?” Finally Caroline asked, “Does Mum have any tattoos?”

The other guests wrote “no” but I wrote “yes” because I was with Hannah when we both got tattoos on the last night of our first holiday abroad: an 18-30 trip to Ibiza. I had a small heart on my hip bone. Hannah had… well, Hannah had a picture of Wylie Coyote because her holiday romance – the man to whom she lost her virginity – dared her. The tattoo lasted far longer than the fling of course.

“Auntie Trudy,” Caroline snorted. “Mum would never have a tattoo.”

“Hannah! Tell them,” I said. “Tell them about the squaddie with Roadrunner on his bum.”

Hannah looked a little unwell. Her husband looked confused. Was it possible he hadn’t seen the tattoo? Hannah had always been very good at hiding love-bites with concealer back when we were teens.

I pretended to lose connection. When I logged back in, Matt was lighting candles on a birthday cake. We guests sang Happy Birthday. “This is the best party ever,” Hannah lied.

The worst thing about Zoom is saying “good-bye”, isn’t it? It’s so much more brutal to see someone’s face disappear from a screen than to simply end a phone call. Thankfully Caroline ended the meeting for all of us, or we might have hung around all night.

While I sat at my laptop in a slightly drunken haze, composing an apology to Hannah for having mentioned the tattoo, Minky crept out from her hiding spot. I hadn’t yet put out her supper. As I tipped the seed onto the kitchen floor, she got close enough for me to have a proper look at her for once.

Her eyes glittered like small black pearls as she loaded all the seed into her cheeks with the grim determination of my neighbour Brenda acting on a Facebook food shortage tip-off. Then, on her way back to the fridge, Minky paused, looked back over her shoulder and squeaked. I don’t speak hamster but I‘d like to think she said “thank you” and perhaps “it will get better, you know”.