I think my regular reader(s) would agree that I have been rather low-key about my bridge abilities of late. Defence for me became like a cataract-smitten eye trying to read the fine print — so much so that I began to bitterly judge myself Worst Defender in the Room every time I played.
But that was then. Since returning from my five-week self-imposed bridge exile things are looking up. The first weekend in September was the Crockfords Cup final. Eight teams who survived the six or so knockout matches met up in one of the ghastliest hotels in England hoping to claim the trophy. Chris Jagger’s (no relation) excellent squad won and… we came second!
Here is my defence epiphany: (see image).
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