Bridge

I was taken aback by the letter that accompanied my daughter’s school report last week. ‘Traditionally, reports have been written by teachers,’ it stated. But to save teachers time, ‘the school has moved to an AI-supported system where the teachers enter bullet points and the AI crafts suitable prose… We hope that you won’t notice the difference’. Call me a Luddite, but I don’t want AI-generated prose. Imagine if I approached my bridge columns this way. I was going to write about Michael Gove’s love of bridge, but by way of an experiment, here’s ChatGPT:

‘Michael Gove has a reputation for juggling high-profile roles, but it’s at the bridge table where his true passion lies. He treats every hand like a high-stakes negotiation. And if you think he played hardball in parliament, wait until you see him go head-to-head at bridge. A bidding war? Watch out. A misplayed card? Don’t even think about it. So, the next time you find yourself across the table from Gove, don’t be fooled by the charming smile. Behind those glasses is a man who’s calculating every move.’

And this is me, as Mike Yarwood used to say. I hope you notice the difference. Mind you, ChatGPT isn’t wrong – Michael does have a passion and talent for bridge. He plays often with friends, one of whom, Neil Mendoza, recently showed me this deal:

No faffing around: after Michael opened 1NT, Neil leapt to 7NT. West led a club. There were 12 top tricks, and an easy 13 if an opponent held ♠️Qx, or hearts divided 3-3. But Michael did well not to test hearts too soon: in bridge, as in politics, timing is every-thing. Instead, he ended in dummy holding: ♠️3 ♥️3 ♦️Q opposite ♠️J ♥️Q6. On the play of the ♦️Q, East, down to ♠️Q ♥️109, was squeezed: he released a heart and Michael’s hearts were now good.