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
Anyone who doubts that bridge keeps your brain sharp in old age should have a game with Bernard Teltcher. Bernard recently celebrated his 95th-and-a-half birthday (very touching, I thought), but don’t be fooled by his frail demeanour or his wheelchair. He’s a formidable opponent. Not only is he one of the best high-stake players at
All the best players today are technically excellent in card play. They know all the odds and end plays to bring home their contract or thwart the opposition so the important differences are often in the bidding. Finding the best game, slam or partscore, played from the right hand, is vital. But there is another
Long-married couples are notoriously intolerant of one another at the bridge table. It’s as if all their pent-up irritation comes bursting forth — no matter how humiliating for their partner. Frankly, some players are so mean to their spouses that if they behaved like that in everyday life, it would be classified as mental cruelty.
When I was first married, there were no satnavs to hold our hands; we relied on maps (if there was one handy) or trial and error. Whenever my husband wasn’t sure whether to go left or right he would ask me. ‘Left,’ I might say. He immediately turned right — and he was never wrong.
Over the many years I’ve been playing competitive bridge, I’ve managed to cobble together a system-file which now runs to about 20 pages. It’s basically a melting-pot of suggestions from the various pros I’ve been lucky enough to partner. But I haven’t a clue how to lay it out properly, and it’s full of gaps
It’s that time of year again — summer and its attendant holidays. No bridge for me for a month, unless you count the odd tournament online or playing my favourite computer programme, Bridge Baron. I love the Baron, not only for the squillions of hands it throws up but also because you can play a
It’s hard to explain to non-bridge players just how all-consuming this game is. For those of us who move in the same highly competitive circles, it’s simply a way of life. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about bridge. For now, though, my kids are on their summer break, so bridge has
Last Friday, merrily on my way to Young Chelsea (still the best IMPs duplicate in town), I couldn’t know that my very dull outfit would cause offence. I found a seat, and was sitting with my back to the room getting settled when the lovely new manager, Louisa, beckoned me over. There had been a
I have a horrible feeling my column this week is going to read like a mutual-back-scratch. In the last issue, Janet wrote about my team winning the Hubert Phillips Trophy (which gave my ego as much of a boost as winning the thing itself). Now her team has gone and won the ‘Patton Lavazza’ at
The Hubert Phillips is a knockout tournament unlike any other. First it is mixed — there has to be at least one male and one female playing at all times. Second, the scoring is total points (honours count). And lastly everyone plays a set with each of his/her teammates. Rubber bridge, in effect. This year’s
When my talented friend Paula Leslie and I decided to put a team together for the Hubert Philips Bowl (England’s mixed teams championship), it was really just an excuse to see more of each other. Six undefeated matches later, and our team has won the cup! We’re all elated: we beat Sandra Penfold’s team by
Ostend has been host to hundreds of bridge players representing their various countries in the European Teams Championships. The ten-day marathon across three disciplines (Open, Women and Seniors) has two functions: first, to find the gold, silver and bronze European medallists, and second, to select the top eight teams (out of 33) who will go
I’ve just come back from Ostend, where I spent four perfect days. No, not sun, sea and sand — eight hours of intensive bridge, followed by non-stop hand analysis over supper. I was there for the European women’s pairs, partnering the wonderful Marusa Basa (soon to become Mrs David Gold). After qualifying for the A
Talk about Custer’s Last Stand. My poor old team has been knocked out of all this year’s main tournaments — the Gold Cup (I’m still reeling), Hubert Phillips, the Schapiro Spring Foursomes (worst performance ever) — which left Crockford’s the only competition left in which to qualify for the final. To do that we went
Not many players can pull a fast one on Gunnar Hallberg. The seasoned Swede, who came to live over here 20 years ago, has a fearsome reputation, both internationally (representing Sweden, then England) and also at the rubber bridge table. For as long as I can remember, he’s been a regular in the high-stake game
Martin Hoffman, who died last week, had an extraordinary life. Born in Prague in 1929, he was the only member of his family to survive the Holocaust and came to live in England soon after being liberated in 1945. He learned bridge by kibbitzing at a local club and became one of the most brilliant
I’ve always suspected that pessimists make better card players than optimists — and I recently came across the proof. A study by a group of psychologists from Central Michigan University has found that the ‘glass-half-empty’ brigade really do perform better at the gaming table; they tend to remember their losses rather than their winnings, making
This year’s Schapiro Spring Foursomes, England’s best tournament by a mile, wasn’t held in the usual Stratford-upon-Avon venue but in the rather grim Warwick Hilton. Adding energy and enthusiasm were four or five junior teams. Don’t imagine they are treated with kid gloves, though. A well-known figure on the circuit was playing against the Under
Playing rubber bridge the other afternoon for higher stakes than usual (£20 per hundred), I had a memorably miserable time. I just couldn’t pick up any points, and began losing money at such an alarming rate that I told myself I’d play one more rubber, then quit if my cards didn’t improve. What was
