Stories by Louis Urbanowski

Bob Hogget had all the answers. He had all the questions too.

They just so happened to be split over five rounds. The Clever Cloggs Quiz Night with Bobby Hogs was likely to be in a pub near you. As long as that pub was in Hertfordshire. 

Have car will travel, (within the M25). An opening line that usually got a laugh when he phoned up. Sometimes. Once.  

The incomparable compère, Bobby Hoggs. Tuesday, Sunday, preferably Friday night – never Wednesday though. In a world where anyone can aspire to be anything. Allegedly. People would ask Bob, why, why…this?

In between gentle sips of his dark beer, he’d lean in. Real close. The noise of the pub would disappear, as if it were just you and him. The consummate showman, lifting the curtain just for a second. He’d let his eyes shift left and right, and when the mood was just so. He’d speak. 

It all started at a young age, you see. Young Robert had trouble sleeping. Sometime between one and three in the morning, he’d be awoken. That liminal space where you’re not sure of the reality around you. A flash of light. That’s how he’d describe it. One becoming many. Strobing across his room, peppering through his window. Once up, his head would spin, his mind racing. 

The Doctors took a look at him. Sceptical faces speaking patronising words. Overactive imagination. Nothing but a trick of the light. Short shrift at home too, a soothing voice from his Ma, or a stern smack from his Pa. 

‘Nothing to worry about my sweet.’

‘You need to toughen up boy.’ 

And so, Robert was left to figure it out. So what’s a kid to do? Well he had pens, he had paper, he had time. The long nights, his only companion, the early hours a quiet place to pursue knowledge. 

Big chunky tomes. The Encyclopædia Britannica and all its volumes stacked neatly on his bookshelf. Everyone remembers their first, don’t they? Robert and the world of facts, it was love at first sight. 

The blue whale’s heart can be over 180kg, and it is the size of a small car. 

He looked out his bedroom window. His father’s car, the family automobile spotlighted in amongst the gloom by a singular street lamp. People talk about a lightbulb moment, but just then, it flickered. It went off, and then back on. Well, close enough Robert thought. So he grabbed a sheet of paper and began to scribble.

What animal has the largest heart?

And so it went on, every time a fact jumped out, it would crash onto the paper as a question. Before long, Robert had his first quiz, and not lacking a sense of showmanship he signed it off as Bobby. A nickname he desperately wanted to take off at school. 

Finishing with a sip of beer. A flash of his yellowing teeth, Bobby Hogs would be back up with the microphone, ready to crack on with round two.  

‘Now then ladies and gentlemen, we move into general knowledge. Pot luck. Here is question number one. What animal has the largest heart?’

A classic. A staple in his question bank. A-

‘We’ve had this before. Last time you were here. Are these all just the same?’ A voice cried out amongst the din. 

He gulped hard. The beer suddenly was not as lubricating as usual. Bobby Hogs was Robert Hogget again in an instant. He felt the reddening of his cheeks, as his brow furrowed. He flicked through his sheets of paper. The bible of questions that never let him down. Had he made a mistake? 

Another voice shouted through a cloud of vape. ‘Give us another question Hoggy!’ 

Bob shuffled his notes. ‘Technical issue, I am a mere mortal afterall! They say never work with children, or animals. Or sozzled quizzers, am I right?’ Silence, deafening silence. 

He licked his finger. And stabbed at a question that would get things back on track. Effecting the voice of assured Bobby, he purred. ‘What year did the first email get sent?’ 

There was a beat. A moment where it landed. And then, a tidal wave of noise came back at him. A woman this time. 

‘1971, you did this three weeks ago. Talk about phoning it in. Not what it used to be, Clever Cloggs, hah!’

‘Get him off. Get the karaoke back on.’ A gruff voice shouted after a little belch.

Bob was humiliated. The noise kept growing, the quiz was in tatters. He closed his eyes and wanted the musty old carpet to swallow him up, or the fruity to fall upon him. He imagined his boots wiggling out the bottom like the Wicked Witch. Margaret Hamilton, by the way, answer to a question in his classic film category. His eyes remained shut until a hand touched him on the shoulder. It was the landlord. 

‘I think you’re done Bob, sorry mate. We can try again another time yeh? Give you a chance to refresh your questions. I’ll just stick the football on for now.’ 

That’s it, a quiet word, a dismissive wave of a hand and Bob knew his days as the local pre-eminent quiz master were numbered. 

Repeat questions? Bob tried to think of a comparative cock-up. He looked toward the plates of food on the tables. A chef serving a medium rare chicken breast. He’d given his customers the quizzing equivalent of salmonella. 

Defeated, Bob trudged outside into the cool night air. The noise of the pub being sealed off like a tomb as the door swung shut. He allowed himself a large sigh as he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked down the pavement toward his car. As he reached the end of the road, and was about to turn left, a flicker of light from his right caused him to turn his head. 

A bench. Sat up on a small grassy area, lit up as the street lamp above burst into life with a metallic ping. He was hit all at once with nostalgia, with memory, with fear, and surprise. That night, with his Dad’s car, the night he fell in love with quizzing. The lightbulb moment in reverse, again it all happened.

Something was resting on the seat of the bench. Straddling the slats, it looked like an envelope. A large gusseted manilla envelope. It sat slightly ajar, inviting almost. Bob looked around, not a soul in sight, even the pub just a ways back looked dimmer. As if all the light in the universe was shining down upon the bench.

He took a step forward, and then another. He could feel his heart racing as his knees knocked against the seat. Sitting, slowly, he snaked a hand out to the envelope. An immaculate typed document contained inside, he slid it out and started to read.

There’s a sort of uncanny intuition that you pick up the further you get into learning for learning’s sake. Bob referred to it as ‘The Hoggs’ Hunch.’ 

Knowledge becomes an addiction, but more than that you become a connoisseur. Bob was the sommelier of facts. And as he drank deeply from the document in his hands, he became intoxicated with a sheer instinct that what he was reading was pure truth. He looked up at that moment, and a light flashed in the sky. It strobed a pattern and it made Bob smile. And all at once he understood, he saw the world differently. An unheard truth, a lost knowledge that was being presented to him in the same way the very love of quizzing had been all those years ago. 

What was the first word of the Universe?

Which is the fastest of the spacecraft, referred to locally as the Pyramids of Giza?

What species was JFK?

What planet did WiFi originate on?

Impossible questions. Even more improbable answers. But all at once, Bob’s Hog’s Hunch knew it to be true. 

The comeback was on.

Whistling a tune to himself all the way home, and the next day, Bob called the landlord to apologise. A new quiz set for that evening. But retitled. No longer the Clever Cloggs Quiz with Bobby Hogs, but now simply ‘The Impossible Quiz.’ 

Scepticism brought some, the chance to rubberneck a car crash more, and a mild addiction to alcohol the rest. The pub was packed, electric as Bob stood ready to stump everyone and anyone with a new battery of trivia. 

Stunned faces, muttered comments and many an exasperated sigh met each and every question. Sure the words were recognisable, but the order of them, the suggestions both implicit and explicit. It was as if overnight Bobby Hog had become every conspiracy, every crack pot theory personified. 

The break came, and as usual punters appeared to talk to him. To ask about his background, and the quiz. He sat ready, calm and placated. A serene sense of completion washed over him as he drank happily from his dark beer. It even tasted different. Enlightened.

A well-dressed man in a sharp black suit, waited patiently for the chatty patrons to float away. He kept eye contact with Bob as he slid easily onto the stool. For a second his eyes seemed to flash. Impossible, Bob thought. Trick of the…light. The man began to speak in cool calm quiet tones, devoid of intent or emotion. Matter of fact speech. Bob leant in, ‘what did you say mate?’

‘This knowledge isn’t meant for us. You know things you shouldn’t. It is time.’

Bob felt a chill roll up his spine. Before he could say anything, his tongue caught in his throat, the man-in-black got up and walked away. Disappearing amongst the bobbing drunken heads.

The landlord snapped Bob out of his stare. ‘You’re on again in a minute Bobby.’ 

But Bob ignored him, stood up and followed the man-in-black. 

The night rolled on, the landlord bemused and pissed off. Twice now Bob Hogget had stiffed him. He’d give him a right piece of his mind when he inevitably turned up tomorrow begging for another quiz night. Well not here, and he’d make damn sure all the other publicans knew too. Persona non Grata indeed. 

With that grumbling thought in his mind, he reached for the remote to stick the football on again, as the quizzers eventually forgot about the strange, nonsensical questions. Their answer sheets became crumpled and beer stained before long. 

And so in the end, time passed, and Bob never showed his face again. Well, anywhere. Disappeared from life, like the morning dew. 

The local legend with his own trivia. Fitting in a way. 

A quiz question in his own right.

What did Bobby Hoggs do to get cancelled?

Well…there was a question without an answer.  

By Louis Urbanowski – Inspired by the prompt ‘What did you do to get cancelled?’