This online trivia renaissance is no match for the real-life pub quiz

Adeadly respiratory panic might seem a weird time to launch a show whose plot hinges on public coughing. Luckily for audiences, however, Quiz – ITV’S dramatisation of the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? cheating scandal – is a triumph, featuring outstanding performances and pitchperfect contemporary detail.

I have long been fascinated by the characters in this iconic episode in TV history; Charles Ingram, the outwardly respectable Army major belied by his shifty body language and bad acting. He oscillates wildly between answers: one moment not knowing who Craig David is, the next gambling thousands on it. His wife Diana looks on with contempt – a modern-day film noir femme fatale – as her stuffed-shirt spouse gives the game away. Then the infamous coughing; triangulated between Diana and their co-conspirator, Tecwen Whittock.

Quiz vividly recalls my own memories of the Nineties and early Noughties, from Chris Tarrant’s plum-coloured shirts to the ubiquitous Ford Mondeos and middleclass trivia obsessives who would blow fortunes ringing the Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? hotline. It also feels strangely topical, coinciding with a Covidrelated quizzing renaissance.

With the pubs closed, millions of Brits are flocking to apps like Zoom to conduct quizzes from home. According to Google Trends, the use of terms like “pub quiz” and “virtual quiz” is at an all-time high. As real-life relationships crumble under the strain of lockdown, our national love affair with trivia is burning stronger than ever.

It’s not hard to see why. Quizzes provide company and much-needed laughter at a fraught time. Friends’ team names have ranged from the facile (“Covidiots”, “Covid Nine-team”), to the lame (“Quarantina Turner”, “Wuhan Clan”) to the gloriously inappropriate (“Pangolin Buffet”). My brother’s response to the question “Which religious figure was known as the Mad Monk?” – “The Venerable Bede” – will continue to tickle me long after lockdown has ended.

Yet coronavirus quizzing is no substitute for the real thing. Not being in the same venue destroys the tension; you need to see the whites of your opponents’ eyes to relish fully your hardfought victory. And though any quizzer worth their salt would sooner pilfer the poor box than cheat at a quiz, there’s no doubt that virtual versions enable skulduggery; Professor Google provides your own personal Tecwen Whittock, with considerably less risk of getting caught.

Different internet speeds favour city-dwellers: so feeble is the connection at my parents’ rural home that Zoom produces sound but no video (Picture Round: nul points!). There are yawning timelags, followed by everyone speaking at once. In short, virtual quizzes will always be pale imitations, just as a Zoom chat (part conference call, part hostage video) can never replace a trip to the pub.

Coronavirus may have turned back the cultural clock, transforming Britain once again into a nation of hobbyists – quizzers, Airfix modellers, jigsaw and crossword enthusiasts – but I suspect these trends will prove fleeting. Rather than a life-and-death joust, to quizzing “civilians”, the online version is a mere stopgap in lieu of other activities. When lockdown ends, we trivia nerds will be left memorising world capitals long after the others have returned to their five-a-side football match.