N one cerebral festive occasion in an Irish castle I was invited, with sinking heart and horror, to join in an incomprehensible word-play game with two Oxford undergraduates, then in full command of their intellectual plumage and prowess. They must have thought me a dunce and a dullard for, in that drowning hour, I did not get a single answer right. It was some comfort later to hear that one of them flunked university and the other only got a third-class degree. But aside from being intellectually overshadowed, there has been the odd moment of joy when it comes to Christmas games. The highly competitive Waugh family, grandchildren of Evelyn Waugh, are virtuosos at charades. My family has often been invited to the Waughs’ Devon home near Tiverton at Christmas to join them in this mirthful ritual. While some of the subject matter may be a little bit highbrow – one enactment of Mrs Dalloway took 20 minutes to puzzle out – I feel I added something one year
