It's not the winning it's the taking part that's important ... well, that's the message they always give the losers isn't it?

For most of my life I've been a runner-up and have found consolation in those words.

Okay, I didn't win the race or the award, didn't get the job (or the man), but at least I took part, and that's what matters.

Rubbish. This week I had a taste of winning and it was GREAT!

I'll take it in preference to losing any day. From now on losing is for wimps and I'm in it - whatever the it happens to be - to win.

My long overdue taste of triumph came about when I was asked to join friends who were taking part in a pub quiz. They field a pretty impressive team and one member had dropped out so I was brought in as a replacement.

All right, a pub quiz may not be on a par with The Weakest Link or Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? but it appealed to my vanity.

The know-all in me strutted and preened. 'We'll wipe the floor with the opposition . . . well you will with me on your side,' I thought, an opinion I prudently didn't voice to my friends.

I was brought into the team on two counts. First, being several years older than the others, I was considered useful for answering questions on Sixties pop music and politicians such as Harold Wilson.

Who? See what I mean?

Secondly I watch a lot of television. Sometimes during the winter months, I do little else but watch television. Sad - but useful for pub quizzes.

I told my friends I was useless at questions on sport and science but they said not to worry, the chap who specialised in these subjects would be there on the night.

And he was but the other teams we'd been expecting didn't materialise so we found ourselves playing against just two other sides, one of which was already showing signs of intoxication.

We got off to a good start, a bizarre combination of questions about cinema and myths, followed by a section on history and drink.

Had it been the history of drink, the other lot might well have won but it wasn't and they didn't. We did. Again and again and again. We just couldn't stop winning.

"Perhaps we should lose this round, let the other lot get a look in," one of my friends suggested.

"Rubbish," I hissed. "Not when we're on a winning streak."

Winning felt good, especially after an hour of competition and several rounds of drinks. When we'd utterly and completely trounced the opposition and been declared The Winners I was euphoric.

We shared the prize money, had a celebration nightcap and went our separate ways.

When I got home The Mother and The Dog were watching Crufts on the TV.

"How did it go?" asked The Mother.

"We won!" I announced.

"How much?" she asked.

I told her -- £8 split between five of us meant £1.60 each.

"That's not even worth going out for," she said contemptuously.

"Oh, you don't understand do you?" I said and before I could stop myself I heard a voice, my voice, saying: "It's not about the winnings, it's the taking part that's important."