As you get older, you think that life holds fewer surprises and lessons to learn. Not so. Last night, I was introduced to bingo for the first time. I am now mistress of five lines and know the phraseology and frustration of needing only one number when someone else makes the call "bingo" and that "eyes down for a full house" is a signal for total concentration and silence. A hard task for me.

This new skill has filled my mind with envy and desire for a dedicated bingo marker, something I had never known existed before. With one jab of the marker, practised bingo fanatics completely obliterated their number on the card. My frantic scratching at numbers did not highlight the requisite numbers half so well as their circles of blue, orange or purple.

This latest - and I fancy short-lived - obsession arose because of the drive to raise funds for the local playgroup. Flyers had been tacked to every available notice-board and telegraph pole in the area. With this high-tech marketing campaign, a full house of players was assured and a very creditable £261 raised by the end of the evening. An age range of competitors from four to 84 was blended in a range of economic factors. Everyone in the hall was linked to farming. And many had a desire to win that bottle of kumquat liqueur, talcum powder that was a prize at the last village fundraiser, CD by a singer no one had heard of, or unwanted presents left over from Christmas in the half-time raffle.

When there was any break in the concentration needed to follow our brave, but occasionally numerically-challenged caller - "one and three, thirty-one", "two and two, legs eleven", "seven and eight, fifteen" - the talk was all of lambing, spraying and spring barley. I had left my own farmer to baby-sit his friend who was babysitting his son. They managed it very well, via a couple of bottles of red wine. Good job Jack didn't wake up. He would have had to baby-sit his dad and uncle John.

I was only allowed out for a few hours, as with lambing in full swing John cannot bear to be away from the flock for long. The ewes have really got their act together now. They are knocking out the lambs on a regular basis and there have been no repeats of the problems we had with the first crop of lambs.

It was not surprising, therefore, that with the need to catch up on village gossip, refreshments at half-time, and a very warm hall, my mind began to slip. Attention gone, I was quickly a number, then two, behind. It did give me time to observe and listen. Until now, I had thought that village domino drives were the zenith of Machiavellian cunning and an uncompromising focus to win. Not so.

The lady on the table on my left plays every Wednesday at the pensioners' day club in the very same village hall, and she won twice. Her companion across the table won a line and a full house and also a prize in the raffle. They were almost submerged in their winnings, which were, an Aladdin book, a children's board game, a family swim at the leisure centre (very generous sponsor), beauty bag, video, bottle of sweet sherry and a sports rucksack. Despite having no young grandchildren or video player between them, being teetotal, non-swimmers and not obvious devotees of regular beauty treatments, both staggered off into the night with their booty.

Bet I know what the prizes at next Wednesday's bingo session will be.

Updated: 12:33 Wednesday, April 14, 2004