Monday, 14 November 2011

The game of chess

Indeed. Wel, I see from my ffenestr, through it even, albeit 4% of the photons are rebounding at the particular thickness I'm looking thrupon, that it is once again National born killers celebration day. Led by Her Trajesty the Brenhiness Liz of England-world, and her trusty steed, Nearlysir Nicholas of Witchell.

Now before I go on, if any of you have any relatives killed in the wars, then be consoled that it was very probably at the trigger of another coward who trembled before the false judge of peer pressure, and fancied killing a lesser crime than embarassment. That, or a psychopath.

This Christmas, be sure to ask any remnants how many they killed, and in what manner. Best after the Queen's speech, and before the Bond film. Oh yes, and remember to vote. It may be a cliche, but it's a part-of-speech worth dying slightly earlier for, and worth even more if you can take others with you.

Poppies beget poppies.

Now if you play chess, you'll know what a sacrifice is. It is not losing a piece that is already en prise. You will know what it is to be forked, say between the dope-fiend Cameron, and the arsonist Clegg. Locking up children for typing on facebook. You will know there are rules to the game, that now transcend accidents of geography and history. You will realise you were born playing. You know what move to play in zugzwang. You know a forced win when you have one, you know the soundness of an opening is unaffected by blunders, or by the board being knocked over. You know half a move is no move, and you know all must lose on time.

Now play up, play up, and play the immortal game.

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