Zezaurian Chess Club ends in fisticuffs.

Last Sunday's Zezaurian Chess started so well; all pawns were moved forward in a new tactic learned from Grandpa Roberts making things so difficult I thought my brain would explode with the complex mathematics I had to deal with. But things were difficult enough - the barmaid was basically (a slightly ugly) Wonder Woman and her outfit was distracting for even the most studious of players. On top of that, three insanely happy Japanese girls sat staring at the chess battles with such glee that we could only assume that we were 'in there.'

We weren't.

It has to be said that winning all the time does get boring. Well, according to those that win all the time anyway. But taking a sneaky pawn deep into the enemy's camp, positioning a subtle knight behind enemy lines before sliding the queen around the back of a heavily defended king to force Checkmate ended the reign of Mr Morose. My fists sprang into the air like fireworks I was so so happy to beat him with such cunning and bravery, but Mr Morose was having none of it. According to him he'd let me off with a few 'careless, rooky manoeuvres' earlier in the game rendering it all totally pointless. Balls. I won. He lost.

But whatever, by this point the Guinness had been flowing for a few hours on top of an unremittingly anxious hangover, and the sexual tension between me, Wonder Woman and the insanely happy Japanese girls had reached its peak.* Everything fell into a blurry mess and before I knew it, a white glove was slapped across my face and then I'm duelling in the street with a sword and ruby-red-rouge on my cheeks.

Most of that last part is made up, but I still won.

*I say 'between.' But you know what I mean.

No comments:

Post a Comment