Humourless

33…Ra6

One of Black’s problems is that he cannot copy White by doubling rooks on the b-file as the a5-pawn is vulnerable to attack. On the other hand, if he could wave a magic wand, shout ‘wingardium leviosa!’ and watch as the black knight flew from h6 and landed on b4, all danger would be past from him.

The Art of Planning in Chess (McDonald, p.202)

Modern chess literature could do with more humour, really. Something to do for the medium what Reese and Bird did from bridge with their St. Titus monastery series. I wonder if Amatzia Avni would be interested in reviving the Baron…

Air Force One

The last time I spent four days in a row awake overnight must have been after a trip from Singapore to the US (or the reverse), as a result of jet lag. Normalcy will hopefully resume on Friday, then I can start to look forward to clearing the little leave I have left.

Perspective

And I thought the beginning of last month was bad.

The View From Down Here

Sixteen hours of duty in a day at four different places (loosely speaking), being whisked off from one to another. It all took place rather unexpectedly. Not a personal record I’d like to break anytime soon, thank you very much.

Ragnarok

So it’s the last day home alone – and I must say that this weekend hasn’t been too bad, really. Probably the worst part of it will be the bookin tomorrow.

*****

Strangely, a variety of disparate memories have been popping back into my head for the past day or two. A minority were good ones, but the bulk of the other experiences were either neutral or painful at the time. But now they don’t seem that way, not as much anyway. Now they give the impression of being a precious time, and in my mind’s eye I see a lost sojourner, trapped in the fumbling which arose only as a result of prior fumbling, and so on. I was never very happy then. It’s all very odd that these (seemingly) unconnected thoughts and sensations should surface the way they have suddenly.

*****

Perhaps even more strangely, I feel mildly excited about the coming week. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve let myself get excited for no discernible reason. Maybe it’s the prospect of the imminent Friday the 13th (no, seriously – I mean what the date entails for me), or the fact that I might actually be working alongside – well, not really – some of my 20th-FDC coursemates once again. Major packing, here we go.

A Near-Miss

And I can – and should – consider myself very, very fortunate, to be out of camp this weekend.

Home Alone II

I guess I must say that it’s been better – not perfect, but better – than the last time, which was around 2 years ago. Perhaps I’ve been spared the worst of it by being booked out for only 34 hours (minus sleep 11, out 9) so there really hasn’t been such an extended stretch akin to the last time.

Title Race

At the time, the race for the Grandmaster title was in full swing and obviously Keene, Hartston and yourself were very much in the race…

Not really, no… because it was hard enough for me just to become an International Master and I didn’t play as much as them. Hartston never became a Grandmaster either and I think it was Tony Miles who showed what could be done. We really didn’t believe we were in the same league as players like Fischer, Spassky, Petrosian, Botvinnik – all these were legends. Then Tony Miles comes along and walks through them because he was so uncultured, never read any books, I suppose… never had any heroes, so it’s ‘Who’s this guy Spassky?’ and then he beats him, 2-0.

Paradise Lost

Chessplayers will be familiar with the Russian proverb that ‘having said A, one must say B’. Sometimes I think I adhere to that, to my own detriment.

*****

Lately I’ve become more aware that loneliness can be the price of many things. It hasn’t been fun or enjoyable making this realisation, but I’ve also begun to slowly come to terms with it, and to start making my peace with that fact.

*****

Waiting, the passage of time, and how duty has affected everything.

A friend recently pointed out, quite rightly, that some things we would previously have considered major nuisances no longer seem that bad, given the nature of our job. See: having stood alone at a checkpoint on a weekend for 10.5 hours and essentially ‘waited’, suddenly that 45 minutes spent waiting for the doctor doesn’t seem so bad anymore – especially seated indoors in air-conditioning, with no fear of any zoo animals.

7.5

7.5 hours of sleep, for the times in camp when I can actually afford it and decide to put the alarm on.

It seems quite obvious to me that this quirk has its origins from the original 56 Things list, circa March 2007 holidays – 7.5 was the number there, chosen at the time because seven seemed too little and eight felt like a luxury. Since then, 7.5 has always been a magic number of sorts (though it hasn’t seen much use), probably since it came from the gold standard of to-do lists, the one containing magic and miscellany no other list since has ever even come close to approaching. Which begs the question why, the same way one might ask why Bob Beamon never again came close after 1968. In both cases, the answer is similar: the conditions that precipitated both were unique and were never since replicated, hence the dearth of comparable achievement.