The inevitable return of Mornington Crescent

[ComeIntoTheGardenMaud]

As winter approaches and the nights draw in, one’s thoughts naturally turn to wholesome, homely entertainment. Instead, though, I invite experienced players and novices alike to join me in a game of Mornington Crescent.

To keep the pace gentle, I’ll begin with an inverse Lepton to

Seven Sisters

LOL!

Bow street.

Take that…

I think I might have met your aunt, SomethingOnce. Was she at the Ritz in ‘53?

Turnham Green

An invalid move means we are back in Theydon Bois. Monopoly should never be confused with the game of games.

A move therefore to the quiet outpost of the Underground that is Roding Valley

And from there, what can only be described as a fall from grace to Plaistow. Which is, as family legend has it, where my aunt ended her days when the gambling money ran out and, financially embarrassed, the Ritz insisted that she vacate her suite.

Oh, my family definitely knew your esteemed aunt @SomethingOnce! I've heard many stories about her tennis days. Won the Roland-Garros in...'34 was it? My Uncle Ferdy had a huge pash on her. He loved a nice backhand.

Stories of one's scions tinged with the romance of sepia!

Hackney Wick.

I once had a jellied eel there. Been troubled by gelatine ever since. Which is a shame as I used to love trifle.

Ah, so I did know your aunt, SomethingOnce. Naturally, I never quite believed the rumours about how she paid for her suite at the Ritz, but it was a remarkable coincidence that, once she had relocated to Plaistow, the all-night canasta and poker sessions held in the Ritz boiler room (turn left by the linen cupboard, knock three times and ask for Fifi) came to an abrupt end.

Upminster Bridge

I think we can begin the journey back to central London and stop at Hornchurch.

As it’s Sunday morning, we’ll continue the ecclesiastical theme with a Barchester elliptical to

Bow Church

Might as well hit the big house...

St Paul's

Well, if it’s the big house you want:

Covent Garden (possibly a return visit, but I think the exceptional circumstances laid out in the 2020 codicil to the 1987 memorandum of understanding apply here).

Yes Maud, having taken some time for consideration and consulted the official adjudicators’ review, I think that’s a legitimate move.

Warren Street

I’m hurt that you might have doubted it, although perhaps you haven’t yet read this month’s edition of the MC Gazette, which has a very lively discussion in the correspondence column of just this move.

Goodge Street

I must get round to reading the Gazette. Meanwhile I move to Bond Street.

Inevitably I feel I need to go to Great Portland Street

We're at risk of repeating Delaney's Circular from the '73 world tournament...

In consideration of which, and at great personal cost, I must move us to Brondesbury. Anything else is inconceivable.

Quite what a Delaney was thinking has always been beyond me. He knew better, frankly. I can only imagine his love of the poppy overtook him. We didn't see him for weeks afterwards. Just the tassle of his smoking hat flicking round a corner, the click of his heels on the hall tiles. Elusive chap at the best of times. And that was patently NOT the best of times. For anyone involved. Or for the poor bystanders, come to think of it.

Alas, you are correct, TragicMuse. Delaney was a sad loss to the world of MC. Last I heard, he was making a doomed attempt to coach the yak herders of Ulan Bator in the finer points of the game of games. It was not going well.

Balham

Oh BRAVA @ComeIntoTheGardenMaud that is masterful. Or should one say mistressful?
*
Richmond.* *
*
Tough call though. I nearly did a 'Fonteyn', but the old legs aren't what they were and Madame would shake her head at my plié and arabesque these days.

Thank you, TragicMuse (and do call me Maud, as I think we have been together on the professional MC circuit long enough for me to consider you a friend).

I do understand about the pliés. That unfortunate incident in Tangiers in ‘76 (do you recall?) when I fell down the spiral staircase brought an abrupt end to my ballet career and the world shall never again see my Odette and Odile.

Norwood Junction

Sorry to hear that Maud. If you don’t mind my asking, was the incident in Tangiers definitely an accident? There were rumours about a local gang of ruffians who were thwarted in their dastardly plan to “fix” the semi-finals by your incorruptible nature. Then there was the mysterious masked figure who the Colonel was seen chasing along the street until he vanished into the evening shadows of the bazaar, vanishing as if he had never been. So I couldn’t help wondering.

A simple pas de chat to Canada Water

I’m afraid, DuckOnABike, that the amnesia caused by landing on my head means I have only the haziest recollection of that night (or perhaps it was the early morning?) but the Colonel assured me that the dark forces attempting to thwart the game of games had been taught a salutary lesson and would not be troubling us again. Make of that what you will.

Paddington

Oh Tangiers. That was...eventful. I'm so glad that you were able to resume play, the standing ovation when you rejoined the fray was richly deserved.

I sometimes finger the scrap of serge I found on a rogue nail, torn from a greatcoat perhaps? Who knows.

Highgate.

You lot have mixed in illustrious circles indeed! Whereas I grew up on the mean streets of North London, my introduction to the game of games being a secretive and shady affair

I will go no further in my recollections but offer Bounds Green

Ah! A rare opportunity for a Reverse Skinner from Bounds Green to Brixton.

You mentioned serge, TragicMuse. Serge Gainsbourg was a master of the game of games and was, I recall, French national champion for several years.

The last few moves have left me in a quandary and dangerously close to Nidd, but I believe I can escape via

Clapham High Street

Expertly done as always, Maud! Your memory is without equal. I never played against Serge, though I'd have liked to. He had some moves which were...imaginative, let's say. I've never forgotten his Tour Eiffel. Well that was what he called it anyway. ^^

Ah Hazel, I am a fellow North Londoner, though a very long time ago...

Fulham Broadway