Mornington Crescent....

[BratFarrarsPony]

Well as I won the last game fairly and squarely despite not being as quick as the old lags....I will start another game.

Gants Hill

And a deep dive into

Poole

I think that Blandford Forum should be the next move, with the aid of the closed stations rule. Immortalised in song, not that I can remember who by.

Flanders and Swann

St Ives - Huntingdonshire of course.

Well now, if we're in Flanders and Swann mode we must go forthwith to

Mudeford

Let's not binge on F and S - too easy then they are all gone.

Bude

I'm surprised to hear you counsel against bingeing, Andrew, after that incident in Reykjavik with the macadamia nuts - but perhaps that's where you earned your lesson.

Let's move closer to the centre of the known universe

Penge West

It wasn't macadamia nuts, Maud, it was cashews, as you would know if you had not been so far gone on the dandelion and burdock that they still talk about it on the inner moons of Saturn.

Penge East is in the inner circles of hell. You meant Lincoln - it's an easy mistake to make.

I feel we should start to move back to the centre of the known universe (Neasden). Personally I have never been keen on Penge, West or East, ever since the use of both in the now lost game in 1993. An event where some of the participants had dry roasted peanuts of all things.

A slow move to Sleaford

Neasden as the centre of the universe? Only if you have the good fortune to live on Tesco Road. I, though, live in a bijou pied à terre in

Knightsbridge

Was this a move? I think it was just a statement of residence.

So we have to move back to the move before last, which was Lincoln. The East Coast Main line with its four tracks and occasional trips by the Flying Scotsman comes to mind.

Up towards London we go, stopping at Oakleigh Park after a few changes of train.

Of course it was a move. ::adjusts twinset:: And now on to

Haggerston

And now a rebound to Hagley - sorry Maud but you should have foreseen that.

Be careful on 21 August - Rule 123(a)(a)(vii) to (xxxviii) (with the obvious exception) will be suspended for the eclipse.

Finally home after an epic lunch with Maud. Heston's 12-course menu degustation really is quite something... the oyster simmered sous-vide with a curdled froth of Marmite and Chartreuse was particularly unforgettable.

Rather excitingly, two members of that wireless panel show that Andrew enjoys were sitting on the table next to us. One of them stopped to admire Maud's emeralds and I seized the opportunity to reproach him for playing a backwards Murgatroyd in July, of all months... of course one must simplify for the great unwashed, but there are limits. A lively discussion ensued, but alas, just as I was extolling the 1965 Thripplewaite revisions, he suddenly remembered an urgent appointment in

Osterley

It was indeed a most splendid lunch and a refreshing change to our usual table at the Wolseley, which can be so tedious when the paparazzi get wind that one is there. Those two gentlemen from the wireless seemed to find Irene's adumbrations most diverting, especially as she delivered them while sitting on their knees. Well, the service can be somewhat slow and it was Irene's civic duty, full of youthful vigour as she is, to provide some solace to the elders of the parish.

Osterley is all well and good, but if one wants to see a decent palace one must go to

Hampton Court

Hampton Court always reminds me of that bloody upstart Wolsey who had ideas so hopelessly au-dessus de sa gare and was, moreover, such a piss-poor Crescenter that he one played St Albans after where we are going on my next (if a tad predictable) move to Henley-on-Thames.

By the way, Maud, did your chef ever get confirmation in writing that what he thought was tertiary syphilis was in fact just a common bunion?

I have to say my dislike of Tudor hangers-on is reserved for Thomas Cromwell, who vandalised more buildings than 1960s architects.

Henley on Thames seems to have suffered less, apart from when the brewery was sold- if they had spend more time on the game of games, this would never have happened. So I move at a gentle pace to Iver

You've a what, Saints?

The finest named of all stations calls - I refer of course to Denham Golf Club.

I have to say that the finest of all stations is indeed that one by the golf club. I only just caught the train there today, to move to South Ruislip.

South Ruislip? Abandon hope . . .

Fratton.

Good Lord, Andrew - rather an irresponsible move, don't you think, given the current global situation?

I shall draw us back to safety with a mariner's splice to

St Leonard's Warrior Square

Well, Irene, I've always enjoyed life at the edge. I once played Preston after another competitor played Warwick on First Quarter in February which rather proves my point.

I had a phone call from the President of the Royal College a few minutes ago. She's definitely back on the mother's ruin, that's if she was ever really off it, but as rational as she ever is. She suggests I play - wait for it, wait for it

Winchelsea

and that's where we are going!

I think that we should move back towards the capital, so on to Rye.

Ah, here you all are. It's my duty, I feel, to lead us back (thanks to a Marshall's Manoeuvre) to

Peckham Rye

During the Proms?

Gracious heavens - where does courage fade into folly?

Hammersmith - and be glad it's there.

Naturally during the Proms. During my last performance there (I was the one warbling Land of Hope and Glory while dressed in a gown made from upcycled national flags) I was struck by how the great maestros resemble Humph and that new fellow on the wireless, attempting to draw great play from novices and seasoned hands alike. So now, in a spirit of unity, I take us to

Battle