To Blog or Not To Blog, That Is The Question

Heavy are the hands that type these words.

It has been not seven days since I saw with mine own eyes the words of the Bard on stage for the first time as I witnessed the majesty of Sir Ian McKellen inhabiting Falstaff in Player Kings, which combines Henry IV Parts 1 and 2.

For those who are much travelled in these parts it will come not as a shock that I have thus taken it upon myself to offer a fascimile of his genius (Will, not Ian, though maybe next week) for the purposes of this post.

For those who are new perhaps I should explain that wherefore art it is possible I have on occasion taken upon myself the great and burdensome task of imitating in style and substance the works of some such masters as Shakespeare.

This I have done for Lucy Ellcott and Christopher Nolan, two progenitors of modern Shakespearean genius (Ducks, Newburyport and Tenet, obviously) and do now for the man himself.

One problem arises with this particular beast which has not thus far arisen. I know not how to in iambic pentameter write. And I have not the time to learn it. The ghastly alternative, in which I could doth write a normal post and have it twisted, meddled with by the unearthly means of AI... it does not bear thinking about.

Sure, it could perhaps grasp the rhythm and language of Henry IV but could it capture the feeling of hearing words written 400 years ago spake forth in the present? That is the question, and whether tis' not in the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, AI probably could do that, and it could probably get the quotes right too. But alas, this is life imitating art and is life not imperfect.

So this hodgepodge of quackery and foolishness shall abide, and with that we move on.

With one score and eight we began.

Now stand a quartet, of which only one can raise the trophy marking them vanquishers of all! First among our challengers doth stand Imperial, of London and Trinity, of Cambridge (and tis' a good job tis' thus, for University, of London and Manchester, of Manchester would not such a ring to it have, were next week's to be the blog with a Shakespearean theme).

To the victor, the spoils (which sounds like it could be a relevant quote, but isn't); here doth thine initial inquiry for a decad.

With joyous spirit, Lee annouces his person, and his proclamation is followed by one of opposite energy from his comrade Jones. Their knowledge of Derrida, Rajan derides, while Trinity have floundered on film.

First blood is drawn by Bannerjee with differential, the calculated point of his buzz splitting the defences of his enemy. Trinity are conquered by bonuses on conquerers, knowing only Mehmet, before an incorrect buzz from the fingers of Lee drops Imperial into the nether world of negative points. They remain there not for a moment however, as the same man rescues them from oblivion with Wu.

I know I riffed on heavy is the head earlier, but by jove it really is quite difficult to do this in the style I've promised. I only used it before because it was a good hook, but I really am typing this with heavy hands. Only so far can you be taken as a Shakespeare impersonator by swapping the order of the words.

Still, give up I will not. Time hath not yet so dried this blood of mine, nor age so eat up my invention, nor fortune made such havoc of my means, for me to pack it in without the old college try giveth it (see if you can tell when that sentence stops being genuine Billy Shakes).

On engineers of Germanic extraction, Imperial were flummoxed, but through Lee and Children's Crusade they tied the game. A flavoursome set on Bengali 5-spice followed, including a question on black cumin seeds, an ingredient so egregious as to have been the culprit for the only truly inedible meal I have ever thus made (to be fair to the recipe, it did not ask for black cumin seeds, so I can't entirely blame it for the most bitter of shakshukas ever created).

A hat trick from Lee on the flag of Bougainville wins Imperial the picture bonuses on indigenous movements from the Pacific. The first of these, New Caledonia, is a flag I am well-acquainted with from the game Flaggle.

A fourth, a fourth, my quizdom for a fourth, says Rajan, and Lee duly obliges with Arnhem Land. All the world's a stage, and Lee is the only player (its a lot easier to do this when you just riff on actual quotes, I'm finding). With atom economy he makes it five in a row.

His friend, [Roman] and countryman Jones breaks his streak with two cultures, and into three figures did Imperial venture. A sixth for Lee extended the lead before camera lucida from a beaming Bannerjee breathed back into a dormant Trinity life . One may smile, and smile, and be a villain, and Bannerjee smiles but he is not a villain. His smile is as pure as any in the hearts of men, and his joy doth overflow into the soul of the viewer.

A century adrift, Trinity turn to Henderson for her ken of music, but she knows not Janacek. No matter, for Bannerjee returns with quantum chroma dynamics, a combination of words which would have befuddled the known word-maker-upper himself.

On the bonuses they struggled, and Debnath gave not rest to their weary heads with Senegal, crushing in the cradle their counter attack. The chasm betwixt the two grew with bonuses on astronomy, and then shrunk with Bannerjee and the Greek God of blacksmiths, Hephaestus, but maintain the momentum Trinity could not, and Jones once more swept them aside. The century remain'd.

With the picture starter Jaksina closed the gap, but in his eyes thou can see defeat. T'was too little and t'was too late. Lee takes another to cement this ere'after as his match, his semi-final. Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot. But he’ll remember with advantages what feats he did that day. I won't go so far as to say his name will become as familiar as household words, but for a moment, for a night, maybe it was so.

Imperial crossed two hundred, and Trinity one, but as Jaksina knew from 'ere ten minutes ago, the game was up. The game was up.

Trinity 110 - 250 Imperial

To all who have stuck around thus far, I thank thee. And to those who have not, I blame thee not. Tis' but for the brave and the bold to persevere through the depths and tangles of this jungle of language and come out on the other side pure and clean. We move on, once more unto the breach.

For Trinity, the course of true quiz never did run smooth. For Imperial, the Grand Final - such stuff as dreams area made on.