Annie Diamond here. Mostly. Dr Jekyll’s currently sorting out a few spares to replace the bits damaged in our latest felonious fun. Long word that. Fun. (You thought I was going to say something different there, didn’t you? Go on! Admit it!)
Anyways up. Word came through that Bad Jack had been seen lurking in the vicinity. There was a big prize on his head which we were more than willing to take up. He’s not exactly a favourite with the girls, is Jack… Can’t think why not.
Lord knows how, but we tracked him down to Little Venice; an area of the Thames mostly populated by greasy gits who used to have an unfortunate attitude to a lady’s person until we pinned their arms to their sides. Permanently. That put a stop to it. Put a stop to everything else as well! Apparently, we infringed their human rights and caused them alarm and distress. What a shame. It’s breaking our hearts.
As we came on from the Souf… I do beg your pardon… Soufh…ah stuff it… from the bottom end, we found that we were not alone. Piling in from the West were the Turkish secret service while Akhenaton’s mob milled in from the North. Everybody looked at the canals. Everybody looked at each other. Anybody know how to swim? What, in these skirts? Are you having a laugh? Akhenaton’s cultists looked at their robes. As any decent cultist knows, it takes a hell of a lot of ironing to get a decent crease in a robe so they could stuff the swimming. Which left the Turks. Judging by their dirt-caked features and filthy rags, water was probably anthemum… atheena…anonthe….they probably weren’t too keen on water. It looked like we would be crossing lots and lots of bridges. Terrific.
Bad Jack couldn’t swim either. But that didn’t seem to be his principle interest. He took one look at our skirts and headed towards us. Isn’t it nice to be popular? In danger of being left in the lurch, the Turkish twits and Egyptian eejits headed in our direction. Once again, everybody was coming to tea. Which, frankly, came as a relief since struggling through these ruins was one long struggle.
Bad Jack then made a bad mistake. He rushed towards us again but out into the open. On a clear day, you could have seen him for miles. It was a clear day. He was right in front of our front line. He was right in front of the awful Anatolians. Honestly, they had enough firepower to start World War One. I don’t know how they could carry it all. Once again, I was struck by our lack of hard, hurting hardware at long range. I’d replaced Gerty’s arc pistol with an arc rifle but it could have been used as ammunition by the some of the things carried by the ‘orrible Ottomans. They had things that made the Dark Hole Of Calcutta look like a poky, little dump…. what do you mean, it was a poky, little dump? Blimey, there’s always one isn’t there? Anyways up.
Gerty got in one shot but missed. Bad Jack, together with most of the immediate vicinity and part of the horizon disappeared in a blizzard of Turkish lead. It was only turn two and the baskets were twenty points up! There was only one thing for it. I and Akhenaton had to try and dispose of enough fez heads and each other to make up the score. By silent accord, we both ignored each other and headed for Constantinople.
Blimey but that was easier said than done though, given the terrain. In reality, we crawled through buildings and across open bridges. Running was a luxury we could have done with. Meanwhile the lily-livered Ottomans backed off blazing away. Akhenaton cast water bullets and zone of shadow which gave his lads some protection until the snipers shot down a cultist or two. Still they’re used to it, I expect. The cultists that is. Must be an interesting but short career being a cultist. Get to go to strange exotic places; meet strange exotic people; and get slaughtered by them. Mind you, we can’t boast. I, Mollie and Gerty provided covering fire while Crazy Mary led the girls in a charge. Well, more of a shuffle really. Or a waddle as in duck, sitting or otherwise. Our girls might as well have been going “quack, quack”. Mollie and several ducks went West for very little reply. Crazy Mary finally reached a couple of the treacherous Turks and did for one of them but was then cut down. And got back up again. Which surprised the Turks a lot. In fact, they looked numbed by it (and if you don’t get that one, then it’s criminal. Absolutely criminal, that’s what it is!). She then proceeded to rearrange the other one’s innards. Put some real enthusiasm into it as well. Probably being one of the few survivors of the group flamethrowered on the bridge what done it. Always puts her back up being flamethrowered.
You may at this point be wondering why there are no more exciting pictures showing the exciting goings on towards the end of the game. It’s because our photographer got so excited he forgot to take any. Naturally, we shot him so now we need a new one. Any volunteers?
Anyways up, the basic problem with the retreating manoovre… maneefer,…moanhoover…wotsit, is that you eventually run out of space, don’t you? It’s basic geometry. Which meant that we and the naughty Nile people finally got stuck into the Turkish twonks who turned out not to like it up ‘em. In fact, they seemed to have spent all their money on guns and not a lot on sharp things. Honestly, we had to explain to them what a basic mistake this was. Though first, of course, we had to pin their ears back. Both ears. One pin. It’s always satisfying explaining to people where they’ve gone wrong, isn’t it? You get a real sense of achievement out of it. Actually, we and the gibbering ones from the delta were so successful at explaining that we were running out of Turks to explain it to and started explaining it to each other. It looked like fun so me and Gerty rushed to join in the festivities. Which is when I copped a packet. I don’t know. Another blasted bodice ruined. Do these baskets think the bloody things grow on trees? Dr Jekyll even had to cut away the remains (of the bodice, I might add) in order to replace these parts of me which I didn’t even realise I was missing. You learn something new every day. Provided that you’re still here today.
Anyways up, it was fun but far too late. Between dropping Bad Jack and potting sitting ducks, the Turks were way, way ahead on points. We could only console ourselves with the thought that they were all brown bread (*) apart from the leader, looking a bit nervous, trapped at the board’s edge as we closed in…not that we bore him any malice, mind. And it was at least quick… she said… lying through her teeth.
Diamond Annie,
Not the leader of the mythical forty elephants.
Never been near the Elephant and Castle.
(*) For the benefit of our foreign chums, “brown bread” is rhyming slang for “dead”.
22 March 2014, 10:07:58 AM