Cambridge Footlights Revue 2/5

Ah, wha's he done that for?

Was all nice before that, it went

black-white-black-white all the way down

in a kind of zig-zag.

Well, I gotta balance it up, haven't I.

I gotta balance it up.

I'll move this tall thrusting one.

Of course! Now he attacks my queen and gains tempo.

What a good move. What to do, what to do?

I must generate play on the black squares.

I play queen C7 with the idea of rook C8 doubling on the C file,

exercising pressure on his isolated queen's bishop's pawn.

Yes, this is fine. Queen C7.

Well, he's a bleedin' anarchist, this one!

What's the point of havin' even squares like that,

if you're then gonna go all anarchisty?

I'll have to move this haughty one here.

Oh. His is in the way. ... Weell, he won't notice.

He takes on F6 check. Of course!

This is genius. Now he threatens bishop F6, followed by bishop H7 check,

king H7, queen E4 check, my king side is destroyed, and it gives mate in ...

fourteen moves!

Borzoy vernotgt, what a player! I have nothing.

I must resign.

[clunk]

Oi! you knocked your king over!

The day the letter arrived, I was due in court on the intricate case of Melchett vs. the Vatican,

which was coming to a delicate and potentially explosive stage.

The letter, then, came as a welcome diversion,

and I tipped the delivery boy out of the window with more than ordinary generosity.

Even then, I fancy I gave a momentary shudder as I unfolded the letter.

But it was a cold morning,

and in accordance with Mr. Tulkinghorne's instructions with regard to Melchett vs. the Vatican,

I was naked.

The letter read as follows:

If Mr. John Lawson-Particle will travel immediately to Transsylvania

as the honoured guest of Count Dracula,

to personally advise His Excellency on a matter of great legal delicacy,

Mr. Lawson-Particle will be handsomely remunerated.

He is to bring on his journey:

No garlic, no crucifixes,

no wooden stakes.

Neither is he to look up in a dictionary

the word vampire.

It seemed innocent enough.

Excited at the prospect of escaping a dreary London August,

I rushed to Mr. Tulkinghorne's office.

He read the letter through, and eyed me carefully.

Then he looked at my face.

"You don't find anything strange in this letter, Mr. Lawson-Particle?"

"Ah, you noticed it too, Sir. The split infinitive in the first sentence, yes."

"No, I was thinking ... never mind.

You plan to go on this suic ... on this fascinating journey?"

"With your permission, Sir, I will go straight home, dress, and take the first train to Southhampton."

Four days later saw me standing at the gates of Castle Dracula,

weary and travel-stained.

Prudence had demanded that I leave her behind, so I was alone.

Night was just falling as i knocked on the mighty oaken door

and heard the answering echoes ring through the castle.

After what seemed a cliché,

iron bolts were drawn back, the portals swung open,

and Count Dracula's manservant stood before me.

Of all the hideously disfigured spectacles I have ever beheld,

those perched on the end of this man's nose

remain forever pasted into the album of my memory.

Bowing low, this loathsome wretch introduced himself:

"Travolta, Sir.

At your servile.

If you will follow me, I shall tell the master you have arrived."

Walking with a pronounced limp

-- L - I - M - P; pronounced "limp" --

he showed me into a waiting room ...

sorry: into a waiting-room, and vanished.

Presently he returned with his master.

"Ah! Mr. Lawson-Particle." cried the Count.

"Welcome to Castle Dracula! Dinner is in half an hour,

if you would care to change. We can leave business until tomorrow.

Travolta will show you to your room. ... Tell me,

what blood type are you?"

"A?"

"I said, what blood type are you?"

"O!" I said.

"B."

I tried to question Travolta as I dressed for dinner.

I asked him the nature of the Count's business,

but he made the sign of the cross and said nothing.

I asked him why there were no mirrors in the castle,

but this time he made the sign of the very cross indeed and spat.

This was puzzling. I couldn't see myself spending a month

in a house with no mirrors.

The man was either mad or both.

"Capon for dinner", said Travolta as we descended the vast stairway.

"Capon, yummy!" I replied.

"No, Sir, the Count always insists that his guests put a cape on for dinner."

And what a dismal repast it was!

I passed a fitful night in my vast bedroom.

Below me I could hear the Count's footsteps echoing in the hallway.

I arose early, made my toilet,

sat on it and then came down for breakfast.

Travolta informed me that his master had gone to bed at dawn,

and would expect in his study later that evening.

It was a dreary morning. The greatest excitement I had to look forward to

was the prospect of a total eclipse of the sun which was expected during the afternoon.

When the time came, I watched through a fragment of smoked glass

as the moon slid slowly across the surface of the sun,

and darkness shrouded the earth.

I started at a sound behind me.

By the dim light of a candle I had prudently placed on the table

I could see that it was Count Dracula, my client.

He seemed a little excited.

A tendril of spaghetti appeared to be protruding from either side of his mouth.

"Why good afternoon, Count!" I cried. "I wasn't expecting you until this evening.

Have you come to enjoy the spectacle?"

"... spectacle?" -- "The solar eclipse."

He looked out of the window. "... solar eclipse?"

"Yes. It's the first total eclipse I've ever seen! Exciting, isn't it?"

"Oooh shit."

"Is there something wrong, Count?"

"How much longer is it going to last?" he cried,

and I could see fear in his blood-red eyes.

"Well, it's just ending now," I replied. "Look at that! Splendid, isn't it?"

I turned in time to watch the moon moving slowly away from the sun,

and light once more flooding the scene.

"Have you ever seen anything so ... Oh. Count?"

But he had disappeared, leaving his cape behind him.

In his hurry he must have upset the ashtray on the floor beside us.

I never saw him again.