Moving pieces

[Apologies to Rush]

When my body's crying out for vitamin D, I like to absorb my sunlight watching the daily chess games in Hyde Park. Most of the players are male, middle- or old-aged and European. That's not stereotyping on my part, it's a fact. Only bad light or bad weather can drive them from the giant board and chess tables. They seem to exist on coffee from the adjacent barista, plus the odd sandwich or cigarette. I suspect a few of them are homeless. Many have eccentricities that add to the spectacle. One fellow won't touch the giant pieces directly, moving them with the aid of a paper bag; one carries a radio he puts to his ear during his opponent's go. I saw one who offered draws when he didn't deserve them. Kibitzing is kept to a minimum, but trash talk is another matter. Pity the challenger who acts too cocky and can't back it up on the board. But the chess men don't mind patzers like me watching ... or tourists taking photos ... uninterested folk eating their lunch and chatting on mobiles within earshot ... or park gardeners working around them. They are consumed by the game.