BEACHCOMBER

SAUNTERING down to breakfast the other morning, I was delighted to see our resident polar bear helping himself to a large portion of smoked haddock poached in butter and milk. He was clearly enjoying himself. “Do join me,” he beckoned, and motioned for me to sit.

“I haven’t seen you for ages,” I said. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, this and that,” he said, waving a huge paw. “Or, to be more accurate, nothing whatsoever. I do believe you humans are beginning to understand the joy of nothingness.”

“I went to London Zoo last week,” I said after pondering his words, “and didn’t see any animals of note. It was their night-time Christmas trail, which passes some wondrously illuminated animal sculptures, assorted light shows, some delicious marshmallows and Santa Claus.

“It was only when I left the zoo and spotted an urban fox that I realised I had not seen any animals except for a few sleepy flamingoes. Is that what you mean by nothingness?”

“No,” he said, politely shaking his head: “I was referring to the World Chess Championship.”

“Ah yes,” I said. “Magnus Carlsen of Norway was defending his title in London against the American challenger Fabiano Caruana. I followed it at the start, but the games kept ending in draws and I lost interest.” “Lost interest?” he exclaimed in astonishment. “But that’s exactly the nothingness I was referring to. tension increased with every draw. Waiting for something is far more exciting than it actually happening.”

“What did happen?” I asked. “They drew all 12 games of the match,” he said in a voice filled with awe. “And…?” I prompted. “And they moved into the chess equivalent of a penalty shootout, which consisted of a four-game mini-match played under a frenetic time control.

“Carlsen then won three games on the trot and it was all over.” “That sounds exciting,” I said. The bear looked disapproving. “If you find crash, bang, wallop exciting, I suppose you could say that,” he said, “but the 12 draws brought a far finer sense of exhilaration. Only chess and cricket can attain such heights.”

“Chess and cricket are nothing like each other,” I protested.

“Chess grandmasters can play 12 games in three weeks without a single decisive result,” he said. “Cricketers can battle for five days then call it a draw because it is raining.

has so much nothingness been achieved by so few in such a long time.”

And he gulped down the last of his haddock and wished me an eventless day.