There was a fire down our street last night. I woke up to find our house had been cordoned off. I live on the corner of a road where there are loads of garage repair shops. The road is a slum. There are discarded food wrapping, discarded food itself, car bits, engineering oil all over the place, somewhat sinister men hanging around.
A policeman came to the door & explained that a workshop down the road had caught fire because some oxy-acetylene canisters had caught fire. She said we could stay inside the house if we liked but it would be better if we left. I gathered she had no idea when we can go back. The smoke at the end of the road looked like a war zone.
I have just heard the news. Bobby Fischer has died. I am 61, pushing 62 but the truth is Bobby is the only real hero I have ever had. He took on the Soviet chess empire all by himself & finally overcame by defeating Boris Spassky in 1972, then for some (to me) inexplicable reason, he retired, only appearing briefly in 1992 to replay the match against Spassky.
His book, my 60 Memorable Games is (arguably) the best chess book ever written.
He was mad but who cares, he was a mad genius.