<table> starts a table, <tr> starts a row of a table and <td> starts an individual cell. As with most other tags inserting a slash in the appropriate place closes them off again. So a basic 2 row, 3 column table would be generated by:<table>
<tr>
<td>Cell 1</td><td>Cell 2</td><td>Cell 3</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>Cell 4</td><td>Cell 5</td><td>Cell 6</td>
</tr>
</table>
which produces:| Cell 1 | Cell 2 | Cell 3 |
| Cell 4 | Cell 5 | Cell 6 |
<table> tag can include attributes like border, cellpadding and so on, which produce various different effects; these are the same sort of things as color=red in a font tag. Also of note are the colspan and rowspan attributes which can be applied to the td tag -- eg <td colspan=2> would make the cell it applied to double size. You can specify a bgcolor, one of the mainstays of this game, and the width attribute which says how much of the table each column should take up -- I think percentages are best from the point of view of cross-browser compatibility. And finally, this is the HTMLHelp.com entry on tables where they probably explain everything much better than I can.| 1 | Well, Brendan's attempt to unify so many massive games at once just led to a build-up of pressure in the Thalian ducts, leading to an explosion of film & crescent styles to contend with. Hence the wholesale takeover of the commentary by Characters from Under Milk Wood | ||||
| Theatrical Celebrity Commentary | |||||
| Continuing the timely revival of game 1 | First Voice: To begin at the beginning. It is summer, black moonless night as the dim, dark villagers scuttle in their coal-dark hovels this June 26th, the blue lilting lapping sea plashes across the tied-up trawlers, hauling the souls of four-fifty men each night from dark to dusk. The village between the wooded hill and the wine-dark sea settles into its nightly routine, bothered by unquiet thoughts of games beyond their ken | ||||
| 2 |
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| Gilbert & Sullivan | |||||
| as requested, a spin-off from Euripdes | Organ Morgan: Praise the Lord, we are a musical nation! Oh Bach fach, Bach every time for me, and then Palestrina, unless Polly Garter's singing at the Sailors Arms, which are always open for young Polly... | ||||
| 3 |
Michael Jackson when he got busted in his hotel room. (But hey, Busted were pretty embarrassed too) How do you worry a flock of sheep? |
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| Tasteless Spanklines | |||||
| unifying 3&7 | Mrs Organ Morgan: You haven't heard a word I've been saying, have you Morgan? It's organ organ all the time with you... [bursts into a midden of salty howling, spearing a doorstep of lamb and mint sauce and burying it whole] | ||||
| 4 |
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| Euripedes | |||||
| Continuing the Euripedean section of 2 | Gossamer Beynon: At last, my love! What else to do, standing in the wine-dark slaughterhouse, but dream of the cloudy future, waist-deep in entrails and chicken hearts? Long, long time to long for loose-limbed lovers, wasting away in the prison cage of Llaregyb [sighs like an aged cat] | ||||
| 5 | - Yaaargh! Is it the pig? | ||||
| Reverse Squeak Piggy Squeak! | |||||
| New furcation | Mr Waldo: In Pembroke City ere I was big/ My work was poor and meek/ I had to climb on top of a pig/ And force it then to squeak/ And when it squoke the other boys/ All tried to guess if I/ Would guess who, by the horrible noise,/ Had stuck his thumb in its eye | ||||
| 6 |
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| Pinter | |||||
| Pinterian section of 2 | Sinbad Sailors: Here's to me, Sinbad, resting his sea-weary legs in the Sailors Arms, the clock stopped at half-past eleven, the cock stopped from crowing by Gossamer Beynon. Thinking of flies attacking bears attacking people down in England where these things happen as all the fishermen say. Time I had a jar | ||||
| 7 | This is a concept of breathtaking simplicity, so what happens is this. Imagine you're in a car travelling at the speed of light, and out of the window you see a footballer breaking the offside rule because the Higgs Boson is between him and the opposing team's goal. Well, obviously you'd slam on the brakes, which in this case can be referred to as Tune 1(a), the car representing Song 1 in its entirety. Then, and this is the clever bit... | ||||
| Describing One Song to the Tune of Another | |||||
| New furcation | Captain Cat: My blind eyes look out on a scene of confusion and fright, but never such confusion and fright as the floods that swamped the decks of the SS Kidwelly, the roaring seas that robbed and dismasted me, stole away young Jonah Jarvis, Curly Bevan, and Alfred Pomeroy Jones... | ||||
| 8 |
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| Ionesco | |||||
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Ba | Mary Ann Sailors: Call me Dolores like they do in the stories. Seems everyone gets married but me, I care for sailors up in my room but I can't pin em down like old Rosie Probert. 34 Duck Lane in the spring of my old age. Come on up boys, I'm dead | ||||
| 9 |
Row, paddle, scull your boat Gently down the stream Merrily happily jovially laughingly Life is but a dream
I dreamt a hallucination of two fine mousies,
Cut water, pull, run rapids in thy craft
Nevertheless, a single mus musculus said, "Let's leave these shores
Punt, stir the waters, attack the waves with the vessel belonging to yourself,
Those creatures drove and pulled without a care
Bing, bang, bongle, bump
The tiny mammals picked up their bodies from the awful fall
Heave, drag, draw the canoe belonging to the second person grammatically
The traditional laboratory experiments searched the dishes and tried to spot em,
Close, shut, stop one's nose,
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| Just a Minim meets Bagpuss | |||||
| Portions of 5 meet an all-new nostalgic feline | Ocky Milkman: Pouring out the gallons of curdified milk into the river Stream, think of the mice chewing poor old Mrs Cherry Owen's sheets to ribbons, where's that pink tortoiseshell cat got to, saw it lapping up the guts outside Butcher Beynon's one evening, never seen him since | ||||
| 10 |
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| Orton | |||||
| Ortonesque continuation of 2 | Rosie Probert: What man did you see / Tom Cat, Tom Cat / When you looked at the King / Long long ago? / What manner was he / Tom Cat, Tom Cat / Was he able to sing / With lute and bow? / Was he small as a pea / Tom Cat, Tom Cat / Did he marry a queen / Or don't you know? | ||||
| 11 |
And the next word is *DING* - Bollocks. Three definitions, only one of which is correct... [1.] Come with me if you will to the 17th century, when the cotton industry was in its infancy. Whole communities grew up and died depending on the yearly cotton crop, and superstitions were rife thoughout those villages. Often nothing could be gleaned from a whole field but a few useless strands, and the culprit was universally claimed to be the boll weevil - in fact the strands he left behind were taken to be his hairs. Hence the expression "we haven't got any cotton mate, all we've got is a load of boll-locks." [2.] Curiously, an American term adopted by English soldiers during the Revolution. They were given the task of imposing curfew within their captured territories to prevent the formation of militias, and were obliged to clear the parks, lock up the theatres and close the pubs. They did this last of all, as the villagers' billards matches, darts tournaments etc. could go on for ever, and they always got violent if they were broken up already. Which gave rise to the expression - "close all the theatres etc. but never mind the bar-larks" [3.] Early in the 20th century, Hilaire Belloc teamed up with Jackson Pollock to paint pictures of bullocks, and one or two molluscs. Along with little-known Austrian painter Paul Ochs, they played cricket with wooden balls, known as Bowl-Oaks, which led to the extinction of the Giant Auk - the last were called Ball-Auks. When these events were first reported, someone said "Oi! What a load of bollocks!" and the name stuck, mainly because there isn't a punchline
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| Call My Bluff | |||||
| New furcation meets game 8 | Jack Black: Ach y fi! Ach y fi! Oh I dream of picking the boll weevils out the cotton rows with Myfanwy Price at my side, then chasing her through the gooseberried double bed of the wood, dragging mw from the spitpenny hops of my nightmares... | ||||
| 12 |
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| Ibsen | |||||
| Sprung like a wild duck from the loins of Orton | Bessie Bighead: I am a footnote to the great irony of life, born in a pauper's grave, milking the cows with brown, oaky hands, burning old muxical instruments to keep myself from death each night, waiting, waiting for the Reverend Eli Jenkins to notice me one night at the back of the pew, where I have a blanket and Bible out ready for him | ||||
| 13 |
[Brendan] 3 words out of 4 right, very good! (This was much easier when I set it last year - you just need a synonym for "children" really). Is yours "Shaun of the Dead"? [Tuj] I thought Reloaded sucked, but then I wasn't too impressed with the first film either. Revolutions is a complete waste of time all round. If you want a good war film, go see Troy while it's still here. (And I know matt's likely to play next...)
[Purser's office, on a slow boat to China] |
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| Stupid questions, but sound charades | |||||
| Continuation of 13 and 9 | Mrs Pugh: What's that you're reading Mr Pugh? Are you reading at table again? Is that not what a pig does? Are you a pig Mr Pugh? Did you know Willy Nilly brought you a parcel this morning? Was it a trough? Will you go to Heaven if you read at table Mr Pugh? | ||||
| 14 |
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| Sheridanian Review of Sound Charades | |||||
| Dash of 2, squeeze of 5 | Mr Pugh: I will go to Heaven Mrs Pugh, as I'm reading the Lives of the Great Saints. I will shortly be adding my name to the book, as I intend to slaughter Tom Paulin with a meat cleaver. I would do the same to Mark Lawson but he's cameoing in some other game at present. And pigs can't read, my dear |