I adopt a nom de plume here, lest the brilliance I shall exhibit in this game, where I need not hide my genius under a bushel, overawe players in those games where I participate under my more usual name. Well now, much frantic to-ing and fro-ing on the board, but to what purpose, one must ask oneself? Flabby knips and unnecessary home stations apparently selected by sticking a pin in the map. One might as well analyse a child's finger-painting. "Father Jack" has inadvertently caused a faint glimmer of light to appear in this cloud of unknowing, but by not hoping for this to bear fruit, however stunted, I shall not be disappointed. St. James's Park; those who understand, will understand.

At frigging last..a game to arouse the Paddy in me. Youse fecking eejits wouldn't know a good move from your own fecking hole. Now, fer jasus sake, it takes an auld bollix like meself to point the way and play a London Bridge and confuse the fecking likes of yez.

...Dazed5] and we're still waiting. And Rensdorf: shove yer head up yer arse. Please.
Wimbledon, laying a backmark podume. Ha!

You know, I'd actually like Chalky if her eyes looked like limpid pools instead of stagnant ponds! Bloody upstart, the shed was probably where she was conceived - not the woodshed, the wool shed! Doncha just love shearers? Inkspot on the other hand plays silly whatsits with whatever is around. If you recall, blotting paper was used to sort out the structure of microbes; sound familiar? Anyhow, I'm not moving - Kings Cross is doing me proud at the moment, unlike some of you meek and mild wooses. Must be off now, someone has just offered me a nine inch pizza supreme ... whoooeeee!

On an offensive
pen: your ears look like a herring.
Dujon: your name sounds far too much like a mustard.
Gusset login: You should really stop playing in your underwear.
Chalky: Yellow makes you look ill. Please cease from wearing it, especially a jumpsuit.
rab: you smell of fish and wee.
JLE: your MC moves are akin to a pre-school child's.
Right that's enough offence. My move is Heathrow, teminal 4.

[Lib] It's quite difficult to be horrid to you but I'll try my best ... SNOT! Heathrow Terminals 1,2,3 should make your last move look really feeble.

Quite simply, it would pleasure me more to have my testicles nibbled by a baboon called Auberon than to lower myself to the depths being shown by those cockarses who think it's sufficient to steno-diarrhoea into the box marked Stance (presuming, of course, the sub-pond biology that frequents this part even knows what the latter means) and click Submit with nary a thought as to whether its lexospew is worth daubing over the fabric of the interwebnet. Quite simply, I wonder why you sub-human cretin don't just switch off your terminals and have a genuine Bank instead of making do with this pixellated ersatz.