A tale of tie-breaks and rugby

Posted by David Smerdon on Mar 30, 2015 in Chess, Non-chess

A while ago, I wrote a post about tie-breaks in chess. It  was inspired by a research proposal I submitted on social network formation as applied to round-robin chess, which basically consisted of a lot of mathematics.

One point to come out of it was that no matter which tie-break system one chooses in chess, there are always going to be situations in which the resulting rankings would be considered unfair by any human definition. There are many notable examples, with the 2011 Commonwealth Championships being a personal case. The huge open tournament had over 700 players, and because the final places were decided by Buchholz (‘sum of opponents’  scores’, the standard method) tie-break, the medals for gold, silver and bronze were ultimately came down to the results of a couple of games played between rank amateurs hundreds of boards from the top. Well, with one exception: my swindle in the final round not only contributed to Gawain Jones edging Nigel Short on tie-breaks for the gold medal, but also handed me the bronze (on account of one of my earlier opponents winning his final game on board 250 or so).

I had always just assumed that this was an organic problem to chess that wouldn’t occur in other professional sports. And generally this is indeed the case; many sports have structures where either there is a natural mechanism to break ties (e.g. goals for/against) that doesn’t rely on the results of lesser teams, or else ties are simply impossible (e.g. tennis, or knock-out tournaments). However, there was an interesting exception recently in the world of rugby. In the esteemed Six-Nations Cup in Europe, half the teams ended up in a tie for first place. Ireland, England and Wales all finished with four wins each in the knockout competition. The tie-break was decided on points difference, which was also incredibly close, with Ireland eventually declared the winner.

The final day’s competition was incredibly exciting, with the three superior teams each winning their games. Bizarrely, the final round’s matches were played sequentially rather than simultaneously (as is the case in chess, football’s Champion’s League, etc), which, while somewhat unfair, added to the excitement of the day. First up, Wales, the worst placed of the three contenders in terms of points difference, thumped Italy 61-20. This temporarily put them in first place, but then Ireland comprehensively beat Scotland 40-10 to reclaim the lead. Finally, England beat France in an incredibly high-scoring encounter (55-35), falling just shy of the 26-point margin it needed to claim first.  With a superior For/Against score by just six points over England, an incredibly slim margin for rugby, Ireland was declared the winner. So far so good; a fair decision, if a close one, one might say. But this is not the whole story.

In the final moments of the Ireland-Scotland match, there was an apparently innocuous incident. The Scottish team, having had a dreadful Cup campaign, had resigned themselves to defeat. Suddenly, a break was on, and the Scotsman Stuart Hogg seemed certain to score a late consolation try. However, either through laziness or the sheer dejection of defeat, Hogg committed a tiny, uncharacteristic knock-on (a sort of foul). The referee, who also could have been forgiven for overlooking a seemingly meaningless and minute indiscretion at this stage of the dead rubber, referred the incident to the video referee. The try was disallowed, with no fuss made by either party; after all, the margin of victory was still thirty points.

A try in rugby is worth five points. It is coupled with a conversion attempt, usually successful in the modern game, which is worth a further two points. Overall, this anonymous moment, attributable to the morose inertia of a player from the team that finished dead last in the competition, boosted Ireland’s final tie-break score by (most likely) seven points. Two hours later, Ireland lifted the cup on the basis of a superior points difference of six points.

Of course, I can’t really directly compare this incident to chess, and certainly not to what happened to Gawain, Nigel and me in Johannesburg. But the principle of a lower, outside party playing a very relevant role in the top standings is quirkily similar. It’s perhaps too much to say that Stuart Hogg decided the Six Nations Cup with his final-moment ‘fingerfehler’…but it makes a much better story.


Thicker than water

Posted by David Smerdon on Mar 2, 2015 in Non-chess

Many people are surprised to hear that I come from a family of extremely talented artists. They are usually even more surprised to discover that I cannot draw so much as a realistic stick figure. I think I made  flip-book once that made some sense, if you squinted hard enough.

My Dad was an acclaimed architect in Queensland, and now teaches architecture at a university. My Mum specialises in watercolours and oils. But my sister is fast becoming the star of the family. Recently, the ABC did a quick mini-documentary on Anne, where she talks about art, creativity and congenital heart disease. Check it out.


Anne's canvas of beauty from Dannielle Murray on Vimeo.


“The world doesn’t make sense, so why should I paint pictures that do?” – Pablo Picasso


Translating Yoga

Posted by David Smerdon on Feb 4, 2015 in Non-chess

One of my New Year’s resolutions (actually, if I’m being honest, a regular, unsatisfied customer on the list) is to do yoga. But this time, I’ve tried to make the resolution a bit more specific and quantifiable: I have to complete 8 weeks of consecutive once-a-week classes of ashtanga yoga. The rules are that only unavoidable excuses can permit missing a class, and will in any case result in two more weeks of classes being added to the sequence.

Stupid? Possibly. Attainable? Certainly; readers will know how (obsessively) seriously I take my NY resolutions. I’m off to a good start, and last night was my third class. It’s quite clear that I am the worst in the class, both in terms of technique, flexibility and, apparently, breathing. (Never before now did I know I was so terrible at breathing – I would have thought this would be something I’d mastered after 30 years and approximately 355,765,000* single practices to date. But alas.)

Nonetheless, I’m sticking with it. It’s quite a workout, despite being a slow-paced 75 minutes of posture-holding. I’m enjoying the stretches and I’m sure my complaining body will thank me one day.

But there’s one part of yoga that I just can’t get. Try as I might to open my mind, some of the more allegorical aspects are just too far advanced for my caged economist’s brain. In fact, many of the common phrases of vinyasa yoga seem to supersede the figurative and almost border on the metaphysical. I’m still flummoxed by several of the instructions our charismatic yoga instructor commanded me to perform – and unfortunately, Google Translate is yet to include “Yogi” in its list of languages to help me out. Things already got off to a strange start when the instructor announced that we really shouldn’t have been practising yoga last night because it was a full moon, “…so, you know, just keep that in mind.”  But then the emblematic orders began, and I was not only lost without shoes but also without a yogi dictionary. Any advice or suggested renderings for these pearls of flexible directives from last night’s class would be most welcome.

  1. “Look to the tip of your nose [so far so good, but…] and then shift your gaze to your third eye in between your eyebrows.”  – (…am sure I did this one wrong, as I looked like I was about to be carried away by men in white coats)
  2. “Create space within yourself” – (…conjures up several unfortunate images, most appropriately from my ill-fated 2007 trip to yoga’s birthplace in New Delhi)
  3. “Allow yourself to be” – (…because without this permission, presumably, I would not have been. Really wished Descartes was in the class beside me for this one.)
  4. “Make your breath like the sound of the ocean” – (…in principle, this one was less ambiguous. But I guess the sounds of Surfers Paradise beach on a Saturday night were probably not what they were after.)
  5. “Make your muscles strong, but soft” – (…like a hard-boiled egg.)
  6. “Breathe through your spine”  – (…it’s been a while since high-school biology, but I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.)
  7. “Be at this point, at this time” – (…according to Einstein, I fulfilled this one by definition.

It begs the question (doesn’t it always): what would Gandhi think? Fortunately, the internet provides the answer.

Looking forward to the next class – another week, another point of the space-time continuum.

*I got this estimate from CalculatorPro’s ‘Beats and Breaths’ calculator. the Indian medical side MedIndia.net estimated 223,715,000 – that is, 37% (or a whopping 132 MILLION) fewer breaths in my life. However, it came with the bizarre disclaimer that its estimates “are not 100% accurate”. Mind-blowing.


Hottest 100 Song Entries, 2015

Posted by David Smerdon on Jan 26, 2015 in Non-chess

Australia Day has taken on an extra special meaning ever since I moved to Europe. The fine Australian tradition of the 26th of January is just one more element of home that I miss, and so every year our household tries to bring a little bit of the holiday to Amsterdam.

Our past Australia Day parties have been quite a success, despite the freezing (and occasionally snowy) conditions. Our multinational guests have really gone all out, with some fabulous Australiana costumes, delicious efforts at Aussie baked goods (pavalovas, lamingtons and an exceptional kangaroo-shaped pie come to mind). The ‘Aussie Trivia’ competition is always a bit of a hit, while the participation in backyard cricket games (ankle-deep in snow and surrounded by parked cars) have been admirable, if understandably somewhat brief and marred by confusion. Needless to say, these occasions have gone a long way to easing a homesick Aussie’s winter blues, even without another creature from Down Under in sight.

There’s one special Australia Day tradition, however, in which I can directly get involved, even from my distant Dutch departure. Every year, the Australian radio station Triple J organises the world’s largest online music poll, collecting over a million votes for the top songs released in the past calendar year. The ‘hottest 100’ are then played on the (non-commercial) station on Australia Day from around midday. (Conveniently, this gives me a chance to download the list in time for the Amsterdam Australia Day party. Well, there have to be some perks, right?)

I have a confession to make: I’m a bit of a new-music junkie. This might come as something of a surprise for an economist/chessplayer, but there it is. Each year, I put in my votes and, in the past couple of years, I’ve badly masqueraded as a music critic with a sneaky little post about my votes. 2014 was a strange year for my music tastes; the list is a mixed bag of styles and genres, with my standard indie rock stirred in with some dance tracks, a touch of boppy instrumental, smooth grooves and even a throwback to eighties funk. I present: my eclectic top-ten for 2014.

(10)                Duke Dumont – I Got U

An atypical entry from the overdone ‘Eurosummer dance’ genre, but I just couldn’t help myself. There’s something about the cowbell-like resonance of the drums that conjures up beach images, even without seeing the quirky music video. The lyrics are rudimentary and repetitive like so much doof-doof Eurotrash pumped out in the midyear, and deliberate misspellings of song titles (or, even worse, artists’ own names…) seriously annoy me. And yet, the song’s simplicity is somewhat compensated by the feel-good vibes. Plus, for nostalgia’s sake, this song guaranteed its inclusion by virtually playing on repeat throughout the Portuguese radio stations during our trip there in October.

(9)                  OK Go – I Won’t Let You Down

I’ll be honest up-front: this some is good, but not great. However, the one thing that kicks this song by the immensely talented OK Go is the video clip. For the unaware, this band is known the world over for its absolutely incredible music videos, beginning with the infamous one-take treadmill clip for “Here it goes again”:

Since then, their music video ideas have continued to up the stakes, continuing to impress and surprise me with their clips that are invariably shot in just one take. Check out the unbelievable video to their latest song, with its beautifully quirky Japanese themes, athletic camera work and sophisticated use of speed-up techniques. But be warned: Once you start watching one OK Go clip on YouTube, you’ll invariably be sucked into a vicious vortex of vids that’ll chew up an hour or more…

(8)                  Meghan Trainor – All About That Bass

Oh boy. I don’t know what this says about my music tastes, but “All About That Bass” is so ‘pop’ that it wasn’t even listed as a voting option for the Triple J countdown. It is true that this super-catchy tune has saturated the charts this year, and I’ll be the first to admit I’ve jumped on the bandwagon. The lyrics preach a positive body image message, but the song stands alone as an upbeat, skip-in-the-streets tune with an unavoidably catchy chorus. And, naturally, the bass line is a smooth walk behind the scenes. It’s pop, it’s uncharacteristic for me, and it’s completely anti-Triple J, but I’m hooked regardless.

(7)                  Bag Raiders – Nairobi

The first of a series of beat-driven chillout music, motivated by a strong instrumental focus and heavy on the percussion. The hit Bag Raiders track “Shooting Stars” made a seriously good impression on me; make sure you check out this incredibly entertaining dance rendition on Australia’s Got Talent by notoriously cool Byron bay local Tommy Franklin.

This year’s track Nairobi is a decent rival to that first smash, with a thick jungle beat and a serious focus on percussion. I’d wager it makes great safari-driving music, in case that’s for some reason what you’re after.

(6)                  Ten Walls – Walking With Elephants

A purely instrumental track with a phenomenal visual effect. Yes, visual. Listening to the first minute – a pseudo-‘Bittersweet Symphony’-like intro – one might be lulled into boredom, if not slumber. But this is purely the stage-setting for the elephants. Yes, I said elephants. After sixty-five seconds of calm, wind-whistling-through-the-reeves nature music, the percussion arrives, and boy, does it arrive. Try to listen to this and NOT think of elephants – I dare you. Better yet, close your eyes and imagine that you’re one of the majestic, lumbering beasts yourself. You won’t regret it.

(5)                  Chvrches – Get Away

Chvrches (pronounced “Churches”) was a big success in the 2014 Hottest 100, snaring three spots. As is so often the case after a huge debut album, this group has struggled somewhat to live up to the high water mark of their first efforts. However, their single “Get Away” is a notable exception. The song echoes the familiar feel of Chvrches’ earlier hits, leaning heavily on strong, emotive female vocals and a smooth melody. It’s in some ways a throwback to the good stuff of the last countdown, as well as steering me back to a more familiar chilled indie-rock genre for my list.

(4)                  Montaigne – I’m A Fantastic Wreck

Montaigne, for me, was one of the great finds of the 2014 talent pool. The Aussie artist was the winner of the Triple J 2013 ‘Unearthed’ competition, an annual search to uncover hidden Australian music talent. This year, Montaigne (Jessica Cerro) released her first album, a rich array of soulful yet upbeat ballads that go a long way to raising the lyrical sophistication average of the list to date. It was a tough choice to pick from this one, “I am not an end” and a brilliant cover of “Chandelier” live on Triple J’s ‘Like A Version’. In the end, the chirpily ironic lyrics of this song – combined with an outstandingly weird video clip – won me over.

(3)                  Mark Ronson (feat. Bruno Mars) – Uptown Funk

One thing that can be said for Mark Ronson: his collaborations are never boring. The present is no exception. There is only one word that could appropriately describe this song, and you’ll have to listen to the tune to fully appreciate this: Funky. It’s eighties style, narcissistic extravagance at its best. It’s brightly coloured leather, oozingly shiny hair it’s a tantalising bridge build-up to a crescendo of a chorus that channels Michael Jackson meets James Brown. It’s, simply, cool.

(2)                  Sia – Chandelier

Sia is without a doubt one of the greatest singer-songwriters to come out of Australia this century. Not only is Sia an outstanding performing artist in her own right, but she also writes incredible songs for many of today’s most popular artists, including several for Rhianna.

That being said, she seems to have saved her best for herself, releasing this absolute beauty that is surely a top contender for the number one spot. The story goes that the lyrics to Chandelier – a vivid description of a woman’s struggle with depression, told in the first person – was written by Sia about her own struggles with the effects of fame and the music industry. Whatever the motivation, the truth is that the result of this project is a stirring ballad with loud vocals and a catchy, skin-prickling melody. The resulting emotional effect is so powerful that it that leaves the listener angry, sad and energised, all at once. It was certainly a strong candidate for my top vote, but in the end was narrowly beaten out by a song that could not present a stronger contrasting effect.

(1)                  The Avener – Fade Out Line

And my number one song for the year is…unexpected. What to say about this soul-smoothing song? It’s not the tune to get the party started, nor to conjure up images of European beaches or African wildebeests. On the contrary, think a café in the sun, a country drive with the top down or dark glasses and outlandish hair styles. The downtown bass line spells cool even before the smooth, deep female vocals come in. The lyrics are poetic and intriguing, though barely whispered through the music, while the bridge raises the tempo by just the right amount to keep the temperature at ‘pleasantly mellow’. I was utterly captivated by this song on my first listen – a rarity for me – so imagine my surprise to find out that the über-hipster film clip heavily features chess. The vid is subtle and arty enough not to detract from the gloriously groovy beat, but the chess theme is, perhaps serendipitously so, a cute complement.

With such a deadly combination, there could hardly be any competition this year for the top spot in my list. However, being aware of the rather heavy focus I’ve placed on music videos in this year’s review, I would like to point out that Fade Out Lines still wins the crown as a stand-alone song, hands down. It’s definitely my favourite song to enjoy for the year, and the act of letting this baby roll on repeat is a real experience. You will need: shades, skinny jeans and a second-hand sofa. Turn down the lights, and turn up the tune. Enjoy.


2015 – We’re Back, Baby!

Posted by David Smerdon on Jan 26, 2015 in Chess, Non-chess

After a long hiatus, the blog is back. I decided to trial a Christmas/New Year period offline, coinciding with a much-needed trip back to Australia. I was fortunate to be invited to play in the Australian Open chess championships in Sydney, which provided the perfect escape from my annual European Winter chills.

The tournament, my first in Australia since I left in 2011, was what might be called a mixed success. I’ll hold off from a full report for now, consistent with a new philosophy of keeping the ‘chessier’ posts separate from my other rantings. In the coming weeks, in keeping with the tradition of davidsmerdon.com, I’ll also write my two regular January posts: my 2015 New Year’s Resolutions, and my top ten songs for 2014 as submitted to Triple J’s Hottest 100 poll.

For now, as I write this from a plane flying back from Brisbane to Singapore, I’ll leave you with three quick and amusing anecdotes from this trip, highlighting what it’s like now that I visit Australia as a ‘tourist’ rather than ‘coming back home’:


In Agnes Waters, Tristan Stevens and I wandered into a quaint little ‘hippie clothing’ store:

OWNER:                    Where are you boys from?

ME:                             One of us is from Gladstone and the other is from the Netherlands.

OWNER:                    [Cue dry Queensland drawl] Ah yeh?

ME:                             Yep. He’s from Gladstone and I live in Amsterdam.

OWNER:                    Yeh nah, I thought you had a foreign accent.

ME/TRISTAN:                        ?????



As my boarding pass was being scanned at Brisbane Airport before boarding the flight:

ATTENDANT:          Have a pleasant flight, Mr Smerdon…Smerdon? Are you the chess-playing Smerdon?

ME:                             Uh, yes. That’s me.

ATTENDANT:          No way! I saw you at tournaments when I was in school. Have a pleasant flight…

ME:                            Thanks.

ATTENDANT:         …Grandmaster.


(If you find that snobbish and self-aggrandising, read on…)



Before the first round of the Australian Open in Sydney, while browsing the starting list of participants. Two spectators are doing the same.

SPECTATOR 1:         Hey, are you playing in the tournament?

ME:                             Yeh.

SPECTATOR 1:         Do you know who the players are? We’re trying to spot one of the top guys.

ME:                             Um, sure, yeh.

SPECTATOR 2:        We wanna see this top Aussie guy; his name’s Smer…Smer…

ME:                             [Sheepish grin] Ha, yeh, actually…

SPECTATOR 1:         …Smirnov. Anton Smirnov. Do you know him?

ME:                             [The grin fades] …Oh. Right, yeh. He’s over there. [Walk away in anonymous shame]


Happy New Year!


Hugging the world

Posted by David Smerdon on Dec 12, 2014 in Non-chess

Here’s a quick little puzzle that’s kinda cool:

Imagine that someone (or, probably many people) managed to tie a rope around the entire world, lying it on the ground across the equator. You could say that the rope literally hugs the whole earth, kind of like the seam of a cricket ball. The question is: How much extra rope would you need to raise the whole thing a metre off the ground around the entire globe?

What’s your first instinct? If you like, write down your guess in the comments. To hide the answer from you, you’ll have to scroll down. But to make sure you’re not disappointed, here’s a cool little clip of an intersection in a street in Germany, where pedestrians can play ‘Pong’ with the pedestrians on the other side while they wait for the lights.

Cool, huh?


Okay. The answer is: 6.3 metres of extra rope. The question is mathematically straightforward – the extension of the radius (1 metre) has to be multiplied by two times pi – but far more interesting is how our first instincts are (usually) so far off. What was your first guess? Mine was one kilometre. Whoops.


Joking with the Germans

Posted by David Smerdon on Nov 11, 2014 in Chess, Non-chess

I’ve had a reasonable start to my German chess league (“Schachbundesliga”), although not as impressive as my team as a whole. Werder Bremen (the mighty Green-and-White) currently sits equal first on the ladder with the behemoth Baden-Baden on 100%.

For some reason, perhaps because of the novelty of being Australian, I got a small write-up in the German chess press. (One astute reader has noted that the last three photos published in chess reports has featured the same dingy green hoodie, suggesting that it could be time to go shopping. To this, I say: Angus Young hasn’t changed his outfit in 40 years, so I’ve got some way to go…) My German still isn’t good enough to read articles without a handy online translator, but one thing that comes across clearly is a bizarre new nickname: Joker Smerdon. No explanation or context is given for the pristine nomenclature. Am I somehow considered mercurial in Germany? Is my joviality unusual for the Deutsche chess scene? Am I a wildcard for having played on the Sunday but not the Saturday? Am I to be compared to the late Australian actor Heath Ledger, “The Joker” from the batman movies (and, incidentally, a schoolboy chess player)? Does my chess style resemble amateur chess player Novak “The Djoker” Djokovic?

I honestly have no idea. In any case, the report features my comfortable win against German GM Alexander Naumann. Unfortunately, leaving out the background is a little unfair to my opponent. Poor Alexander had played a seven-hour game the day before, and had expected to play one of my teammates from Werder Bremen’s Saturday match. On the other hand, I came to the game fresh and armed with tricky, targeted opening preparation. Here’s the game:



The critical match for our club against Baden-Baden isn’t until February. It’s a shame it isn’t now, seeing as their top two players – Anand and Aronian! – are currently unavailable. On the other hand, at full-strength their line-up also boasts Svidler, Bacrot, Adams, Shirov, Naiditsch and Kazimdzhanov – a team strong enough to beat any national team in the world. No joke.


Flashback: “Dave’s Juice Fast” (2007)

Posted by David Smerdon on Sep 19, 2014 in Non-chess

A reader asked me about my first attempt at a juice fast, which I mentioned in relation to an upcoming repeat as part of my anti-midlife-crisis. I dug up a Facebook post I wrote about it in 2007, after the second day of the fast. Unfortunately, the fast, which I did with Manuel Weeks, only lasted another two days. After this, we both gave up – him because of insuffereable caffeine-withdrawal migraines (he’d been regularly on seven cups a day before the fast), and me because of ravenous hunger and low self-discipline. In case you aren’t convinced by these excuses, perhaps you’ll find some in my rather colourful description of juice-fasting below.


Dave’s Juice Fast – day 2 – October 6, 2007

In response to the flood of queries regarding my ‘juice fast’ status, I’ve decided to post a note. No, Andy, it is not part of Ramadan; no; it does not involve throwing anything over a cliff; and no, Tony, I am not a Fruitarian, or a Vegetarian, or any other sort of -arian for that matter. (I wish I’d been a barbarian).

The girlfriend of the couple I am staying with in Dublin convinced her boy to try and shed a few pounds, as well as kick his caffeine addiction, by going on a juice-fast. And I am his ‘juice-fast buddy’ (oh yeh, because that sounds cool).

Before I go into my experiences on the first day, I’ll quote Wikipedia. It’s a bit lengthy, so feel free to skip over it.

“Juice fasting is a type of fasting and detox diet in which the practitioner consumes only fruit and vegetable juices. Juice fasts are commonly undergone with the intent of detoxification for greater health, the theory being that less energy is expended on digestion of foods; therefore more energy exists for the rest of the body to expel toxins. As toxins are believed to lie within many of the human body’s eliminative glands and organs, different juice fasts target different sections of the body. For instance, a large portion of juice fasters believe that abstaining from solid food allows the body to recover and heal itself from damage and fatigue caused by the relentless stress of digestion. Others choose fasting because they want to target the liver, the kidneys, the urinary tract, the skin, the gallbladder, the brain, the immune system, etc…

“Additional reasons for undergoing juice fasts include religious reasons, losing weight and attempting to wean oneself from unhealthy habits, i.e., smoking, drinking soda, overeating, caffeine addiction, etc. Some more serious participants use juice fasting as an alternative to conventional medical practices, i.e., as a healing technique for pain, cancer, depression, arthritis, severe infections that failed antibiotics, autoimmune diseases and many other supposedly incurable diseases….”


After one day, all I am is Hungry, Hungry, Hungry. I’ve been craving bread, just one frickin’ slice of bread. Or just a cracker. Ohh man, how much would I murder a cracker right now. I’ve fared better than my friend, though, who usually drinks three cups of coffee a day, minimum. His headache was so bad that he couldn’t drive home from our ‘trip to the Irish countryside’, and I had to take over. In fact, it was SO bad that he cheated with a half-shot of espresso at 10pm. Normally I would have kicked up a fuss, but I was really starting to think he might actually die, which wouldn’t have done my ‘juice-fast buddy’ reputation any good for future clients.

Now, Why Juice Fasts Suck, by David Smerdon. Do not read if you have a weak stomach; it’s a bit gross.

Basically, because you don’t take in any pulp, or fibre, the digesting speeds up, which means you can ‘expel’ a lot faster. But this causes havoc with the bowels. A cringe quote from Wiki that I just can’t help myself but to quote:

“Because pure juice contains little to no fiber, juice fasters often use an enema or an herbal or saltwater laxative during the time of fasting to efficiently expel waste from the intestines and colon”


I haven’t experienced anything yet, but the multiple guides on the topic, as well as the previous experiences of the couple I’m with, suggest one should experience diarrhoea or constipation. Or both. Charming. Oh, and apparently because of all the juice acids, after two days you’re supposed to get ACUTE HALITOSIS. 

For those of you wondering, that’s medical for BAD BREATH.

Not only that, but you’re supposed to sleep about 12 hours a day, and basically can’t do anything, as all your energy is going into the toxin-expulsion process. All you’re supposed to do is rest, rest, rest (and try not to think about food, presumably. I watched a cooking show this morning. Torture.)

Woot woo, my first weekend in Dublin and I’m stuck on a couch with bowel problems watching TV with a caffeine addict on detox.

But EVEN WORSE than all the hunger, the sleeping, the bad breath, the bowel adventures, is:

I’m in Dublin, basically the closest city to England where you can still hate the English, on the weekend Australia plays England in the Rugby world cup,

And I can’t even have a beer.

The healthiest fridge I have ever been privy to. I hate it.

The healthiest fridge I have ever been privy to. I hate it.


First Contact

Posted by David Smerdon on Sep 14, 2014 in Chess, Non-chess

As I rapidly approach – *gasp!* – thirty, it appears I’ve been going through some sort of premature midlife crisis. I’ve been aggressively travelling to new countries (three this Summer), flirting with various new hobbies and pursuits, will soon embark to improve on my shameful attempt at a juice fast…and, recently, I got contact lenses.

“What?!”, I hear you ask with surprise. “I didn’t even know you wore glasses!”

Indeed; the glasses were in themselves a recent addition. My eyesight was never a problem until I began the Tinbergen masters programme three years ago, which precipitated a remarkably rapid decline in my vision. I decided that the best way to deal with the problem of not being able to read the lecture board was not, in fact, wearing my new glasses, but simply avoiding lectures. It worked, to an extent, but eventually nature took its course and I became one step closer to my Brainy Smurf avatar.

Dave says no to midlife crises.

Right before Sabina and I left for Portugal, I got myself measured for contact lenses, and took my trial pair along with me for the holiday. For those of you who don’t know anything about lenses (as I didn’t), here’s a brief synopsis. They are, literally, tiny, malleable lenses that one must stick to the front of one’s eyeballs. It takes a little getting used to, this process; keeping one’s eye open while a finger literally pokes the eyeball isn’t exactly an innate action. Moreover, the wearer is strictly instructed by the optician that hygiene is a must; lenses must be thoroughly sanitised (definitely NOT with any water) both before and after each wear. I was told not to have them in for more than four hours a day at the beginning, so that my eyes could get used to the product. This was good advice: in the early days for a new wearer, it literally feels like a couple of sand granules are permanently stuck in your eye. Uh-uh – no scratching.

This sensation is supposed to go away after a week or so. I say ‘supposedly’, however, because I didn’t get that far. I had the lenses in while I drove our rental car from Galicia (awesome) to Famalicão (less so), but my right eye was becoming more and more irritated, and I became my own windscreen-wiper as I regularly brushed the tears out of the optical culprit. Eventually, I couldn’t take it any more, so we pulled over in a small town so I could take the lenses out.

Into a cafe bathroom, and – pop! – out slides the left contact. Now for the right miscreant…and, what do you know? He’s not there.

At first, I thought that I just couldn’t see it, so I kept trying to pinch the translucent lens on my iris – which, in reality, just meant that I kept pinching my iris. Try it some time; it’s really not fun. After a while, and checking all around my eyeball, I came to the conclusion that the little bugger was missing.

Well, there goes my lens trial for Portugal, I thought, and off we drove again (reequipped with my regular classes). My eye was still in some pain, but I concluded that when the lens fell out, it must have scratched my cornea in the process (I was warned that the edges of lenses can become rough, which can severely irritate your eye. The fun never ends!). I hoped the eye would repair itself in a day or two, but the sand-in-the-eye feeling persisted.

We  were actually in Famalicão for a small chess tournament, so the eye condition played havoc with my preparations. During the first two games, I found it hard to focus in general, let alone on the board, and spent most of my thinking time with my eyes closed. But the worst was in the evenings, when I simply couldn’t sleep due to the constant irritation of my closed eyelids on my damaged eyeball.

(Grossed out? There’s not much more, so read on – but, I warn you, it’s going to get worse before it gets better.)

Finally, by the third night, I couldn’t take it any more. I got up from the bed, went to the bathroom mirror and stretched my eyelids apart as much as I dared. In the very innermost corner of my eye, surrounded with masses of tiny, irritated red arteries, I spotted the glint of something blue. A tiny speck, but the colour gave it away as foreign. Prising my eyelids open with both hands, I carefully tried to drag it out using the fingernail of my pinkie. It threatened to retreat back beyond my eyeball’s visible curvature into the unknown abyss behind my eye, but, after some painstakingly delicate manoeuvring, it began to move centrally. However, I soon noticed that the speck wasn’t coming alone – in fact, it was more of a small piece. No, wait – is it a shard? Eventually, enough became exposed that I could grip it and pull, and out, covered in creamy, sticky eyeball fluid, came my lost contact lens. The whole thing.

More than meets the eye.

Needless to say, it was all glasses-wearing on the holiday after that.

Today, I recounted my story to the opticians. They were (to my relief, I must admit) suitably shocked and appalled. A freak occurrence, they said. Nevertheless, they’ve given me another trial pack to try. (Interestingly, they offered no advice on how to prevent this from happening again. Lightning doesn’t strike twice, after all. Oh, actually…)

Perhaps this was a sign that I should just accept my ageing gracefully, baldness, glasses and all, rather than risking my sight. Besides, they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. And what’s a window without glass?



Posted by David Smerdon on Aug 18, 2014 in Chess, Non-chess

After a straight month on the road, complete with four countries, 19 tournament games, one blitz tournament, a problem solving championship, a Bermuda party and an amazing wedding, only Bruno Mars can explain how I feel.

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