An Epic Fight. And I Emerged the Victor. Ha!

Some of my readers may be aware by now that I am an enormous fan of the television fantasy series “Game of Thrones.” It’s a rollicking, lusty, swashbuckling (and mind-bogglingly complex) story of power, magic and even some true love. It can also be startlingly gory at times.

Spoiling for a fight. Jamie Lannister (in background) only has one hand so the very macho Bronn takes over…

There are battle scenes, but the most satisfying “action” scenes for me are the one-on-one kind, usually involving a lot of sweating, grunting and groaning as the protagonists hack away at each other with over-sized swords. After watching the latest episode of GoT last night, I sprang into action myself a short while afterwards.

While making myself a cup of tea in the kitchen, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Yes – you’ve guessed it. The darkly hideous shape of a cockroach was lurking behind the drainer. A pretty good sized one, too. Now, I am not afraid of cockroaches; I just loathe and detest them. For about half a minute I watched him, and he watched me. I was wondering which way he might be heading, and working out a strategy. I don’t know what was going through his horrid little brain, but in case you didn’t know – these creatures are crafty. They hide, and watch you, and then creep out when they think you’re not looking.

No wonder they have been around for 300 million years or so. As Jamaicans would say, “dem hard fi dead.” They even pretend to be dead when they’re not.

The beautiful Jon Snow is the Commander of the Night’s Watch and he has a direwolf named Ghost. Rather beautiful artwork I found online.

Anyway, Sir Roach (I’ve given him a knighthood – a posthumous one – for gallantry) made a move that he would later regret. Instead of reversing, he headed straight towards me. A bold move, but foolhardy as it turned out. I am a Commander of the Night’s Watch and have pledged a solemn vow… (sorry, GoT reference there). He decided to climb the wall above the kitchen stove – and that was when I made my move.

You see – I had a secret weapon, and I think you can guess what that was, dear reader. Chemical warfare. Yes, I know it’s unfair, but I preferred that to hand-to-hand combat, which can get very sticky; and I don’t possess a drone. One quick burst and my opponent ran for cover, making a strange rattling sound. I guess he was adjusting his armor. Then he re-emerged (as roaches so often do), looking a little wobbly on his pins but still moving…into the dining area, on the floor.

Aha. Easy. Another quick zap nearly knocked him for six. He staggered, but kept moving. I followed closely, ready to pounce with the death blow. But it wasn’t. Sir Hard Fi Dead tottered on, looking a bit the worse for wear but still focused. He tried to hide in the shadow of a bookcase, but I flushed him out. Now, I struck decisively.

He stopped in his tracks, and immediately flipped over onto his back. That was that. In true GoT fashion (i.e. rather sadistic), I didn’t finish him off but left him to suffer, waving his legs frantically. Back to watch the BBC News and drink a new cup of tea. Cold, aren’t I.

From time to time, I checked to see what the vanquished Sir H.F.D. Roach was doing. Still waving his legs dramatically at me. I didn’t trust him, though. Not one bit. In my experience, roaches have been seen to come back to life, rising from the dead like Lazarus… Ha! I fooled you! If you leave a “dead” roach alone for too long, he sometimes disappears. So, as a Commander of the Night’s Watch…I watched.

Here’s the “real” Jon Snow in the series. He never smiles, and always wears a huge amount of clothing.

The night wore on, and bedtime came around. I decided to imprison my dying opponent in a huge bowl, which I turned upside down on the floor. Following GoT principles, again, it’s always best to throw your enemy into a dungeon. Just to be sure, because no one trusts anyone else on that show.

In the morning, my husband (who had slept through all this late-night drama) saw the upturned bowl and said, “What the hell is this?”

“Is there a roach underneath it?” I countered, afraid he might reply in the negative.

To my relief, Sir Roach was still there; and yes, he was indeed a big one. Still waving one leg feebly, until he was ignominiously dumped in the toilet. The bad guys always suffer an undignified end.

My husband was impressed by my bravery. The soldiers of the Night’s Watch would have been, too. And they’re a difficult bunch to win over, especially when they’ve had a few mugs of ale and start shouting.

The men of the Night’s Watch spend too much time arguing in the pub. They wouldn’t have been much help in my epic confrontation with Sir Roach.