Official Team Captain, Vice 1's sine qua non, Devil's advocate, Maharajah Queen and small furry thing.

Unofficial Team Captain, quip master, charade's one-action wonder, movie producer and dispute mediator. Regina's husband.

Entertaining, humorous, random friendly bloke - the kind who'd give you the shirt off their back (or share their dinner with you). Also designated driver, prehistoric behemoth and longsuffering uni student.

Disenfranchised single guy who has casual flings with Venus de Wino. Sense of humour like an old battery - some potential but mostly flat. Likes the theatre and ballroom dancing. Does not like women's shoes.

Sets the standard then goes beyond it. Lightening nemesis of everyone, especially Michael. Passionate chess and transfer player. Amateur cinematographer. The man who had his cake but couldn't eat it (soon to be rectified).

Talented music teacher, keyboardist for 'Back to the Future' and Facebook friend of everyone.

Cocktail socialite, soon-to-be celebrity vocalist and fashion princess. Karina's sister.

International man of mystery who likes Jack Daniels and Michelle (not in that order).

Champion of Capitalism, aspirant International Master, debating heavyweight and Grammartian (from Planet Grammar).

The captain of vice, chronicler of all things vice-regal and bestower of the Viceroy Award. Michael's doppleganger.

(present in spirit)

Late Bullwinkle President, T-Shirt designer and unsuspecting dreamer. Friend of all, who will never be forgotten.

It was a dark and stormy night, metaphorically speaking. Four chess players sat at a board considering what was, what wasn't and what could have been of the tournament games they had just played. Only one person was content; another was nonplussed and two were nigh inconsolable. But all thoughts turned elsewhere as someone asked, "So what time do we check in tomorrow?"

"2:00," came the reply.

"What floor are we on?"

"I'm not sure. I asked for the highest one possible."

"Bruce and I will probably arrive early. Can we get in first?"

"Chances are you'll have to wait for us."

"Maybe we can play chess in the lobby :-) "
"Are you kidding? Don't do that. Don't get anyone's attention - that would be disastrous. Whatever you do, don't create a scene. It's very important. Don't draw any unwanted attention to yourselves."

"Are you serious?"
"Yes."

The room was ominously silent for a moment.

"Right. We'll see you tomorrow at 2 then..."

As the four friends left the club that evening, little did they know what tomorrow held in store. For the weekend was fast approaching, and in a matter of hours the group would find themselves living the high life with beautiful women, fast chess and red furniture. It would be a splendiferous experience for all involved, indulgent to the point of immorality... okay - it would go beyond immoral and descend into a weekend of pure decadence that would come to be known as:

The first to embark on the vacation were Bruce and Michael. Both men were keen to set out very early in the morning, so Bruce picked Michael up at 10:00. Having learned and yet not learned a lesson from Marcoola, Michael divided the same amount of unnecessary gear between several smaller bags instead of one large suitcase. Thankfully Bruce didn't seem to mind. As they drove down the highway, Michael had an idea.

"Hey Bruce, do you remember yesterday how Regina said not to create a scene?"

"Ja."

"I'm going to text her that something terrible happened because we didn't listen. Any ideas?"

Regina soon received the following message:

The message was deemed unrepliable.

The tourist population on the Gold Coast increased by two at 11:00. With the aid of a map and a well chosen landmark, Bruce and Michael had arrived at Q1 having made just one wrong turn (a new P.B for Michael). After stretching legs, straining necks and testing zoom features on cameras, their first order of business was to conquer the world's 20th tallest building. $36 and 300m later, they beheld panoramic views of the Gold Coast and its surrounds. The Pacific sparkled, the mountains cascaded and the other Pacific buzzed with traffic. High rises stood low and ants on the beach swam and sunbaked. One beheld penthouses, hilltops and even helicopters from above. Somehow though, Bruce missed a minor detail.

"Spire? What spire?"

"That spire."

"Oh..."

At 95.97 metres tall, the spire which crowned the world's tallest residential apartment complex had managed to go unnoticed, perhaps for the first and last time. Maybe the grandeur of the view made it easier to overlook. After sating their eyes with the awe of it all, the pair killed some more time with lunch, some non-existent chess on near-non-existent chess tables that lots of non-existent people use, and a trip to the mall. Before long, Jacob and Regina arrived.

When the group fronted at the front desk, they were given the option of waiting a few extra minutes for a room on a higher floor. Michael thought that 5 minutes was a small price to pay for such an offer. On the other hand, that's a game of chess gone begging. On the original hand, Michael probably would have lost the stupid game anyway so perhaps he got himself a bargain. Jacob, Regina and Bruce were certainly pleased. They entered the lift and pressed 56. It must be said that there's not much to be said for the Q1 lifts - they make your ears feel strange. Upon exiting the lift, the foolhardy four crossed a plain hallway to room 5605. Evidently the interior designers were innumerate. Perhaps the door took offence, as it wasn't letting us in.

"Are you sure it's this card? I can't get it to work..."

So much for newfangled RFID technology; 3 separate swipe cards (1 for the room, 1 for the lift and 1 for the garage and amenities) were required to access the building, and at least one of these cards didn't appear to work. Perhaps Q stood for quandary. Thankfully the door yielded after a few more attempts. Once inside, excitement set in.

Between the view, the apartment itself and the fact that a game of chess was available 24/3, there was no room for any emotion save elation. The weekend had now begun in earnest. Once sleeping quarters were decided, the group did what most acquainted with vice would do when alone in a luxurious apartment with stellar views: they paid the scenery token homage and started arranging chess pieces.

When vice-making gets passionate, chances are there's exotic furniture involved. In accordance with this principle there happened to be four red ottomans (footstools, not communist Turks) scattered around the apartment, which were soon put to good use. Jacob's original idea was a hybrid of leapfrog and hopscotch, but the things were so soft and bouncy that people just started jumping on them – and once they did, it was hard to stop. The bright red poofs (the ottomans, not gays caught in the act) were definitely fun to jump on, so maybe they were fun to jump over? Michael certainly thought so. He stacked the cushions on top of each other, made some space around them and stated his intention to clear the obstacle with a running leap. Out came Jacob's trusty video camera. Michael checked the height of the poof pile again. Could he get over it? Regina didn't think so. With a deep breath, a small sprint and complete disregard for personal injury, Michael leapt into the air... and made it! Jacob captured the action in one continuous shot, much to Michael's delight. It was difficult to tell who was more amazed by the feat. Michael had come within inches of falling head over heels for a bunch of poofs.

Not long after commencing these less-than-intellectual festivities, it was noted that food was a commodity best obtained 5 minutes ago. It did not appeal to anyone to descend from a luxurious apartment in the lap of the gods down to the basement to get to the car to drive to the supermarket, but the sooner it was done, the sooner chess could resume. To add insult to injury, the gods had located the supermarket underground.

At this point one might ask how long it takes 4 intellectuals to buy 3 days worth of groceries. It took Bruce, Michael, Jacob and Reg 5 minutes just to establish who would buy what. Thankfully Bruce's discount card saved them from deciding whether to pay together or separately. The group split up and met back at the register. Obviously the time spent planning was too short, as they ended up with 5 days worth of supplies instead of 3. It is important to note here that Bruce purchased a cake. It is not important to note that someone else should have bought the cake in lieu of Bruce's 22nd birthday last Wednesday, and this same someone should have told Jacob and Regina. Bruce may expect two cakes when he turns 23.

Having returned to the apartment and stashed the supplies, the group resumed pushing plastic in panoramic paradise. Whenever people needed a cerebral vacation, the red furniture provided a great deal of support. Jacob's camera made another appearance and people started posing for photos. The late afternoon sun allowed Jacob to capture an image of his shadow against the wall. Michael counted four window frames and four people, and suggested a silhouette shot. Innocent kitchen utensils were implicated in the shenanigans, with Jacob brandishing a fork, Michael a wine glass, Regina a knife and Bruce a spoon. Jacob looked like he was about to start a meal while Michael looked to be finishing one, Regina appeared exceptionally dangerous and Bruce discovered a similarity between his shadow and The Matrix - there was no spoon. It made for a fantastic photo, but perhaps they could better it if their equipment was larger (no offence guys). Michael went to the kitchen drawer as the sun disappeared over the horizon. "Hurry Michael – the light's fading!" Michael dashed back with props in hand as everyone's shadow began to melt into the wall. Unfortunately he was too late; the sun had set on the window of opportunity.

Undeterred by adverse lighting conditions, Jacob suggested posing on the poofs a la The Beatles in their famous Abbey Rd cover. It was a great idea in principle but practice was to prove problematic. One by one everyone lined up and walked over the four footstools, while Bruce's camera sat watching. It would have been successful had everyone kept time. Despite synchronisation attempts being made, people either couldn't keep their timing or couldn't keep their footing. Human dominoes inevitably ensued and Regina's toe came off the worst. Michael's toe didn't fare much better and Jacob may have sustained a scrape or two. Only Bruce remained injury-free, which was statistically warranted given his previous encounter with some stairs at Marcoola.

Poor Regina. Not only did she have a sore toe, but one does not go all the way to the coast just to stay in for dinner and eat junk food - unless you're a man. Hence Regina was outvoted 3 to 2 (team captain gets 2 votes); dinner out would have to wait 'til tomorrow. The transfer was going great, but while Reg was cooking little boys (cheerios) in the kitchen, Michael and Bruce had one-too-many quickies (games of lightning). There was no vice intended, but there was a misunderstanding of sorts so Reg and Jacob decided to step out for a while. This was not the kind of cheerio Michael wanted. Michael's stomach had been looking forward to little boys; now he actually felt like one. For the second time in as many nights, Bruce was feeling nonplussed. Reg and Jacob weren't impressed either. It was a little tense between captains and crew when Jake and Reg returned, but after some awkward discussion, a group hug (or half of one) set things right again.

Getting back to matters of vice importance, the transfer was raging once again and so was vacuous banter. It might be preferable to ask a stupid question than to enquire who or what started this, but something prompted Regina to correlate general interests with sexual preference, use regression to predict Michael's sexuality, and subtly verify the answer: "Hey Michael, you know how you like Andrew Lloyd Weber, you dance and you like to dress well... are you gay?"

Michael lost concentration on his chess game.

"What?!"

"You know, it's unusual for a straight guy to do all that stuff. I was wondering if you might be gay?"

Michael thought Reg knew him better than that.

"Of course not! I'm straight! Why do you think I'm gay?"

"Like I said, you play piano, you like chess, you like Andrew Lloyd Weber..."
"What's Andrew Lloyd Weber got to do with it? Is he gay?"

Michael incredulity matched the others' bemusement.

"No; I was just wondering, that's all."

"Okay, well I'm straight. I can't prove it but I guarantee it."

A few seconds of chess passed.

"You haven't had a girlfriend for a while."

"Oh shit," Michael muttered. "I haven't had a girlfriend because I can't find someone I want to date, and when I do, I screw up."

"You also like to dance," Reg persisted.

"So I can meet girls!" Michael retorted.

"What about piano and Andrew Lloyd Weber?"

"I like playing piano and I liked Phantom of the Opera, not Andrew Lloyd Weber. And I'm straight – straight as a straight line..."

Given that Regina was a maths teacher, he added, "...in Euclidean Geometry."

Michael thought he had resolved the matter, until Reg asked him what he thought of her shoes.

"I don't know; I'm not gay." Michael said.
Reg also asked if he'd ever worn girl's shoes.

"No," came Michael's surprising reply (it was probably surprising for Reg).

Despite Michael's statements, Regina's suspicions were not fully allayed and may linger even now. To the extent that they persist, Michael remains perturbed.

What better way to forget about chess and previous conversation topics than a game of charades? It all started with the film category. Jacob demonstrated that the movie category was not particularly challenging, or rather it was only as challenging as you make it. Movies such as Grease and Snatch are not hard to guess when one does the dance or grabs something quickly. If only someone had thought of Mr Magorium's Wonder Emporium. As the game progressed some difficult words presented themselves, accompanied by even stranger acting. Michael could convey a second syllable of age and a first syllable of taxi, but couldn't convert taxi into cab. If only he had a dollar every time he heard a confused cry of 'taxage?'. Regina unforgettably mimed the effects of a peculiar drink, but either she emphasised the effects too much or people knew the word was 'aphrodisiac' but enjoyed a laugh. Bruce noticed that the sign to signify a person could double as the sign for the person himself, but miming a moustache with your index finger leaves few possibilities to guess.

After the charade shenanigans, the evening was getting late. But perhaps there was time for one more crazy game of... "Hey, does anyone know another game we can play?" People stood still and thought for a moment.

"How about chasies?" Came a suggestion.

"Chasies?!?"

"Yeah. In the dark."

"Too much to trip over. We can't even handle the red furniture in daylight."

"Good point."

"Maybe hide and go seek?"
"Hide where?"

"In the dark."

"But we'll still trip over things."

"Good point."

"Maybe we can just sit and talk."

"What will we talk about?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe we should just go to bed."

"Why would we want to that?"

"Because it's almost 2:00."

"Good p-"

"Don't say it."

Somewhat reluctantly people said goodnight and toddled off to bed. After such a crazy day and so much vice, one can only wonder what they dreamt about.

Another day, another vice. Sloth was high on the list but proved difficult to practice as guests were expected that morning. In short order, Karina, Jonathan, Michelle and Simon arrived. In long order, people readied themselves for the beach. Due to a supermarket chain that practices vice sadistically, Bruce had to leave for Brisbane that morning. As you may recall, Bruce had bought a cake yesterday. As per the proverb, he couldn't eat it. Bruce left his cake with the others, who took good care of it. Along with the cake, Bruce also left Bullwinkle some good advice for anybody who wants to live a happy life:

1. Never ever ever ever work for a supermarket.
2. Shop at Coles.
3. When playing lightning against Bruce, don't base your happiness on the outcome (who put that in there?).

Given the time it had taken people to ready themselves for the beach, sloth was not difficult to practice after all. Nevertheless Jonathan, Karina, Michelle, Simon and Michael eventually found themselves some sand, surf and sun. Conversation evolved from the weather (it's hot) to the surroundings (nice place) to both (how hot is she!). Some people slipped slopped slapped and some applied sunscreen. Jonathan and Karina embarked on meaningful conversation, Michael contributed intermittently, and Michelle and Simon might as well have had the beach to themselves.

But getting back to the weather, it was indeed hot, and Michael's head tolerated direct sunlight about as much as his retina did. Karina offered Michael her pink singlet top. Michael's self respect wrestled his discomfort and lost. Cross dressing was added to Michael's list of sins, just as Regina arrived. How was Michael going to explain a pink top on his head? Would Reg believe a faded red towel? Fortunately for Michael, a truthful explanation sufficed.

Having gawked at the hot surroundings but failing to obtain one, Michael headed back to the apartment and the others gradually followed. Someone suggested the spa, but upon arrival the group did some sums and determined that one spa divided by several hundred Q1 residents left themselves as the remainder. Spacious might begin with spa, but it ended with us outside of it.

If time were a spatial dimension, Nik would have bad balance. If university were a curse, Nik would be under it. If chess players were likened to prehistoric creatures, Nik would be a big woolly mammoth. Here's what happened: Nik arrived that afternoon, happy to be there but burdened with assessment. Chess had broken out like a plague of insanity, rapidly infecting minds and impairing their cognitive function before consigning them to a couch where they babbled about nothing in particular. At the height of the epidemic a loud cry was heard: "I won! I won! I feel like I've just hunted down and killed a great big mammoth!" This was accompanied by the sound of Tarzanic chest thumping. All eyes turned to Regina, who had just heralded her triumph over Nik.

"What's up with Reg?"

"I beat Nik! I beat Nik!"

"You don't have to be so noisy about it."

"But I beat Nik! Nik is like a mammoth and I'm just a small, furry thing. I feel like a primitive creature that hunted and killed a big woolly mammoth!"

It was impossible not to laugh at the explanation.

The big woolly mammoth gave a wry smile.

"Well done Regina."

Nik was not the only victim of someone's primal urges that afternoon. Jonathan also suffered an unexpected defeat. In his own words: "I felt like I just got fucked out of nowhere."

Such is chess.

Dinnertime came around and Regina's mandate was clear: eat out or eat alone. Michelle, Simon and Karina took this a bit far, as they had their own plans and departed for the evening. That left Nik, Jonathan, Jacob, Regina and Michael to ponder one of life's great questions.

All humans have asked themselves this question, but unlike other questions the importance lies not in the answer but the question itself. As a great man once said, there are three stages of human civilisation, each evidenced by three questions:

1. Survival – how can we eat?
2. Inquiry – Why do we eat?

3. Sophistication – Where shall we have lunch?

According to this model, Bullwinkle were on the cusp of sophistication, as the question "Where shall we have dinner?" was answered by "Why don't we have dinner here?" Here happened to be a Thai restaurant called Chaopraya. Nik and Jacob parked the car while Jonathan, Reg and Michael went inside. Everything was going fine until they asked to be seated. The waitress had no small difficulty comprehending that three people wanted a table for five. When a table for five was provided and five people were seated, everything was going fine until they wanted to order. Michael had always wanted to be invisible, but not when he was hungry. Regina eventually attracted attention and orders were placed. Everything was going fine until the meals showed up. Michael's meal did not arrive. Nik was kind enough to offer Michael some of his own food. Eventually Michael was served some dead birds, and he was so hungry that he ate them. Whether it was a manifestation of apology, incompetence or both, Bullwinkle was undercharged for dinner. If Michael had been a restaurant critic, he would have given Chaopraya five rats (rats being the volvogram of a star) and told them to Thai harder.

Restaurant conversation continued back at Q1. Such conversation included men and testosterone, women, men and sex, sex, women and men, and tobacco and capitalism. The most interesting part of this conversation (the stuff about tobacco and capitalism) was expounded by Jonathan who argued that it was economically prudent for lung cancer charities to invest in tobacco stocks. As they say, there is a fine line between genius and madness. Had Jess been present, she would have had no trouble demonstrating that Jonathan's argument belonged in the latter category. After much debate had taken place on this topic, Simon and Michelle returned from their big night. They were very not drunk (not). Everyone was exceptionally tired, but it was thought polite to wait for Karina to return before going to bed. When Karina did get back, it was thought polite to chat with her for another half hour. When people finally went to bed, they thought it was silly to be polite. No offence intended, Karina.

Unfortunately for Michael, even a relationship with a bottle of wine couldn't prevent him from spending the night alone on a couch. Unfortunately for Nik, assignments happen. More unfortunately for Nik, sometimes assignments are overdue. Most unfortunately for Nik, he had to return to Brisbane that night. Unfortunately for Bruce, he was already in Brisbane. Fortunately for everyone else, they were probably asleep already.

The next morning, their final morning at Q1, Bullwinkle admired the view one last time. They packed up, left the apartment and descended 56 floors. Not content with that, they descended further to the carpark. What goes up must come down. All good things must come to an end. Bruce Willis had to die at the end of Sixth Sense. The mood was incurably sombre, but nothing that couldn't be remedied with eggs, sausages and bacon. If only there were less than two cafes to choose from. Rapidly advancing in sophistication, Bullwinkle repeatedly asked the question, 'Where shall we have breakfast?' They went from one cafe to the other and back again, crossing the road each time. Michael wondered if such circumstance had befallen the proverbial chicken. Even after the group made a decision, they couldn't decide whether to have breakfast or lunch. Chances are that they made at least one wrong choice that morning, but as some people suggested at the time, would anyone care about it six months later? Breakfast was agreed upon, and was timely served and devoured. A salient feature of conversation that morning was a debate on religion. Although no lions were involved, had there had been a scorecard the religious team's performance would not appear to have improved since Roman times. Thus, Vice 1 culminated in the rhetorical demise of religion. Team Bullwinkle said their goodbyes and went separate ways. What a decadent weekend it had been. To paraphrase Winston Churchill:

Awarded for the most outstanding manifestation of vice exhibited by an individual in thought, word or action - hereby bestowed on Jonathan for one of his fiscal offset principles: that it is economically prudent for a lung cancer charity to invest in tobacco stocks. Superlative Jonathan, superlative.