Nigel Short persuaded me to join him at the Thai Open in Pattaya, insisting that it would be much more salubrious than I could ever have imagined. He was quite right. The ballroom that hosted the nine-round event was dazzlingly lit (essential for chess, and so often neglected); glasses of iced water were constantly on supply — not that it was necessary in the air-conditioned surroundings — and all the chairs for the more than 300 participants were fully sprung, in sharp contrast to the standard rock-hard schoolroom type which are an affliction to the middle-aged back when rooted to the spot for four or five hours at a time. Did I mention food — normally the bane of chess opens? The organisers of the Thai event each year set up a sumptuous buffet right outside the tournament hall — again, with the idea of offering competitors the quality of a top-flight hotel, but at knockdown prices.

Are there any drawbacks to this apparent paradise for chess players? Only this: when playing chess — or indeed any competitive sport — most of us need to be in what might be described as an edgy mood. Yet being so serenely well-disposed as a result of all the Dusit Thani cossetting, I found it hard to whip up the necessary competitive nastiness (and I noticed that Nigel Short, too, was unusually benign after losing a couple of games to weaker players). But perhaps I am just using the familiar chess-player's resort of making excuses where there are none.

In any case, I would urge all readers of this column who have ever thought of mixing chess with comfort to enter next year's Thai Open, which will be in Bangkok. I will certainly be there (given the necessary domestic clearance for take-off).

My own games in this year's event were dismal, as noted. But one, with the White pieces against the Norwegian player Borre Kjell Grebstad, perhaps displayed the tiniest glimmer of original thought — which is what all we amateurs struggle to achieve, if only for an instant.