Fireworks going off in her head

History is not forthcoming as to the exact circumstances that took Keats and Chapman to Munich. Let us be charitable and assume that they were there in the service of Her Majesty's Britannic Government to keep watch on the sub-rosa machinations between Kind Ludwig and emissaries from Bismarck, rather than to avoid creditors at home.

So anyway, one Spring day with a big sky full of big clouds, the pair were strolling around the Theresienwiese to walk off a litre or two of Edelstoff from the Bavariapark Biergarten, when they happened to run into a young lady of the full-bodied description, who was engaged in a game of quoits with her pet lion. Helping one another off the ground led to conversation which led to invitations to take part in the game.

Soon Chapman and the young lady were getting on like a house on fire (apart from the screaming and collapsing timbers part), until suddenly Keats realised that the other two had faded unobtrusively into the shrubbery to leave him alone with the lion. This was a source of concern, for to the best of his knowledge Chapman had not come equipped with condoms.

With his concentraion divided by his sense of responsibility, Keats faltered when it was his turn to toss the quoit, and before he know it he was flat on his back with the lion on his chest growling ferociously to call his attention to some infraction of the rules. With drapery in disarray the lion's owner emerged from the undergrowth to call him off, followed shortly after by a flushed and not-entirely-gruntled Chapman.

The mood was broken and the moment had fled. Citing a pressing appointment with her chiropodist, the young lady traded spurious Hotmail addresses with Chapman and took her leave amid protestations of friendship and promises to keep in touch. That left Keats and Chapman to a fraught and sullen walk back to their rented accommodation.

"You have the damnedest timing!" Chapman vouchsafed at length to break the silence. "I was that close to the lineaments of gratified desire, when you and that goddamned lion..."

"Quoitus interruptus," Keats declaimed philosophically. "OWW!"