A couple of weeks ago I posted a question asking my readers to gauge their general life luck using the metaphor of some dice which might or might not be entirely random.

I expected the answers to divide into two categories: simple answers giving a number in the range 1 to 6, perhaps with some justification, and clever lateral-thinking answers which stretched or extended the metaphor in order to express something more complicated. I wouldn't have been surprised if the former class of answer had given rise to some sort of debate about what level of luck we take for granted in the privileged western world and whether it's plausible for (say) anyone at all who isn't homeless or starving to rate their overall luck at anything below (say) 4.

Instead, somewhat to my surprise, every single answer I got was a clever lateral-thinking answer; everyone who had an opinion at all felt that a single number from 1 to 6 was insufficient to adequately summarise the nature of their life. The overwhelming consensus, as I see it, was that life simply isn't that simple; and as I entirely agree with that (my own answer wasn't simple either), this absolutely delighted me.

It also made me think that an audience of this nature might appreciate me re-running a lateral-thinking audience-participation question I posted in this diary way back in 1998, when LJ hadn't even been thought of and this diary only existed on Monochrome. When I posted it, I didn't particularly intend to solicit answers from the audience; I was mostly whinging, in a cryptic and metaphorical way, about some things which were happening in my own head at the time. As it turned out, though, I received a wide variety of excellently lateral responses, some of which even made sense when translated back through the metaphor. On the basis that many of my current readers were not my readers then and might enjoy coming up with their own answers to the same problem, here it is in full:

Picture this.

To protect yourself against the marauding Enemy, you have built two fortresses, one inside the other. In the inner one go all the things you really can't afford to lose; in the outer goes the less critical stuff. Also in the outer goes an absolute shedload of heavy weaponry, for defending the walls.

The Enemy comes, as you knew they would, and you fight them. You successfully hold the wall for over ten years. Then – for whatever reason, maybe an Act of God, perhaps a tactical error, possibly a genius taking over on the other side – the outer citadel falls. You'd hoped this would never happen, but you'd been prepared for the idea that it might; so as you'd planned, you retreat to the inner fortress, which should have enough weapons in it to protect the truly vital things therein.

The Enemy masses for its assault on the inner fortress, your last line of defence. As they prepare for their attack, an icy feeling sweeps through you. You've just realised that the Enemy is better armed than you'd expected. Why? Because they've taken over all the weaponry in the outer fortress.

What do you do?

In a week or so I'll post the answers I received in 1998.