Every Man Needs A Shed

Life and Games (but mostly games) from Tony Boydell: Dad, Husband and Independent UK Game Designer, Agricola fanboy and jealous admirer of Carl Chudyk.
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FLGS 61 (Crime Files)

Anthony Boydell
United Kingdom
Newent. Glos
Unspecified
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Every homo sapiens needs an outbuilding within the curtelage of their property
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Welcome...to my Shed!
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Microbadge: I love Europe!Microbadge: 5 Games for Doomsday fanMicrobadge: Talk Talk fanMicrobadge: Citizenship Recognition - Level VI -  Is six any more shiny? ... Well, it's one shinier isn't it? ... Okay, why don't you just make five a bit more shiny and then that would be the most shiny? ... Because these go to six.Microbadge: Klemens Franz fan
(with apologies to Athletico Mince)

The historic Market town of town of Chippenham sits at the edge of the Cotswolds and serves as a cheerful stop along the railway route between London and Bath / Bristol. Nestled amongst the usual collection of thrift stores, nonsense potteries and tea shops is the Friendly Local Game Store of local entrepreneur Neil Hunt. On the morning of the 13th March 2019, Neil was restocking the Keyforge decks - and facing up the shelf of novelty chocolate RPG dice - when a celebrity visitor appeared and would change Neil's life forever.

Doorbell: *clang-tingle-ting-tang -

(a large, cheerful man sporting a bright waistcoat and a tiny, green-velvet bowler hat enters)

Doorbell: - BONNNNNNNNGGGGG!!!*

Customer: (he has an American accent) Hey there, y'all!

Neil: (looking up from his work - a machine-generated deck in each hand - Neil's natural tone of voice is a bit tetchy) What? What did you just say to me?!

Customer: Good tahmeetchah; my name's Tom -

Neil: (brushing the customer's hand aside) Tameetchah?! What the Hell kind of language is that? Are you an illegal immigrant?!

Customer: - um, well it's 'Merican.

Neil: (dropping his stock and standing up straight to face the visitor) Mirkin?! Isn't that some kind of vaginal toupée?

Customer: (shocked) No, Sir; I said 'Merican' - I'm from the you ess of ay.

Neil: (brushing himself down) Well, why didn't you say so at the start (makes air quotes) "Tim" - I thought you were one of those wind-up Tod Warriors from the Round Table.

Customer: (worried) It's Tom - and, um, 'Tod'?

Neil: It means "shit" -

Customer: Oh my, Sir; there's no need for profanity!

Neil: (bubbling under) "No need"? I'll mind you to know that this is my fucking local game store -

Customer: (interrupting) - the 'F' usually stands for 'Friendly', Sir -

Neil: - game store and I'll speak as I wish!

Customer: Please don't that tone with me, Sir!

Neil: What are you going to do about it if I do, Tim? Are you going to try and sell me some nylon stockings and cheap cigarettes then run off with my girlfriend?!

Customer: Now you're being silly, Mister; and a might aggressive.

Neil: Oh am I, "Tim"? Well, I'll have you know that my brother's got a sword shop and my nephew teaches Judo at the Youth Club!

From gallery of tonyboydell


Customer: It's "Tom", Sir; and I don't resort to violence because I am a Pastor. I have obviously caught you at a difficult time and so am willing to forgive you -

Neil: (beginning to go red) - Forgive me? Did I ask you to forgive me, you fountain of liquid Yankee shite!

(Neil lunges at the customer with a fistful of sculpted cocoa polyhedrae)

Customer: (stepping out of the way) Sir! That is quite enough!

(Neil crashes against the counter with a sickening thud and rebounds in to the spiral-fanned stack of Exit games; they scatter in a shower of crushed cardboard)

Neil: (rubbing his sore head) Oh no! Why does this always happen to little old me?! I sing Vera Lynn covers for free in the pop-up choir at the Pensioners' Rest Home every Sunday AND I never take change from the collection plate when putting a note in!

(At once, both of the men realise that Tom's hat was knocked off in the fracas and has been sat upon by Neil)

Tom: (aghast) Oh my, Sir! Oh woe and lawks, Mister!

Neil: (triumphant) Ha! It serves you bloody well right - coming in here and being all Christian!

(Neil picks up the squashed titfer and throws it at Tom's chest)

Neil: (jubilant) Take it! Take your tiny contraceptive cap and your ridiculous accent and GET OUT OF MY SHOP!

(the customer scurries out of the door and down the street)

Neil: (raising his chocolate-smeared hands and wrists to the sky) Yes! YES! I'm Neil Hunt and I'm LOVING MY LIFE!

Fin.
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