Everyone Needs A Shed

Life and Games (but mostly games) from Tony Boydell: Father, Grandfather, Husband and Independent UK Game Designer.
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Red Top

Anthony Boydell
United Kingdom
Newent. Glos
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Every homo sapiens needs an outbuilding within the curtelage of their property
Welcome...to my Shed!
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
Four large boxes, a thin raincoat and my eldest son accompanied me to the Tuffley Community Centre for Tuesday evening distractions. Fred was off a-roleplayin' while I, not the designated driver, decided to get tipsy and play board games: it's been a pig of a week so far, you see.

There was a little Dance of the Tables before everyone settled into their bubbles: Fridge Raiders of the North-Eastern Paladin Seas, Coloma and - for me, Ben, Rudolph and Mark - a bit of dice-placement nobility:
From gallery of tonyboydell

Not even halfway through the first bottle of Weston's 'red top' cider, I was making a laboured fist of the rules explanation; for some reason, everything I wanted to explain was in my head but none of it was coming out in the right order! It all made absolute sense within about three picoseconds of actual play, though. Ben got a little side-tracked with some of the interference abilities on the Alien Tech cards and was constantly disappointed that "displaced" ships only went to the Maintenance Bay rather than being atomized; he also rather over-enjoyed crashing his own ships into the planet to become colony bases...a wanton disregard for space-faring vehicles that would make him entirely suited to a session of Eclipse sometime, methinks. AF is a brisk, all knees and elbows affair that saw both Warhammer-poachee Rudolph and Mark snapping at my heels for the six base placement; in the end, Mark won out after Rudolph was sideswiped by a Ben colony swoop.

With not really enough time to teach and play either Cuba or Obsession, I spotted Sheriff of Nottingham in Ben's bag and held it aloft. I'd seen some noisy plays of this resolve themselves back in the mid-teens when the Ross-on-Wye club was still at The White Lion (ahh, those were the days: peace and quiet by the River) and thought it might be fun...especially as
a) Mark rolled his eyes in a 'God! Please, no!' manner and
b) I was fair motoring through the ciders and wanted to get silly for a bit.
From gallery of tonyboydell

Cue much barracking, heckling, trouble-stirring and liberal sous entendu about Ben's Cheesy Sack (cheese) /a pair of Excitable Cocks (chickens) - mainly from me, it has to be said. With the pleasing glow of alcohol having removed any caution, I blagged my way through honest and dishonest 'market days' and, as Sheriff, accepted a ridiculous series of hefty bribes - to amass 149 money. I'm sure we were playing it wrong, though: that figure on the bottom-right of the card means something for caught smugglers, doesn't it? I couldn't work out how because the rulebook wasn't very clear and my eyes had stopped working properly.

Jack joined us for the excellent Cryptid - which I did a much better job of explaining:
From gallery of tonyboydell

Sometimes, you can just get a lucky hit with this one; this time, I nominated a spot that got three out of five 'Yes' markers which was all the information Rudolph needed to have a punt on his turn and win: he had several likely candidates and the first one he chose was the 'lair'.

All done and dusted in 15 mins, the RPG-ers had joined us in the waiting for the driver shuffle; this led to a couple of games of Selfish: Space Edition:
From gallery of tonyboydell

I watched while the others played: a sort-of slow sprint across the Great Void - think Deep Sea Adventure crossed with Munchkin and you've got the flavour of it. Talking of flavours, I was struck by a bad bout of the munchies during this astronautical nonsense and had to gather emergency pork scratching/chilled chocolate supplies from the Bar. Scoffing heartily, I watched the intrepid spacefarers dobbing each other over until they'd all died cold and lonely deaths in the vacuum: just another glorious day in Corps.
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