exit stage left

I was tearing my hair out with frustration, yesterday evening, wondering why it was taking so long to download the latest Boardgames with Scott video podcast.

Had he recorded a special spiel-size two hour episode ?
Or was my broadband line once again messing me around ?

Neither, as it turned out. In fact Michael Jackson was dead, or about to be reported so, and the entire world was engaging in mass voyeurism over the world wide web. Technology was groaning under the weight of another celebrity road crash story.

Things have been little better today, with 24 hour news interviewing anyone who has ever watched the Thriller video, and a sudden spike in interest in the Michael Jackson back catologue has seen music download engines moonwalking all the way to the bank.

I can't say I was a big fan. I found his music dull and puerile but to be fair he exuded a nice line in nuttiness that, at least, made him interesting.

But I can't say I am motivated to go and buy any of his albums just because he died prematurely.

I read somewhere that blogging is the new Rock and Roll. I wonder if, when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil, there will be a mass stampede to access my old blog posts. Will there be endless tributes on every major TV channel ? Will crowds gather at the gates of Gormenghast and lay wreaths in the shape of a Tigris piece on my doorstep ?

Or will I be like one of those rock dinosaurs, playing the Glastonbury festival long after my sell by date ? Will upstart young bloggers start reissuing my classic posts in virtual megamixes ?
Would it be better to die young in a pool of my own regurgitated prose ?
Crushed under a landslide of meeples from boxes placed too high, and too precariously, on the top shelf.

I need a rest, lest I go the way of MJ (as the media now seem to have dubbed him).

I'm off for a few days R&R in the West country.
A break from blogging and from my army of fans.

There'll be a comeback tour in about a week when I've spent all my money on cream teas.

Allodoxaphobia

I've had a good few weeks of gaming goodness, recently, so it's something of a surprise that I have not burbled on about it here.

Sometimes I just have no idea what I'm going to type and I just lay down a Joycean stream of consciousness - other times I have an idea in my head that I simply have to preserve for posterity. Normally in a jar of vinegar.

Other times I just seem to be too busy working and actually playing games rather than trying to come up with entertaining anecdotes about them.

So, anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I finally got my grubby little kitchen hands on a copy of Small World, courtesy of the Hustler and his Clotted Connections. Which meant that this magnificent octopus hit the table at our last games night and a good time was had by all. Commando Halflings, Flying Elves, Diplomatic Trolls and Outrageous Poodles- the game has it all in equal measure and, let's not be coy about this, a shed load of arguments when it is played by four uber competitive 'adults'.

More table talk than physical piece movement, in many cases.
I love it. I've also clocked it up a fair few times, in two player mode, with Steerpike Jr and it scales well (but with less of the bitter recriminations).

Talking of two players, I also managed to slaughter the Welsh Lamb at 1960 again last night. So confident was my Kennedy that he even flew over to California, for awhile, to help shift that state to the Democrats. First time that that has happened in one of my many plays of this little gem.

Furthermore I also took the opportunity, last week, to venture out into the darker world of the Outer Dwellings to play a few games with the Hidden Gamers. A fine evening of Union Pacific, Notre Dame and Dominion. I remembered my manners and only won one game.

When I was leaving, the Leader of the Hidden Ones mentioned that he was looking forward to my blog report. Maybe that's what has caused my writers block over the last few days. I've been pondering this and it's kind of related to my last post.

In the early days of my blog it was all pretty anonymous. None of my readership were people that I actually knew in the real world, so I was pretty free to say what I wanted.
Of course, gradually over time, this has changed - sometimes because I actually arranged to play face to face games with some of my contributors, and other times because I just pointed my innocent victims here to give them a right to reply.

IN my last posting, Poodle made a comment about the vaguely irritating name I had bestowed upon him. (Despite the fact that we both know it has razor sharp resonance and pin point accuracy).
But, I've known him for years, so in many ways it just washes over his head.
Likewise the Welsh Lamb.

But the Clotted Hustler may feel different - the time I've known him is probably equal to the time I've dissed him here in the kitchen. The two things are in sync and therefore there is very little history.

Likewise the Hidden Gamers - I barely know them (though I did bump into their leader at a "Slade" tribute band on the local green). So, I feel the need to be more careful about what I say.
Not that I have anything particularly controversial to share, but I'm not so sure it would be as acceptable to make similar comments as I would if it were, for example, Poodle.
Not yet, anyway.

Yes, self censorship, something most of my friends would barely recognise as a potential character trait in me.

Sometimes I feel like I barely know myself anymore.
We've grown apart.

It's a strange old world.
And a Small one, at that.

Self Indulgence

It's a funny old game, blogging. I sometimes lean back (virtually) and wonder why I do it and what, exactly, it achieves.

In many ways, for me, it is just a medium for saying stuff that would otherwise be cluttering up my brain. A cathartic means of expression that, hopefully, offends no one - apart from a few gaming buddies who stumble upon these pages and feel that their defeat, at my hands, may have been somewhat misrepresented.

So I'm doing it for myself.

Or am I ? Why do I check my statistics ?

It's a common, narcissistic, Bloggery thing to do, of course. It's always nice to see if anyone is loitering (unlike Twitter there is no immediate feedback. No "OddBodd2 is now following / stalking you" messages). Although Bloggers often bleat for themselves, I suspect that they (we) are all secretly awaiting that breakthrough post which catapults them (us) (me) to Social Media Stardom.

A short while ago I posted a game report for Combat Commander: Europe and, to my surprise, found a peak in my readership to - gasp - 35 visitors in a day. I've now stabilised around 10 drop ins per day, although when I post I now regularly seem to hit around 25 return visitors. Twenty Five bookmarks somewhere out there !

Twenty Five people who have, effectively, bought a season ticket to the Castle and its grounds - rather than the random drop in visitors who are looking for something to do with their kids on a rainy day. (I've been considering a small play area out back and maybe a small cafe franchise)

Who was the visitor who Googled "left handed moley dobber " and ended up here ? Did he or she leave as a satisfied customer ?

The sad thing is, I find this quite exciting.

Even sadder, I now feel under pressure to entertain.

Are we (the Bloggers) the online equivalents of all those Mingers, Blingers and Clingers on Britain's Got Talent ?

Will I go the way of SuBo ?

El Grumpe

I find myself in Madrid for a flying visit.

 

At my last company, where the Corporate Dollar supported an expense system if not as extravagant as that employed by MPs and MEPs then at least on the right road, a visit to the Iberian Office was a leisurely affair stretched over two or three days with Anchovies and Jamon thrown in before late night dinners. (Clearly not late for the average Spaniard whose evening meal commences some time after 10pm).

Now, in the fiscally controlled service sector, I find that for the same set of meetings catching the first flight out of Heathrow, and returning on the last, is the order of the day. If you follow my Twitter stream you'll know just how grumpy I was this morning at 5am.

 

Madrid in a day. Certainly achievable, but sensible ?

What about networking (human networking, face to face, sharing a beer - as opposed to Social Networking which involves a computer and an avatar completely out of sync with your actual appearance) ?

What about the environment (although it's still two planes, I guess) ?

What about my sleep cycle  (I think I might have been snoring on the plane as my mouth felt as dry as sandpaper when I woke up, with a start, to find I'd slept through most of the latest Dice Tower podcast) ?

What about my decompression sickness (I fart a lot when I spend too much time on planes) ?

 

Oh, well, better do some work. I've had a slice of ham so I am a little less grumpy.

 

When I get back to the airport, I'll put one in the Castillo for you.

 

The Sands of Time

Thanks to the ineptitude of the main telephony "service provider" (sic) to the Castle - let's call them GT to protect the anonymity and shareholders of the real company which happens to have similar initials except the first one should be a "B for British" rather than a "G for Gormenghast" - it looks like I will be without internet or phone connections, to the outside world, for the next five days.

I can't even begin to comprehend this level of isolation. I could go stir crazy. Digital cold Turkey.

Of course I still have my iPhone but I'm not sure that this will be a suitable medium for my long and rambling posts. Probably a relief to some.

Talking of long and rambling, how long is an acceptable game turn for a casual evening across the board ?

There's an old Japanese story about a woodcutter who stops to watch a game of Go. He becomes so engrossed that he loses track of time only to discover at game end that his beard has grown to the floor and the shaft of his axe has turned to dust.
It turns out that he has stumbled across two immortals playing the game.

Last night I had a glimpse into this kind of eternity, when I played the Hustler and his American friend at Neuroshima Hex. This should be a quick chaotic game of furious combat and not a thoughtful, and deep, encounter between chess grand masters. Forthwith the American player shall be named "SloMo" for his ability to drag a game out long past its published play time.

Once Neuroshima finally dragged into the station, and its weary passengers disembarked, we sat down for a game of "The Circle". This is a spy game that the Hustler picked up from Essen a few years back - by now Poodle had joined us so we were in for a four player espionagefest.
SloMo announced that he only had a couple of hours left, due to a temporal curfew or something. I thought that this boded well for game pace as he would be forced to, at least, try to play a turn in a reasonable duration.

Sadly, I'm not sure such a thing is biologically possible for him and two hours later we were just entering the mid game as he got up to leave.
In some ways this was a relief. The game was so slow that I was actually playing some Go, in between turns, on my iPhone. The wind you hear, in the trees, is the immortals shaking their heads in disbelief.

To round off the evening the Hustler, Poodle and I played Billabong - a fast game of kangaroos bouncing around the Outback in a fun race around the eponymous ox-bow lake of Antipodean origin. A nice change of pace (if a little too wordy).

Anyway, I digress.
Lights Out.
I may be some time.
SloMo may even have played a move before I get reconnected.

Atlas Shrugged

Father's Day approaches so I have been dropping some fairly heavy hints with the pikelets that "The Geek Atlas" might make the perfect present for someone interested in science, travel, reading and, well, all things geeky.

128 destinations linked to scientific discovery - Bletchley Park; The Horn Antenna in Holmdel, New Jersey; The Trinity Test site in New Mexico; The Alan Turing Memorial in Manchester, England; The National Cryptologic Museum in Fort Meade, Maryland; The Joint Genome Institute in Walnut Creek, California

The list goes on. What is there not to like ?

Fire!

An interesting question from Steerpike Jr, tonight. If the castle was on fire and you could only save one thing what would it be ?

My initial, saccharine, response was "the children" but he wasn't falling for that and was more interested in the material side of the question. What thing would I save - not what people.

I asked what he would save. "The Toilet" he replied, "My bed" the Lady Fuchsia piped up from the other room, "Piglet" said the eldest of the female line.

Erm, ok, so I'd save Dominion. No, Tigris. Argh, I dont know.
If I had a proper Kaya wood Go board it would be that. But I don't.

I've really been getting into Go, again, lately. Mostly playing it over the internet against a few of the Dice Tower regulars (Giles in his shed and Geoff in his Maths Tower) and having a blast.

Ah, yes, I'd save my iPhone. I can play Go over the internet, trounce the AIs at Zooloretto, play an endless array of podcasts and loud music and still phone the Lady Fuchsia to make sure she and the kids made it out of the castle before being engulffed in the flames of this strange thought experiment.