WE ALL HATE MEDICI, WE ALL HATE MEDICI, NA NA NA NA, OI! NA NA NA NA

On Tuesday night, a band of hardy souls attempted to play games at the Queen Charlie on Dereham Road. They failed. There was a musical act that was going to play Guns N Roses covers, and to be frank, we were going to be playing second fiddle, as the second fiddler was unable to make it. So we left. Instead, we made our way to Cap'n Crockers high rise penthouse apartment, myself and the Bond replete with tins of low grade lager and scampi fries. We are but classy guys. So, in attendance were Cap'n Crocker, Cheating C Tom, Punk Rich, Pete, the Bond and my good self. A decision needed to be made on what to play. On the table were Imperial, Age of Empires III and Struggle of Empires. I disappeared into the toilet. I overheard Cap'n Crocker utter those fateful words "I think Andy's played it. He either hated it. Or he didn't". After the conclusion of my piss, I returned to the table to find that we were going to play Imperial. That's OK, Imperial is pretty OK.

The nations were dished out, we started, we capitalised. I don't recall too much about the game, me and the Bond were consuming cheap lager and I realised I didn't like Imperial as much as I thought I did. Tom ended up spending the entire game buying shares, which is not really the most fun way to spend your evening. The rest of us did all the usual Imperial things. Taking over nations, fighting wars, fucking up, talking endlessly and not paying enough attention. Tom took us to the cleaners. I think Luke was in there, and possibly Rich or the Bond, but not me or Pete. I was awful. With one nation I played the "move the wooden bit one sector each turn" strategy, which failed miserably. As Germany I was stuck between everyone, and people kept undoing my "good" work. Mother Russia was the dominant force, France rose and fell, the British navy toddled around abit, Austria lasted about 4 minutes, and Italy did a couple of things. Tom had a million shares in every nation, so he didn't care. And that was that. The game was up. Tom won.

Second game was a choice between Medici and the mighty mighty Cockroach Poker. Cap'n Crocker insisted on Medici. We were a bit uncertain. One long painful hour later, and we were a little more than uncertain. Out of all game sessions I have ever been a part of, this one met with the most mutual hatred of a game. Except for Luke, who won by a million points. Everyone else was going through Luke's kitchen knife draw and bathroom medicine cabinet, looking for the easy way out. The Bond hated it. Punk Rich hated it. Pete hated it. Tom was as unreadably poker faced as ever. Maybe he was in seventh auction heaven, but probably not. I am sorry to say that I was taking the game less than seriously by the midway point. I BID 20! Then I dealt a most excellent hand of curtains, I BID 20! At this point Luke was reaching for the shotgun that he has hanging over the fireplace. I hurled my final can of lager in his direction and lept from the balcony. I would live to fight another day.

Medici. What a pile of shit. I bid 20 on the pile of shit!