28 – Atonement.

The money shot – everything I have painted so far.

‘One day I’ll finish painting all of my armies’ I kept reassuring myself, alternating between guiltily staring at the row upon row of accusingly basecoated Games Workshop miniatures and even more guiltily at my shopping cart full of new models to heap on the pile of Halfords matt white primered shame. After my love affair with 40k ended in a difficult divorce I shipped my miniature offspring off to be someone else’s problem, investing the gains into a new relationship with Operation Icestorm and a Haqqislam starter set, promising myself that, this time, it would be different. This time I would achieve the Holy Grail, a fully painted army to grace the tabletop, distracting opponents from my complete lack of tactical nous and rules knowledge while allowing me to feel superior in defeat. After all, Infinity was a skirmish game, with a low model count, right? Pleased with myself on paper I piously vowed that I would only add to my collection once everything I already owned had received a paintjob. What could possibly go wrong?

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27 – Rescue!


With Total War: Warhammer taking up all of my hobby time [and sleep time, and speaking to my wife time] Infinity had taken a bit of a back seat of late. However, with the exam season now in full swing, my weekend was freed up to indulge in some usually unheard of Sunday gaming. Facing off against my Neoterrans would be Matt, with his Corregidor, with the gaming garage providing the venue. ‘Rescue’ from HSN3 was the scenario, which involved rescuing hostages a la Chuck Norris and Lee Marvin in ‘The Delta Force’. The real mission the movie was based on, Operation Eagleclaw, was a massive cock-up, with the hostages remaining in captivity and bits of special forces scattered all over the desert, so I was hoping for a Hollywood ending.

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26 – Popping my cherry


‘Tournament play’ is a term that has always held negative connotations to me. These four syllables conjure up images of fat troll-like nerds wearing too much clothing and too little deodorant as they sweat their way through a competition where the winner is decided by whoever can be the most obnoxious in using obscure rules references and bullying of their opponent to gain an advantage while announcing every successful roll of the dice with a fist pump and a loud “Yes!” that sends their bingo-wings and multiple chins wobbling. Despite a lingering suspicion that I was the fat nerd, Saturday’s events proved me oh-so wrong about tournaments.

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