Risk… It Means War.

I’m back and recharging the batteries following a busy weekend. I say ‘busy’ but really, I did very little. Our friend, Steve, came down from Scotland for the weekend, and our friends, Anna and Jeremy, came over from Leicester for a ‘friendly’ game of Risk.

Being a long time fan of games like Settlers of Catan, I knew I’d enjoy Risk… but blimey, it can be cut-throat and even though I smiled sweetly at my husband, told him I loved him, that my life was happier with him a part of it – he still attacked me and my wonderfully happy and peaceful Europe. My feminine wiles failed… badly.

War, it seemed, was inevitable.

photo 1-1


Now, my troops were pretty chilled. Most of the time we just sat around watching the rest of the world attack each other (except for Ukraine, we wanted Ukraine). Having decided that my troops were all Brits, we did a lot of tea drinking and procrastinating before invading Africa for a bit. That didn’t work out, and so we returned home and drank some more tea, gathered up more troops, and  tried again – taking control.

In typical Brit fashion, I tried to make an alliance with the USA – but, unfortunately for me, my husband was having none of it: ‘Alliance? Screw that! I’m in this for myself!’ he laughed, while eyeing up my troops and attacking Iceland with barely disguised bloodlust.

Yes, it really was like that.

Neither my attempts at alliance, nor his at defending Northern America, worked. Steve’s army, which had grown fat and lazy in Siam, suddenly seemed to appear from nowhere, and the Asians (along with the Australasians) decided that it was time for the British rule to end – I was obliterated. Leaving the crumbling forces of America to fall one by one…

Is there a moral of the tale?

Yes… don’t drop your dice on the floor, because apparently that’s a forfeit and means that your opponent can re-roll theirs if they get a result they don’t like 😉




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