CDO

I know a thing or two about programming.

 

When I'm not cleaning the grease off of the walls of the kitchen, I find gainful employment in the dark arts of coding. So I feel I am sufficiently equipped to talk on the subject of application development, computer AIs and the price of fish.

 

I download a fair few Apps, to my trusty iPhone, and it's interesting to note the huge variance in the strength of Artificial Intelligence, employed in a number of board games, ported to the apple platform. Frankly it's bad enough having to face poodle play in real life - but it's just unforgivable against a computer opponent.

 

As I have remarked before, the Zooloretto application is astonishingly Poodlerific (yes, it's in the dictionary, go and look it up in the Great Library. Oh, you can't, I burnt it down). After a few plays, however, you can normally ensure you're on the right side of it's pedestrian play, which saves you hurling your precious iPhone across the open plan office.

It's the silly things that annoy me though. Sometimes one of the AIs is the last to play and has all the time in the world to take the last cart - but rather than rearranging the enclosures, to receive the incoming animals, it just takes them and bungs them in the overflow shed for maximum minus points.

How difficult is it to write a bit of code that says "If last.turn then rearrange.exe before take.lastcart" ?

 

I've noticed similar flaws in 'Cribbage Lite', my current fave iPhone app. During the card play that takes place before the 'show' it seems to throw its cards down in a random order. So today, I had already gone out for 31 and the AI had three cards to play - a Nine and two Jacks. The logical order would be J> J (for 2pts)> 9 (for a point) instead the AI played J> 9> J (for one point). 

 

Initially I thought it was taunting me but given that I have won 34 games out of 34 (with 18 'skunks' which I take to mean going out while the AI is still below 100 points), I don't think that this can be the case.

Again, really not that difficult to program. "If opponent.out then maximise.playorder"

 

It just seems a bit bizarre. Who play tests there things.

Still, one of the things I like about Cribbage Lite is that it keeps your statistics. Something which the Scopa application, for reasons only its developers could explain, does not. This is a shame because most Edge Geeks (and all fully fledged Geeks) like to have their stats.

So, for example, I know that my best hand in Crib has been 24 points but I don't know the same thing for Scopa. I'm pretty sure I got 8 once, in a single round, but without documentary evidence this just becomes the fish that got away. An Angler's yarn peddled on second rate gaming blogs.

 

And adding games stats is probably the simplest piece of coding known to man. It's the kind of task that most serious software companies would outsource to the local primary school for show and tell day.

 

Of course I could be turning into the Pointy Haired Boss from Dilbert (assuming that something performed by my staff must be trivial because, well, the tasks are being performed by my staff).

 

Mind you, there are applications out there that kick my butt.

Most Go AIs are as inscrutable as a wasabi shaving and the Race for the Galaxy freeware implementation, on the PC, wipes the floor with me and leaves me wishing I'd stayed at home listening to Vogon Poetry. So there's some good stuff out there.

Actually, if someone could port that RftG code to the iPhone, I'd be a very happy man. perhaps I should put my money where my mouth is and do it myself.

 

heh. Who am I kidding.

I'm too busy playing games and being pompous.

Colts of the New?

It's the SuperBowl, tonight, and I'm trying to get enthusiastic. Really, I am.

I've got a lot of buddies over the pond, in Indianapolis, and I know they're all rooting for the Colts. I'm tempted to stay up and watch (it kicks off at around 11:30pm Gormenghast Mean Time) and chew the fat with them over Twitter.

But I'm really not sure that I have the attention span. American Football leaves me cold. It just seems to be a game built around TV schedules (more specifically Ad Breaks) and Prima Donnas who come on for 20 seconds to kick a ball and then leave the field again lest they get tackled and hurt.

(Yeah, I know that proper football [the game the rest of the world plays with a round ball and a World Cup that involves teams from around the world playing] has more than its fair share of Prima Donnas - but at least they have to stay on the pitch and take the knocks)

It's not that I don't understand American Football - an accusation which is often raised against me when I express my luke warm sentiments regarding the game - I've had it explained many times by US friends and been to see a fair few live matches. It's just that it seems to have a far inferior rule set to its distant cousins of Rugby and Aussie Rules footy.

But I guess that's just me.

I think I can see its appeal - but I can't feel it for myself.

In the same way as I understand that, say, the Beatles were pivotal to the development of music in the 60s - and beyond - but find the majority of their tunes childish and uninspiring.

It's the Agricola syndrome all over again.

Of course, there is the possibility that I am just too hard to please. And I think that there is some merit in this argument, although I was shouting at the TV all through the England v Wales six nations rugby match yesterday, so I am not totally devoid of passion (sadly Gormenghast could not field a team as no one can agree on the national anthem).

Anyway, for my Indy based friends, "Go, Colts!!".

I'll be with you in spirit although I may be snoring in bed.

Into the iDungeons

Scopa, on the iPhone, has been taking a bit of a backseat over the last few weeks to my latest shiny App 'find' - Sword&Poker.

It's a fantastic little dungeon crawl game that has a combat mechanic loosely applied around poker hands. Yes, I know, it sounds a bit weird but actually it plays really well - and the counter intuitive notion of a troll sitting down to play a card game with a hero, to decide who is the toughest, hardly seems to matter.

Actually I haven't met a troll yet. I've defeated quite a few walking flowers (yeah, they sound tough), innumerable giant bees and a fair few 'suit mages', venerable old wizards who can change the deck of cards by slight of hand. They seem to be the Derren Brown's of the under world.

It all hangs together remarkably well. The further down into the depths you travel, the more new rules get added. Treasure can be exchanged for better weapons, that make certain hand combinations more powerful and do tricksy things, or for shields to repel different types of attack or bigger money pouches (in which you store more life. Not sure how, You just do, ok?).

Defeating magical creatures bestows new spells upon you so that you can compete on a level footing with the Sarumans you stumble upon in the caverns.

But, for me, where it really shines is that somehow it manages to really draw you in. Like any good adventure game, or RPG, you really start to empathise with your character and feel the angst when the odds start stacking against you.

Over lunch today, I found myself in a precarious situation. I had defeated many adversaries and snagged a fair amount of treasure but at a huge cost - my life points were down to 7 (from 50) and I had not come across any artifacts that could regenerate my crumbling constitution.

Standing between me and the only exit was a giant lizard clocking in at 35 life points ...and a big hitter at all the low suit combinations, to boot.

This was going to be messy. And in all likelihood I was going to be the mess.

The gimli on my shoulder whispered into my ear "Certainty of death...Small chance of success...What are we waiting for?" and I charged.

The cards were dealt (What is the Latin for "alea iacta est" ? "pecto es paciscor" ?) and I gave thanks to the Great Goddess of Spawn - I had a Joker ! Maybe I could last one round.

Possibilities buzzing in my head I thought I saw a glimmer of a move of most coolness and decided to give it a shot; I cast my "sort suit" spell and, as the cards fell in their new orientation, I knew I had calculated correctly. I played a royal flush and hit the gormless gecko right where the sun don't shine. I was determined to go down fighting.

He, too, drew a slightly spawny next hand and hit back immediately with a Full House. What was left of my shield absorbed most of the shock but some of the heat came through and I dropped a life point. Another big one like that and I was dead, my shield now useless tattered and torn.

The Full House was a good counter strike, by lizard man, but tactically it was questionable - it left me open to reply with two pairs which not only scored points against the rabid reptile but, because I held an enchanted scimitar, actually boosted my adrenaline (and by extension my life points).

The ugly iguana could only come back with a pair and suddenly I saw a chink in the underside of this Smauglette's belly. And I didn't need no man of Dale to do the dirty work for me. If I could last one more series of hits there was a three way combination coming up that would finish the job. I played a small pair back, more to block a row that my opponent could have used to really hurt me, and then hoped he did not draw a killer card on his turn. By my reckoning it was a 50/50 chance and he bottled it - his next stab, at me, could only muster a few hits and I was down to 1 life point - but now I was ready to lunge.

And lunge I did, scoring 20 hits in one massive charge.

The beast was defeated, I was exhausted and my sandwiches were going stale.

Sauntering slowly out of the exit, I started my descent to the next level along with a full recharge to get my life points back. Oh and I stopped in the shop, on the way, to buy a new shield, a bronze mace and a bigger money pouch. The Goblin at the checkout was very polite and did not ask about the blood on my tunic.

Something to tell my grandchildren as we sit in front of the huge fire that burns in the kitchen of Gormenghast.

Snow Tales (II)

I'm back from the snow capped mountains of Switzerland and once more freezing my brass monkeys off in the cold stone corridors of Gormenghast.

Well I would be if the Lady Fuchsia didn't have the thermostat turned up to 31 degree. I suspect that she is single handedly melting the polar ice caps.

Skiing was good, the cheese was sublime and against all the odds I got in a little gaming.

And I mean a little.

Our chalet was somewhat off the beaten track and the night life somewhat limited to the small auberge down the road. Fortunately I had a deck of cards in my suitcase and a cribbage board. (Funny how I make it sound like this was a random event).

I used to play a lot of crib when I was younger - my grandfather taught it to me, when I was a wee stone chipping, yet to be banished to the kitchens - and I remember long lazy evening counting "15 2 15 4 2 is 6 and 6 is a dozen". A mantra that still echoes around my head even today.

But somehow this was all lost in the tide of Eurogames and I rarely get out a deck of standard playing cards these days. But the renaissance of the traditional has begun; firstly with poker and now with cribbage.

So, a few evenings, high up in the misty mountains, were spent teaching and rediscovering this heritage game. It's the perfect companion for the end of a long day on the slopes, when chatting about the wipe outs on the black runs can go hand in hand with casual card play.

Of course Arctic Scavengers may have been equally appropriate - and, had I been in the Italian sector of Olde Helvetia, I could have picked up some Neapolitan cards and taught my comrades Scopa - but still it was great to get this to the table again.

And it served to remind me that passing the ways of the crib down from father to son is an important part of my family culture. I need to teach Steerpike Jr sometime soon.

Cheese

Over on my Twitter feed, I've had cheese on my mind.

The thing is we have a chocolate machine, at work, which dispenses fine confectionery. This is fine if you're into that kind of thing but the Steerpike theory runs thus:

"Chocolate is merely Cheese for the ladies"

If I'm having a dessert I will always opt to have my milk based product delivered in the form of cheese rather than chocolate. Plus cheese is far more versatile in the sense that it can be served during just about any course.

Indeed I have a second theory which is that, generally (and yes this is a post containing outrageous generalisations), you can tell what country a person is from by the timing of their cheese consumption.

The Spanish and Italians like to have theirs as a starter or tapas.

The Swiss and any mountain folk (more of that later) as a main

The English and French as a pudding (or, of course, a cheese source on top of any animal, vegetable or mineral).

So, anyway, how come we don't have cheese vending machines in the office?

Sometimes, when I've finished my packed lunch, I fancy something else and right now the only option available to me is chocolate. This is sexism and just encourages me to work from home where there is a plentiful supply of Stilton and that nice German smoked cheese, left over from Christmas.

Talking of Mountain Folk, and their penchant for the mighty fondue, I'm off to Switzerland to get my yearly skiing fix and to escape the weather.

So things may be quiet, around the kitchen, for the next week or so. Feel free to make yourself a sandwich and pour yourself a drink while I'm gone.

Out of the woodwork

Meeting up with people who share similar interests, or beliefs, can be a tricky business.

In days of yore this could have been done via secret symbols or strange handshakes. Whilst similar methods still exist, we now have the internet to make things easier.

There's a nice little area, over on the Half Man Half Biscuit lyrics project web site, where readers are invited to submit examples of unexpected sources quoting from the mighty canon of HMHB songs. It's amazing to see Radio 1 DJs, who play nothing but pap to the nation, covertly referencing their forbidden love for the Biscuits via obscure lyrics. (Well, lyrics that are opaque to the average listener).

I also remember a similar stunning sense of disbelief when a, seemingly gormless, DJ made a mathematical joke on prime time commercial radio:

Q. What's green and commutes?

A. An Abelian grape

My whole world tilted a little to the left and - being an Edge Geek - I could not help but chuckle at the punchline itself.

It just goes to show that you should not judge a book by its cover. Or by the blurb on the side. Or most of the words contained within.

Last night, as I lay in bed reading, I came across the following passage in the Have I Got News For You Guide to Modern Britain. The text was discussing the complex nature of the modern family with familial, half-familial and step-familial interconnection:

"[with the modern family] at least the chances of getting enough people together at Christmas to finally play 'Diplomacy' are now massively increased"

What?

Ian Hislop and Paul Merton are Diplomacy players?

They kept that quiet. How come I've never bumped into them in any of my pbem games?

More Hidden Gamers?

In the upper echelons of BBC light entertainment?

Should I invite the Director General around for a game of BattleLore ?

Digital Footprint. Size 11.

Goodbye snow and hello rain.

The moat around the castle is, once again, full of water and there's no longer any excuse to keep working from home.

That's a good thing, really, because I have podcasts stacking up on my iPhone - and I'm getting a bit twitchy about being so far behind on my listening. You can't beat a good commute for listening to all your favourite shows.

I've been spending a lot of time on iTunes, recently, as the pikelets had £45 worth of vouchers to burn, from Christmas. Never has so much dross been downloaded across the Gormenghast network. Worse still, Apple is building a profile which is a hideous distortion of the real Steerpike.

The next thing I know, I'll be receiving emails with special offers on JLS merchandise. The shame !

I get the same thing on Amazon. Before Christmas I bought loads of stuff for an eclectic band of family and friends. For reasons best known to the programmers of the Amazon fuzzy logic, it now assumes that everything purchased was for me and has updated my 'digital profile' to reflect this. Surely someone, somewhere, realises that Christmas purchases are of the 'one off' variety?

Items, bought in desperation, to placate that gnarled great-aunt who lives in the forgotten tower or endless forgotten cousins with wafer thin claims to the Earldom.

Of course if any of the games web sites want to suggest items, for my next visit, I'll be more than happy to take a look.