Campaign

Every week we give you something to while away the quiet hours at your desk. This week a knock-about

Games about politics are notoriously tricky to pull off. With so many variables in a campaign to model, an election provides a compelling challenge for artificial intelligence designers. Notable entries in the genre include Elixir Studios with their thrillingly overambitious Republic: The Revolution, and Elixir alumnus Cliff Harris’s Democracy and Democracy 2 over at his progressive indie studio Positech. Infact, the only digital element that seems to be missing from the 2008 campaigns seems to be candidate videogames - although campaign managers are still probably recalling the lonely hours they spent playing Howard Dean for America …and look what happened there.

Enter Campaign, a knock-about and stylish mix of Political strategy and turn-based warfare. In this special election edition, you can elect to play as either Obama or McCain and fight it out across the states. Having chosen your side you’re required to choose your staff making them up from a selection of skills. Fund-Raisers and Operatives are there alongside those essential Spinmeisters and Hatchet Men - all of which have their own strengths and weaknesses for you to pit against the opposition.

It’s a good looking game, but don’t let the amusing caricatures of the campaign staff fool you into thinking this is a simple pleasure. Whilst it might not be the most sophisticated political simulation on the net, it is a challenging and compelling real-time strategy game.

Playable either against the computer or an online opponent, Campaign is well worth a few clicks.

Play Campaign

Iain Simons writes, talks and tweets about videogames and technology. His new book, Play Britannia, is to be published in 2009. He is the director of the GameCity festival at Nottingham Trent University.
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Would you jump off a cliff if someone told you to? One time, I did

I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain.

Ever heard the phrase, “Would you jump off a cliff if they told you to?” It was the perpetual motif of my young teenage years: my daily escapades, all of which sprang from a need to impress a peer, were distressing and disgusting my parents.

At 13, this tomboyish streak developed further. I wrote urgent, angry poems containing lines like: “Who has desire for something higher than jumping for joy and smashing a light?” I wanted to push everything to its limits, to burst up through the ceiling of the small town I lived in and land in America, or London, or at least Derby. This was coupled with a potent and thumping appetite for attention.

At the height of these feelings, I was walking across the bridge in Matlock park, which is about 12 feet high, with a large group of other kids from my year, in the pouring rain. One of the cool girls started saying that her cousin had jumped off the bridge into the river and had just swum away – and that one of us should do it.

Then someone said that I should do it, because I always did that stuff. More people started saying I should. The group drew to a halt. Someone offered me a pound, which was the clincher. “I’m going to jump!” I yelled, and clambered on to the railing.

There wasn’t a complete hush, which annoyed me. I looked down. It was raining very hard and I couldn’t see the bottom of the riverbed. “It looks really deep because of the rain,” someone said. I told myself it would just be like jumping into a swimming pool. It would be over in a few minutes, and then everyone would know I’d done it. No one could ever take it away from me. Also, somebody would probably buy me some Embassy Filter, and maybe a Chomp.

So, surprising even myself, I jumped.

I was about three seconds in the air. I kept my eyes wide open, and saw the blur of trees, the white sky and my dyed red hair. I landed with my left foot at a 90-degree angle to my left ankle, and all I could see was red. “I’ve gone blind!” I thought, then realised it was my hair, which was plastered on to my eyes with rain.

When I pushed it out of the way and looked around, there was no one to be seen. They must have started running as I jumped. Then I heard a voice from the riverbank – a girl called Erin Condron, who I didn’t know very well. She pushed me home on someone’s skateboard, because my ankle was broken.

When we got to my house, I waited for Mum to say, “Would you jump off another cliff if they told you to?” but she was ashen. I had to lie that Dave McDonald’s brother had pushed me in the duck pond. And that’s when my ankle started to throb. I never got the pound, but I will always be grateful to Erin Condron. 

This article first appeared in the 25 August 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Cameron: the legacy of a loser