Monday, 26 July 2010

48hrs

It's Monday 26th July and my next consignment of games is steaming through the Suez canal. I'm still not sure if I've enough space for 1,000 games. 60 large and heavy cartons need to be stored, it's going to be tight. Access to exits and essential amenities within the house must be maintained.
This morning I decided to start my marketing drive, it's taken over a year to get to this point and now I'm ready take on the world. (Cue space odyssey music, the version by Deodato of course.)
So this morning I browsed my contact list that I acquired at the London Toyfair back in January. A list of over 70 high profile retailers, manufacturers and distributors. Where to start? John Lewis? Hamleys? No, I'm going to the top the most famous, exclusive and distinguished shop in the world... Harrods. E-mail sent at 08:00 hrs. Will I get a reply today, tomorrow, next week or even at all? I'm on a mission, I've got deadlines. People to meet, deals to be done. Yes, (puffs out chest) I'll give them 48 hours to get back to me and if there's no response, well, I'll just...erm...give them a bit more time?

Cubikoman.

Friday, 16 July 2010

demo

The date; 10th July. The event; Whitton school fair.

The scene
With my tables set up under the gazebo I awaited my first inquirers. I didn't have to wait long. An immaculately presented 5 year old, her fresh faced mother and her deeply wrinkled grandmother took their seats around the 3x3 Cubiko board. I handed them 3 cubes each, the little girl insisted on having red.

The explaination
I tracked my finger across the board. "Now to win the game you need to get your cubes in a line"
The girl placed her cubes eagerly along the diagonal "you mean like this."
"Yes," I promptly rearranged her cubes into the middle square "but you can also win if you get them in a cluster."
It was time to reveal the mechanic of Cubiko, the main component, the unique selling point. I gently threw the rubber ball that I had been hiding in my hand. It hit the table and bounced up on to the grid, "and it's where the ball settles that you place your cube."
The girl clapped her hands with delight... sold.
"That's different," the mother laughed... sold.
The grandmother didn't twitch a wrinkle... the target.

The game. (Cue music to The good, bad and the ugly)
"Lets start," I handed the young girl the ball,"here, you can go first."
The game began. The girl threw the ball far too hard. It cleared the board, the table and the gazebo. She leapt out of her seat like a 'Jack in the box' and started what turned out to be a very long chase across the playground to retrieve it (cue Benny Hill music).
Next it was the mothers turn, not wanting to repeat her daughters aerobic exercise, she just dropped the ball onto the table. With no forward motion the ball bounced in the same spot at diminishing heights. (Cue Panama cigar music)
Next is was the Grandmothers turn, to my surprise she threw the ball with reasonable control. My eyes narrowed... the grandmother was the target and the competition. I took my shot and knocked out the grandmother cube (Cue 'Rocky' music) Yes, I am very competitive.
With the shots continuing in much the same vein the game developed to its conclusion. Another wayward shot by the girl but the increasing number of curious onlookers helped retrieve the ball. The mother missed again. And finally the winning shot from the grandmother.

Conclusion.
It was a bitter sweet loss. They bought the game.

Tuesday, 13 July 2010

The Bicycle Incident

This is CubikoGirl, Cubikoman’s seventeen year old step-daughter, and let me tell you; if it takes a village to raise a child, it takes the constant vigilance and support of this five person family to reign in an inventor. We’re still deep in the “spend lots of money and rip out your own hair in frustration” phase, which my step-dad demurely calls “the developmental stage of the business”, and I try to help out where I can. This blog was my idea, but getting this blog written is like getting blood out of a stone.

Step one: Select hefty stone

Step two: Aim at step-dad’s head

Step three: Ask step-dad, with a threatening grin, how his blog is going

Step four: Listen to his apologetic mumble until temptation overcomes you

Hey presto! Blood. Stone. So, I’m going to write a little bit of it myself, to show him how it’s done.

The ever-so-slightly raised voices of Mr and Mrs Cubikoman dragged me out of my summer-holiday lie in this morning. I lay awake, groggy and increasingly bewildered, as the “discussion” ratcheted up in volume from downstairs. It was a bit like listening to Prime Minister’s Question time; ferociously civilised, with only snatches of intelligible conversation;

“Bike... Trailer... Pubs...”

Bike powered portable pubs on a trailer? Trailering, bikey... what the hell?

Morbid curiosity drove me downstairs. Mr and Mrs C were in the kitchen. I slowly stuck my head around the door. Mr C stood by the counter, his eyes glittering with the blinding enthusiasm of a squirrel on sherbet. My heart sank. My step-dad is a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but he can be a little bit like a clockwork toy. He gets wound up, and then zam! Off he races in search of the next big thing, and he’ll go far if he’s facing the right direction. Or he’ll kinda... run into a wall and spin around in circles. My mind was suddenly filled with the image of him pulling a pub on a trailer. He’d do it.

He’s just that determined.

He glanced toward me, and pitched to us both. “I’ll get one of those trailers and cycle around to pubs, clubs schools, all of that, instead of this 'jump in the car, drive, park, jump in the car, drive, park.' A bicycle trailer, but I’ll put Cubikos in the back instead of kids. I’ll go from place to place selling Cubikos, I won’t have to pay for petrol, congestion charge, or anything! Plus, I’ll loose weight.”

Mrs Cubikoman took a breath to steady herself. I leant back to watch. Engarde, and...
“You have a car outside. Why don’t you use it? Or you could use a rucksack and carry five games at a time to each pub or- use the boot of your car.“

Parry, and repost. I smiled and reached for an apple.

Also:
“Where are we going to store the trailer in the winter?”

“Is this just a piece of equipment that you aren’t going to use?”

“How will you avoid arriving at the pubs all covered in sweat?”

“You haven’t used your bike for, what, eight years? Is it even safe?”

Mr C’s enthusiasm was beginning to dwindle. Something approaching a scowl crossed his face.

“Well, there are three bikes in the house.”

I paused. There were three bikes in the house. Mrs C, my sister and I had been given them for Christmas; they were lovely, bright pink and purple. I burst out laughing, but hid it with a bite of apple.

“So, you’re going to use my pink bike to pull a trailer of Cubikos from pub to pub?”

Touché. Mr C was wounded. “You aren’t supporting me, darling?”

Mrs C’s face darkened. I strongly suspected that she was leaning toward the “Blood
From Stone” school of thought (see above- the method can also be used to permanantly change a person's mind). I decided to take my cereal to another room.