We had different ideas about a friendly game.

Marc explained that I had made a very inefficient move. I agreed. He then explained the move I should have made, which took longer than my original turn and involved borrowing three of my pieces.

I had invited him and Jo over for a game. We had all played it before, although apparently to different depths. Marc remembered the rules, the exceptions and a discussion he had read about the exceptions. I remembered liking the little wooden houses.

There is nothing wrong with enjoying a game seriously. I like Marc partly because he gets interested in things. The trouble was that I had imagined an evening of talking with a board on the table, and he had imagined playing the game well. Neither of us had said this out loud.

Help was arriving without a request.

By my fourth turn I was asking whether a move was allowed before I made it, then checking whether it was foolish. Jo was doing something similar. Marc was now effectively managing three positions. This did not look like the evening any of us had come for.

I asked if we could pause. I said I wanted to make my own decisions, including the bad ones, and that I was finding the advice difficult to play through. He looked surprised. He thought he was helping us enjoy the game.

Jo said she liked a reminder when she missed a rule, but did not want someone to choose her strategy. That distinction helped. We agreed to flag illegal moves and answer questions, but ask before giving tactical advice.

Then Marc asked whether we actually wanted to compete. I said yes, but at the speed of people eating crisps and occasionally talking about other things. Jo said she would enjoy a proper focused game another time. We were negotiating a Friday evening, not settling the future of competitive play.

We did not have to play another round.

The game improved. I made a move Marc visibly disliked. He ate a crisp and allowed history to proceed. Two turns later he won, which was not remotely surprising. I had enjoyed the last part much more than the first.

He offered a rematch. I wanted to put the kettle on and hear about Jo's new job. We packed the pieces away and did that. Marc showed us a photograph of his dog looking guilty beside a completely unrelated broken plant pot.

Before the next evening, we chose the game and said what sort of night we wanted. Sometimes that means a harder game with everyone paying close attention. Sometimes it means something familiar that leaves room to talk. I can enjoy both, but I would like to know which one I am bringing crisps to.