Mistakes I Made Starting a Board Game Night in Sydney, and How I Saved It

Three board game boxes spread open on the living room table, the rulebooks alone enough to fill a novel if you combined them. Five friends sat around the table, but nobody was rolling any dice. That was the scene of my first board game night. Now, every Thursday evening, people gather at my place (a small apartment in Newtown, to be exact) to laugh, chat, and demolish snacks, but it took quite a lot of trial and error to get here.

The person who pulled out Twilight Imperium on day one

I first got into board games while working as an interpreter. After a session of conference interpreting, my head would be completely overloaded with words, and focusing on a game board and cards instead of language acted as a kind of reset button. After enjoying games on my own for a while, I thought, "This would be way more fun with other people," and invited friends over. The problem was the game I chose. I'd already watched dozens of YouTube reviews and memorised the rules, but most of my friends only knew something like Settlers of Catan. So what did I do for the very first gathering? Rocked up with one of the heaviest titles in the strategy game world. The rules explanation alone took 40 minutes. Getting through a single round took another 30. When one friend asked, "When does this actually end?" we hadn't even made it through a quarter of the game.

After that night, two people didn't come back. Honestly, obvious outcome, but at the time I was genuinely annoyed, thinking, "How can they not see the appeal of this game?" Looking back it's hilarious, but I'm pretty stubborn, and I really didn't want to admit my game choice had been wrong.

It all came down to starting with a light game. Now, for first-timers, I pull out something like Codenames, where the rules take under five minutes. You split into teams and guess words, so you'd think I'd have an advantage as an interpreter, but surprisingly that's not always the case, which makes it even more fun. Once the mood loosens up, people happily accept a slightly more complex game at the next gathering.

The price of not thinking about snacks

My second mistake was the food. For the first few sessions, I just bought chips and soft drinks. Even though I experience every day how incredibly diverse Sydney's food culture is, I completely failed to bring that diversity to my own gatherings. A vegetarian friend, a friend who can't eat gluten, a friend with a nut allergy. Everyone had different needs, and I didn't even ask.

The real wake-up call was the day I baked peanut butter cookies. I only found out at the table that a new guest had a peanut allergy. Thankfully nothing serious happened, but that person sat there for two hours unable to touch a single thing from the snack spread. I felt absolutely terrible.

Since then, I always ask about dietary restrictions when I send out the invite. It's not a hassle. It's something that should have been done from the start, and I have no idea why I didn't. These days, I'm quite proud of the snack lineup. I pick up vegan scones from a bakery near Newtown, set out gluten-free crackers with hummus, and cut up plenty of fruit. The cost is roughly 30 to 40 AUD per session. If you think of it as the price of two coffees at a cafe, it's more than enough of an investment to lift the quality of the whole evening.

What happens when the host tries too hard

This was the hardest thing to admit. I appointed myself the gathering's "mood maker" and "organiser," but that actually became a burden. If someone applied a rule wrong during a game, I'd correct them immediately. If someone was slow on their turn, I'd subtly hurry them along. The moment one game ended, I'd pull out the next one. I was trying to create the perfect evening, but a friend gently told me, "Delia, take a break. We can figure it out ourselves."

That stung. When I'm interpreting, my role is to mediate so the conversation flows smoothly, and I think that habit bled right into my personal life. It took me ages to realise that people can laugh it off when a rule is applied slightly wrong, and that the chitchat between turns is actually the heart of the gathering.

These days, I deliberately step back. I only give a brief rules explanation when someone new shows up, and if someone makes a mistake mid-game, I wait until they notice it themselves or another person points it out. I've learned firsthand that when I step back, others take ownership. Participants have started bringing games they like on their own, and thanks to that, I've discovered hidden gems I never knew about.

The most impactful change I made was ultimately a simple one. I leave the first 30 minutes before we start playing as just free chat time. I used to set up the game board the moment people arrived, but now we have a cup of tea, share what happened during the week, and transition naturally into the game. The difference that 30 minutes makes is honestly astonishing. People come for the games, but the reason they keep coming back isn't the games. It's because that time feels comfortable.

Every Thursday, when the doorbell rings, I still get a little excited. When I think about how those early mistakes shaped the gathering into what it is today, even that awkward, quiet first evening wasn't so bad after all.