Ship-tipping, the explosive nautical equivalent of cow-tipping.

Even though this is only a preview, I think it’s safe to say that Commander: Conquest of the Americas will have some of the best looking water yet seen in a game. The campaign map shimmers a whole spectrum of blues, from the murky indigo of the mid-Atlantic to the crystalline colourings of the Caribbean.

I admit this is hardly the most important aspect of the spiritual successor to East India Company, but considering the game will revolve almost entirely around water, whether you’re sailing through it, trading across it, or fighting on it, it’s reassuring to know that Nitro Games have gone to the effort to make it look as realistic as possible.

Read the full preview here.

What’s the most useless thing you can think of? The stereotypical chocolate teapot? Katie Price? Parliament? How about a research project into whether named cows produce more milk than unnamed cows, or whether it’s better to be bashed about the head with an empty glass bottle or a full one?

This week saw the unveiling of the winners of the not-particularly highly coveted Ig-Nobel prize, the scientific award ceremony that honours discoveries which make people laugh first and think second, like when a former sexual partner informs you they’ve got chlamydia.

Anyway, there were multiple recipients of these most absurd of scientific awards. The Ig-Noble prize for Physics went to Katherine Whitcome of the University of Texas for determining why pregnant women do not tip over, which gave me an idea for a new game – it’s similar to cow tipping but… actually nevermind.

Californian Donald Unger won the Ig-Nobel prize for Medicine after spending 60 years cracking the knuckles of his left hand, but not his right hand, in order to determine whether knuckle-cracking causes arthritis. It doesn’t, so feel free to get your crack on – though I warn you that apparently it is quite moreish (Peep Show reference go!).

By far the most bizarre winner of this year, however, was Elena Bodner of Chicago (anybody noticing a trend here?) for inventing a bra that can be converted into a gas-mask during an emergency.  The category this Ig-Nobel nominee was included in was named Public Health, which I have the distinct suspicion they may have entirely made up the night before. On the other hand, I suppose this invention may come in useful in the bedroom if you have a particularly flatulent partner, if used alongside a pair of socks that can be converted into earplugs.

You may think I’m being slightly cynical about all this, and I must admit that the existence of such an award ceremony (in its nineteenth year, I might add) does make me wonder about the steady decline of the human race as we all wander around wearing air-conditioned underpants and shoes that turn into cutlery while the world slowly microwaves itself like a massive baked potato and incurable cancers eat the internal organs of hundreds of people on a daily basis. Then again, what’s the point of living if you can’t have the odd ludicrously pointless and inordinately expensive giggle now and again?