I couldn’t tell you the difference between Chaos and Imperium, but I appreciate devotion to an iconic subculture when I see it.

As a teenager, I had an impressive collection of model cars from famous TV shows and movies.

Going to university and renting my first home made me give them away, as I didn’t have space to display them.

I regret it, and miniature things—model railways, Lego, die-cast cars—still give me an indescribable pleasure that’s similar to the one I get when I watch planes land or spot an InterCity 125 at a train station.

For some reason, Warhammer has always passed me by, but when I was recently invited to visit Warhammer World in Nottingham, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to see for myself why it’s adored by so many.

Well, colour me impressed and call me a convert. I’m already deciding what to throw out to make space for my model army and agonising over what paints to choose.

On-site tanks and full-scale pubs

Immediately disarmed by the life-size Rhino tank on sandbags in the car park, nothing else in Warhammer World is capable of striking me as out of place.

Before I’ve had time to digest the fact that the site features a full-scale pub, a visitor who looks very grimdark indeed in his cloak orders a pint of cider from the bar.

And this is not a work canteen pretending to be a pub—it’s a pub. Complete with sticky bottles of BBQ sauce, the smell of onion rings, and outdoor seating.

Perhaps it’s odd that this should surprise as much as it did, but I live reasonably close to it, and occasionally passing by, had mistakenly come to view Warhammer World as just a factory where people go to work.

How mistaken I have been! And this is just the first of my misconceptions to fall today.

Talking to staff about Warhammer painting techniques

Next to the pub is an enormous shop that sells model kits and paints.

There are also some relatively small dioramas.

The detail in their paint schemes is exquisite, and it’s great fun to kneel down and see the world from the figurines’ perspective.

Everything looks weathered, scratched, and beaten‑up.

I can’t comprehend how anyone paints something so small in such detail using brushes and patience alone. If I were to paint a Basilisk, it would look like Noddy had driven it.

Striking up a conversation with a member of staff, I ask how people achieve such consistent detail and weathering, and admit that surely it must take ages to paint anything.

He shows me his Sicaran Battle Tank, freshly finished in the Ultramarines blue‑and‑gold livery, and gives me a piece of advice: choose one or two painting techniques you have the time and heart for, and stick to them.

His favourite technique is dry brushing, where you:

• Let a small amount of paint start to dry so it thickens
• Load your brush lightly
• Wipe almost all the paint off on paper or tissue
• When the brush is leaving barely any colour behind, sweep it gently across the raised details

Apparently this produces great weathering effects. I committed it to memory, vowing to give it a try someday.

The serious business of gaming

A Terrax Assault Drill could bore straight into Warhammer World’s cavernous games room, and not a single player would glance up from their tabletop battles or pause their debate about line of sight.

Their focus is absolute.

I’m a little late to the punch to pick up some dice and join the fray. Warhammer’s rules, to me, are frankly bewildering.

But I’m enjoying myself in that same vicarious way I enjoy someone else’s wedding (especially if it's abroad) or wandering around a cathedral.

And the religious comparison is apt.

Choose any metaphor—Mecca, monks, or mystics—and it would fit the level of devotion Warhammer fans bring to the craft.

Except the gamers are having far more fun, and their outfits look more suitable for Download Festival than for a diocese.

In that sense, I fit right in. With my giant orange beard and my aggressively casual clothes, I feel immediately at one with everyone.

Games Workshop’s production hub is huge

I was invited to visit by my brother, who works in Games Workshop’s paint division, blow‑moulding their paint pots.

There is as much attention to detail lavished on these as on the weathering in the dioramas.

The pots are built to survive being dropped, frozen, and left open.

But the simple fact that they’re manufactured in‑house was what blew me away. Doing whatever they can themselves seems to be the Games Workshop ethos.

I suppose that’s why the main site sprawls across such a vast industrial estate on the edge of Nottingham. The scale of the operation is genuinely impressive:

• Tens of millions of plastic parts are produced each year
• The company has its own distribution depot at East Midlands Airport
• A brand‑new 63,000 sq ft factory is being built to keep up with demand

In some years, demand outstrips manufacture (especially for new pieces), and there are over 300 paints in the range.

I knew Games Workshop was one of Nottingham’s homegrown institutions, but I had no idea it’s quite that big.

The exhibits at Warhammer World Nottingham

After watching everyone get stuck in at the paint‑your‑own‑miniature section, I head into the Games Workshop exhibit.

Stepping inside is like walking into someone else’s imagination, or imbibing a memory from Dumbledore’s Pensieve.

What impresses me most isn’t the size or number of scenes, but how they extend into their cabinets to give everything an extra sense of life.

Below the clear Perspex boxes, the wood of the stands has been cut away to reveal castle dungeons and underground bunkers where the battle rages on “out of sight.”

There are some clever modelling techniques, too.

Fire from a dragon’s mouth (and there are more dragons here than in Chinese folklore) or the smoke from a rocket being fired from a spaceship is used to hold the figurines up, making them look as if they’re floating in mid‑air.

Capturing these moments—a launch, a battalion mid‑incineration—adds tremendous realism.

My favourite dioramas in the exhibit are from the Age of Sigmar fantasy timeline.

I’ve never been a massive fan of the grimdark genre.

Living in the UK is already pretty grimdark, and some of the Warhammer 40,000 battles look uncomfortably close to quintessential British scenes—travelling home from work in winter, waiting in A&E, that sort of thing.

That’s also why I never finished Doom Eternal and only just completed the Metro games.

I wouldn’t describe them as “cheerful,” but the vibe of factions like the Sylvaneth and the Idoneth Deepkin is much more me.

Even in a neo‑medieval, war‑torn hellscape that resembles the realms of Erebus, it’s nice to see a bit of grass.

My favourite faction is the Kharadron Overlords: the sky‑dwelling steampunk dwarves.

Several scenes use pillow stuffing to create a quilted cloud layer beneath their floating dreadnoughts and frigates.

It’s wonderfully imaginative, and the sky effect is superb, especially with a bit of silver and gold spray paint to add texture and aether‑gold shimmer.

The locations for the battles featuring these factions are also my favourite: giant treehouses, glades, and waterfalls.

When I think about how many collective hours must have been poured into assembling and painting these scenes, my mind short‑circuits.

The only scene missing here is a diorama where everyone is getting along.

Modelling an entire war

But there’s no chance of that, and the bonsai battles just keep getting larger.

The main event is in Exhibit Room 3. It’s a skirmish so vast it needs the entire room to itself.

How to describe it?

According to the sign, it’s twenty feet tall, and a team of modellers assembled the sections over nine months before moving them into the room and piecing everything together in situ.

There are so many different battlegrounds and arenas that the whole scene comes together like a carved‑open anthill with dozens of layers, chambers, and conflicts.

A full‑scale Warhammer 40,000 chainsword hangs on the wall, and a soundtrack of battle noise adds to the immersion, especially the low, thud‑thud‑thud of the Imperial Knight’s footsteps.

There’s even a competition offering free kits to the first people each day who can spot one of a handful of special units hidden among the thousands of others.

I’d still be there now if I’d genuinely tried to find them.

Pre‑spending my wages on a new obsession

By the time I emerge back into the main atrium, the leaden January day is fading fast, and the heavy sky makes it feel as if a battle is brewing.

I dutifully buy a Warhammer token from the vending machine as a talisman of my visit.

Thoroughly impressed, I vow to start collecting models again.

I’ve already got my eye on a pot of Macragge Blue and have nominated a Kharadron Overlords kit that’s going to look excellent in my living room.

I can’t wait to paint it.