If a recent film tells us anything, intergalactic colonisation through cryogenically preserving all aboard is likely to be interrupted by a lonely, bearded gentleman prematurely awoken because a meteor has smashed through the ship’s hull.

Andromeda lifts some of this premise, wisely choosing to sidestep the moral ambiguity of destroying someone’s life in order to play happy bedtimes with.

Yes, it’s the year something-or-other, a time when someone on earth has amassed so much cash and access to resources that they can throw giant ships about the galaxy, all stuffed with eager tech-laden individuals keen to farm space cows, eat space eggs and raise space children.

But that’s not going to make a satisfying game, now is it? One needs an angry alien race against which to butt heads.

Let’s cut to the chase, though. Andromeda is a frustrating puppy. At times breathtaking and satisfying, at others monotonous and pant-wettingly annoying.

World exploration is vast, detailed and beautiful, the combat system is excellent, with an astonishing array of weapons and loadouts. The characters are interminably dull, their animations suitably lifeless and dialogue hilariously horrific, both in screenplay and delivery. Missions, too, have stabbed great holes in my patience balloon. “Go find these things”; “I’ve lost my equipment”; “My space dog is missing”. Who picked these chumps to build a new colony? The intelligence testing, it seems, was about as rigorous as the Rebels’ X-Wing fitness programme that allowed Jek Porkins through the net.

Whether you allow Andromeda’s shortcomings to colour your experience is down to how much ghastly, disjointed chat you can stand. Because if it matters little, this game and its myriad hidden treasures will open up like a desperate flower. But if a little part of you dies inside every time someone’s mouth opens, you’re going to struggle.