After Carole had spent Monday painting, and I’d spent it cooking everything that moved, we decided that today would be a much more chilled affair, just pootling about doing nice things, nicely.
Which, because it was us, meant board games.
And, because we’re nothing if not topical, that meant Pandemic.
We have a love-hate relationship with Pandemic.
We love it. It’s a great game. But we hate it because it’s so cruel and unforgiving and we never won.
We actually won. First time. Without too much trouble. We had loads of cards left, loads of cubes left, the board was mostly clear. We were amazing. Amazing.
So we upped the difficulty to the next level up.
Holy shitballs, Batman.
The game destroyed us. The first time we lost by failing to cure one disease. We thought we’d give it another go. We figured we’d got so close that it was just a matter of a few more decisive moves earlier in the game and we’d have won that. No messing. Easy peasy. On to the next difficulty.
The next game destroyed us, made little hats from our bones and had a party where it danced on a dance floor made of our skin. It completely destroyed us. I’ve never seen the Outbreak tracker move so quickly since the first game we ever played when we did it wrong.
The board was awash with cubes. So many disease cubes. Everywhere. All over the board. In every city. Some cities had diseases that they don’t normally even have but we’d been so bad at containing outbreaks that they had blue disease in red cities and red disease in yellow cities and… it was a massive shitshow.
It lives in the table now.
We’re going to play it a lot. We’re going to beat it. And then up the difficulty. And then play it again. And add in the fifth disease. And then up the difficulty some more.
And all of it will be moistened by our tears.