Walking through a toy shop
with my boyfriend's sister a while ago, I spotted the Pop Up Pirate
game -
Essentially,
it was Buckaroo for
children who liked to stab things. It was a favourite game of mine as
a child, and I ran to purchase it while trying not to foam at the
mouth. But then my companion pointed out that “you always stab the
same hole to make the pirate jump out, you know.”
Deflated,
I realised she must be right, and that the reason I'd been so amazed
by it as a kid was that I'd obviously been an idiot child.
But
after some painstaking research (googling), I learned that my
sister-in-law had actually never learned to set the game up properly,
resulting in the same outcome every time. It turns out she'd been the
idiot child and not me. Thus I was vindicated.
But it
got me thinking – what other pieces of cheap plastic 'family fun'
had I goggled over as a child? And would they live up to my memories
of them? I decided to find out, promptly going out and spending money
I couldn't really afford, tracking down these lost relics of my
younger years. Let me tell you – evenings at my house have been a
non-stop rollercoaster of fun ever since. I'm almost certain my
boyfriend doesn't miss things like sex and alcohol, and is perfectly
happy to shuffle plastic discs around a piece of cardboard.
Ghost Castle
Object of the game –
to move your player round a haunted cardboard castle and open the
coffin on the roof, while avoiding traps, curses and falling skulls
Extremely
scary as a child. Containing up to 80% peril in any given round, you
played the game in constant fear of being decapitated by ghosts, or
knocked down an endless staircase, again by a ghost. Or worst of all,
being knocked unconscious by a flying skull, which was not a very
nice thing to happen to you. Because I was such a wuss as a kid, I
was convinced the game would somehow kill me in real life, and I
could never really play it without having a nightlight/hot
drink/exorcism afterwards. As an adult, the game failed to terrify me
the way it once had – so much so that I began making up my own
rules – if I can throw the plastic skull into my boyfriend's drink,
I win. If I can roll the dice one more time without dying of boredom,
I win. Best rule of all – since I paid for the game, I
automatically win, and anyone who disagrees will be banished for all
eternity to the Ghost Castle, which I now own.
Screwball Scramble
Object of the game –
to navigate a metal ball around a series of mazes, see-saws and
balance beams before the wind-up timer runs out
Only
after hours and hours of practice could you master this game, and
become master of your friends by association. I was never very good
at this – my clumsy, chocolate smeared hands would inexpertly
fumble at the various knobs, until the little metal ball flew out and
ended up somewhere in France.
I
should be able to conquer this game as an adult, right? After all,
it's only a kids' game. Now I'm thirty I'll kick its ass,
right? Wrong, but not for the reasons you might think. Upon removing
Screwball Scramble from
its box, my boyfriend immediately leapt on it, shrieking as if I'd
just covered my boobs in chocolate spread. And he didn't go further
than two inches away from it for the next six hours. By the time I
was finally allowed a go, I'd become disenchanted by seeing him
swearing, shouting at the ball, threatening to kill the ball, and
finally crying in a heap on the floor.
Mousetrap
Object of the game –
to trap your opponent's mouse under a mechanical mouse trap, and also
to be able to assemble the bloody thing in the first place
Mousetrap was
the game of my
childhood – if you had Mousetrap,
you could expect your social calendar to be full for at least the
next two years. The reason it was so popular was because it was such
a miraculous feat of engineering – something akin to being able to
watch Willy Wonka's chocolate making machines in action – 30%
physics, 70% magic.
My
first mistake as an adult was to buy a second hand Mousetrap
set – one that had obviously been chewed by babies/smashed with
hammers by frustrated parents. As such, none of the bits really fit
together correctly. Or maybe they never fit together properly in the
first place, leading to said parents attacking it with a hammer. My
second mistake was allowing my boyfriend to construct the mousetrap –
as a science teacher, and also as a man, he soon reached a level of
frustration never before seen by mankind. As a dutiful girlfriend, I
went in search of a hammer, only to find that he'd tired of the whole
thing, and now wished only to go drink beer. Even now he can't see a
mouse without combusting with rage.
I
guess nostalgia has a way of turning us into fools with rose tinted
vision. People like to talk about the heady days when families would
sit together on an evening and play a wholesome, non-threatening
game. Those memories are about as real as the diet I'm currently
claiming to be on. what families really used to do was sit round a
table, snarling with rage and brandishing hammers and fists at a
piece of cardboard.
No comments:
Post a Comment