“There’s a journey we must go on!” I declare; finger aloft, coat billowing about me, eyes alight with possibility. “And no delay!”

“Can’t. Busy.” Comes the mouth-stuffed reply. I deflate. My coat sags, grips my body like a dying swan.

“But… come on! It’s Saturday morning!”

“Can’t. Bizzzz-eee.” She points at the screen, then reaches to the packet by her side and offers it to me. “Jammie dodger?”

The fate of the world is in the balance and here we are, trapped indoors with Rayman and a pack of slightly disappointing biscuits. I point this out to my daughter. She shrugs, indicating that the world can save itself on a Saturday. She’s been at school all week. Bugger this adventuring lark for a game of soldiers.

“You realise you are dismaying the proud heritage of…”

“…your ancestors what fought alongside mystical blah blah fishsticks.”

There are no words left, even she has run out of mockery. I turn on my heel and leave the house, texting her a very very angry emoji from the car. Imagine if the Servitor could see this. Or the Hierophant! It’s lucky for her that they are long dead and probably – probably – haven’t returned to the Earth as all-powerful wraiths.


I’d better check on her, just in case. Make sure there’s nothing… wraithy in the house.

I poke my head around the door. “Everything ok?”

“No,” at this I breathe in. “Xbox crashed.” Hold breath. “Suppose I can come with, then.” And out.

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