Years ago, I could confidently beat my kids at Earth’s ultimate multiplayer game, but those days are gone. Or are they?
I am dying. Either aged 84 or 54, according to the two extremes of life expectancy calculator I found online, which is worrying because I am 55 in December. I’m running out of time to do the things I dream of: see Machu Picchu; find a good vegan sausage; beat my kids at Mario Kart again.
It was our number one family game until they started massacring me so gleefully I was forced into acts of petty revenge: namely, taking things of theirs they loved and secretly giving them to charity shops. They still miss that cat.
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