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I'm 200 miles from home, holidaying in a part of Devon with no phone signal, barely any roads of sensible passing width, and two moaning, groaning children in tow. It's hammering it down outside, ponds forming on driveways - the very epitome of a British summer's day. The DVD collection available is a lot of seen-its. My Neighbor Totoro fills a pocket of the day, alleviating some of the boredom. But man, it's grim out there. No sandcastles at the beach today, kids. But we do have Mario Kart, and cluster around it, Switch Joy-Cons snugly slipped into plastic wheel peripherals perfect for small hands (and useless for most fully grown ones). Strictly 50CC and safety features on, because these drivers still have their L-plates - but that's OK, when finishing tenth is still met by smiles (you finish, you "win", being the thinking). There's Zelda as well, to play as a unit, collaboratively picking out parts of the map our hero's path hasn't yet reached. Might be a Korok Seed, might well be nothing - the joy, 150 hours in, is the journey you haven't taken before.
Over the course of a week's break, we also get familiar, as a family, with ARMS - at least, as best we can without the kinda-necessary wrist straps. And 1-2-Switch comes into its own as a short-session pre-mealtime distraction, keeping little people out of the kitchen as the grown-ups get things ready. (Samurai Training, FTW.) There's time, too, for a taste of Snake Pass - but it turns out that three-year-olds aren't patient enough to learn how best to slither.
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