Why do they call it a game? It is servitude: Nintendo Switch’s Animal Crossing reviewed

Welcome to my debut as gaming correspondent, the apex of my journalistic career! And how witty of The Spectator to choose someone who has never played a computer game in her life. But luckily I have some grandchildren to advise me. First decision is what games console I want and the general consensus is Nintendo Switch, which has the advantage of being small and portable and not attached to the television. Then — what game? The experts recommend Animal Crossing because, they say, it is foolproof. (Ha!) So I order a Nintendo, which takes days to come (apparently ‘everyone’ is into gaming during lockdown) and go through the rigmarole of registering. What name do I want to call myself? Well, Lynn has the advantage that I might remember it. And what avatar? Huh? I can choose between several yucky cartoon characters and an even more yucky fairytale princess, which I pick, to my eternal shame. The Animal Crossing box promises ‘a new life on a deserted island paradise!’ I am ready —but first I have to FaceTime grandson Max to ask where to insert the tiny sim card. He manages not to roll his eyes.

The game begins with two raccoon-like creatures at a reception desk introducing themselves as Tommy and Timmy and saying ‘Welcome’. They want to know my name and birthday (luckily not the year), and then where I live. But they only want to know whether I live in the southern or northern hemisphere so that my island can be tailored to the seasons I am used to. Then, weirdly, I have to choose whether to be a boy or a girl, and what skin colour I want. They offer a range from pink to mid-brown, but nothing on, say, Naomi Campbell lines. Or indeed 75-year-old broken-veins lines.