It took me many years to learn patience. Despite my decidedly calm current demeanour, I definitely had a temper-dappled childhood. One such instance, or series of instances as I never learned, was my relationship with Where’s Wally. These densely packed and intricately drawn megapictures were a constant torment for my prepubescent self. What should have been a simple activity, that of locating the titular striped nomad, became an exercise in frustration. This was not because I couldn’t locate Wally, but because I would stumble upon so many other characters and situations that were infinitely more interesting. Why should I bother with a bobble-hatted tourist when there’s a wizard bouncing on a trampoline – oh wait what’s that? An alien with a – and that – and that – and that!?
My childhood self was dissatisfied with the task given to him when there countless other astonishing stories I would rather follow. I realise now that I was probably overstimulated and overtired. Regardless, it was an issue I felt strongly about. This is the very same hang-up I have with Veronica Britton: Chronic Detective. There is just so much going on! Continue reading