It can be hard to read. And understand, I mean.
Daughter dug out the board game she got a while ago, but we had been too busy to play, and now, with no Christmas or anything else getting in the way, we made an evening of it.
But first you have to read the instructions. While Daughter unpacked all the cards and the colourful little plastic trains (this was Ticket to Ride, Europe) and the railway stations, she told me to read the rules.
I read and I understood all of the words, but I had great difficulty making sense of those words, in an all-together-now kind of way. I handed the booklet back to her, and the Resident IT Consultant and I waited dutifully while she deciphered those sentences.
It brought home to me how hard any kind of reading can be, depending on who reads, what they read, and where and when and why. And possibly some other wh-words, but these will suffice.
To play it safe, we avoided the railway tunnels like the plague, at least to begin with, until we had almost grasped what you had to do. I never mind if I don’t win, so felt safe enough merely playing, waiting to see how it would go, not needing to know exactly how to plot and plan.
Whereas the Resident IT Consultant had that smug face he always has when we play games and we know who will win.
But it was fun anyway.