H old one while I tether me unicorn, and I will tell you about this wossaname wot I been playing. Jinxter. Narwhamean? Right, that’s fixed the blighter, so here goes.
This Grudiana feller hands me a watchercallit. “Here, read this”, he says, “so’s I can get back to the trouble and strife”. And bugger me if it don’t turn out I been given the job of collecting all them charms from orf the Green Witch’s bracelet – something to do with breaking their power so as Len Crikey and ‘is lot can get ‘old of a cheese sarnie with a bit a flavour to it.
Lucky I am an adventure wossaname, ‘cos in no time flat I was through me country cottage like a dose of salts. Pity I missed the old sock, might have helped with the sarnies, nar wha mean? But when I crash out I chuck me clothes all over the place. Never can find ‘alf of them again!
Getting over the Xam’s place was dead simple. Honest – no bull! Now where was I? Oh yuss, I soon got the boat, but then this cheese-mad gardener runs orft in ‘elluvurry. Pound to a pinch of salt there was some dodgy goods in that sack of ‘is. Still, ne’mind, other things are happening. Up staggers this postman – Lebling I thinks ‘is name is. ‘E was a-puffin and a-pantin’ all the way up the drive. Stuffs the wossaname in the bleedin’ oojimy, narmean? Then é only goes and SHUTS it, don’t ‘e? Silly bunt. Spent hours and hours over that one, didn’t I? Huh, Wind, indeed!
Any road up, soon I find myself dropping through the sky like a stone. Flippin’ Granudia pulls up alongside, muchin’ a cheese sarnie. “Hullo, in some sort of trouble then, are we squire?” he asks, a bit nonchalant, narmean? “Sell you a parachute, can I?” Saucy sod!
“Naff orf!” I exclaim. Not stupid, am I? Got a saved game, ‘ain’t I, only ‘e ‘asn’t cort on! ‘Ad a lont of fun at the bakers, I did – not ‘arf! Blew meself AND ‘is flippin’ oven up more than once (felt a bit unlucky at the time) until I tried things a different way.
Tell you what though. That village postmistress is a canny old bird, no messing. Vigilant? I should say so! But ugly? Cor, strike a light! Even if I ‘ad a few chances to lay my hands on her handles, I’d turn ‘em down, narmean?
Anyway, it never rains but wot it pours, and I soon lost count of how many times I sat through the weather forecast, constantly ‘aving to go back for a bit of soothing music. The further forward I went, the further back I’ad to go to get anywhere. And then I got to the point where I thought I’ad it all roped up. And guess wot? I ‘and’t bothered to doodah the bleedin’ watchercallit, and all the wossaname had gone! Crikey! Saved game? I might as well start orl over again!
Wanta get onto a good doofer then? Find a mate, and pirate his Jinxter wossaname. Har har! Hope you read a half decent paper!
We apologise for this review being late and all that but that bleeda Campbell’s gone and lost ‘is marbles. Just in case any of the above review does not sound totally kosher or make any more sense than yer Dutch aunt here are a few notes so’s you an make out what the silly arse is on abart. We hope this makes it all much clearer.
1. Any words containing the letters DUGNAIRA should read GUARDIAN.
2. For DOODAH read RAIN.
3. The game comes contains clues to the puzzles.
4. The clues to the puzzles in the Independent Guardian are puzzles.
5. When it is not thingy, take care not to get oojimy.
6. There is no connection between the postman who appears in Jinxter, and any other person, whether living, dead or employed by Infocom.
7. During solution, some of the puzzles give the appearance of being vocabulary problems – which they are not. They are puzzles, and this confusion leads to the ever so slightly lower playability rating than might otherwise have been the case. OK, your Anitaship? (Grovel, slurp).
8. Some of the funny text, most of which is so incredibly funny that most people in the office became extremely doofered, is a bit overdone. Shades of Bureaucracy. Narmean, Michael?
|CU Amiga, January 1988, p.p.98-99||