The pain of defeat.

I hate hornets.

But I like games.

I am a collector.

I have a collection of games.

Ergo sum thingy!

Sort of.

Last night my kids, in a reversal of normal events, approached me and said, “We propose having a game of Train.” Despite the Franglais and despite the fact that the game in question is “Ticket to Ride”, I understood and said yes.

My family are somewhat ambivalent about my passion for games and view the pile of boxes that gather dust under the stairs with a disinterest that sometimes borders on the insolent but this won’t stop me from trying every now and again to rustle up some enthusiasm.

Because I don’t understand their apathy.

My own childhood – black and white and off-line – was punctuated by Sundays where the family - me, sis, ma, pa – would sit around the table of evening and play bridge, advanced versions of whist or some weird variation of rummy where my dad would get animated and demand every card that someone on the other side of the table had thrown away even when it wasn’t his turn.

At Christmas my aunty – now in her one hundred and twenty second year – would join us, get more animated than my dad and we would watch in admiration as they battled it out.

Later on my sister became adept at Cluedo and tortured me with her ability to deduce – apparently from the expression on my face – who had done who with what where and, surprisingly, as it’s not in the game -when.

She was unbeatable.

Under the stairs I don’t have a copy of Cluedo – I still haven’t recovered from the humiliations of childhood – and our vintage edition of Monopoly is at the bottom and the dustiest; frankly there is just too much chance in the game to interest us.

(Although, incidentally, did you know there was a statistically significant higher chance of a player landing on the Vine Street set?) - apologies to North America, i don't know the equivalent but it's the orange set in the corner before the free parking.

But there is a copy of Settlers of Catan, three different versions of Carcassonne, Zero, Buccaneer (Pirates), Careers, Fish eat Fish, Saboteur, Marrakech (carpets), Flux, Speed, Quoridor, Dixit, Nightmare Chess, Dessert Nomads (camals) Jumping Java (coffee cups), Tobago (treasure), Filthy Rich, Wanted (cowboys), Lost Property, countless card games – including Jerricho, Formula Dice (racing cars) and of course, the game every one should have – What Were You Thinking.

The astute game players amongst you will notice the presence of several French edition translations, for which I apologise and at least three games from the prolific designer Richard Garfield – one of which I haven’t mentioned because it borders on obsession with me.

Ticket to Ride, however, is a new addition to the pile and thus has had no chance to gather dust– a present from Michael as he said goodbye after his summer holiday in our meadow and our hearts.

Michael also enjoys a game himself and, after three days of play testing the game almost non-stop except for food, left us as undisputed local champion and holder of the Express rail card – awarded to the player who builds the longest train.

Something that will hurt until I get a chance and beat him in another game.

I may have to travel to England with the huge box in my luggage to make sure this happens soon.

Last night we set up outdoor illumination and played into the night, building rail lines across Europe and trying to complete a series of secret destinations whilst at the same time trying to mess up the others.

At one point a quartet of hornets started to attack the light but we were determined to ignore them and finish.

The final carriage was played at about 11 pm and then we had to count the points.

First check the carriage points, factor in the destinations achieved, factor out the ones missed and just as we moved to add bonuses for the unplayed stations and count the longest train (plus 10) - disaster!

One of the cats attacked one of the others and both - one terrified the other angry - landed on the middle of the board.

Plastic trains and all hope of declaring a winner were scattered into the rose bush, departing cat’s tails and the night.

Which is when I got stung by the hornet.