It's a horrible experience, this. Packed with nothing but toil and trial and frequent bouts of brow-furrowing disbelief. Every inch of it represents some small hurt or other. Like catching your head on the hood of the cooker. Or barking your shin on the corner of the bed. Or getting something sharp and dirty jabbed right up underneath a fingernail when you're trying to perform a task which requires no small amount of finesse. Multicult have engineered it this way. Precisely and carefully. Perfectly. The way the pieces interlock, clacking into place a moment before you thought they would so they catch the fragile skin between your thumb and forefinger. Yelling in your face with gas rag-smothered horror just as you were nodding off to sleep. Sending a harmonic shriek or a rimshot deep into your eyesocket just when you thought the headache had started to abate. They are unkind like that. So dreadfully unkind. But so good with it. So dreadfully good. This is the best thing that they've done yet. And that means it's also deeply, deeply unpleasant. You have to weigh up those odds before you decide to get involved. It's entirely up to you. Now, if you will allow me some time, I just have to heal before I can go listen to it again.