Not so long ago, I found a stash of my old ZX Spectrum games in the attic. And rummaging through those tatty boxes – the old half-forgotten bargain bin bangers, the illicit passed-around-the-playground compilation tapes – it wasn’t the games I found myself thinking about, it was the memories around them. My mind leapt back to evenings spent poring over stamp-sized magazine screenshots; the Friday night trips to Tescos and the exotic box art tempting me to part with my £2; the POKE codes and the dog-eared anti-piracy sheets; the wild classroom rumours of in-game secrets that would only reveal themselves when elaborate steps were performed. But they’re not just my memories, of course; they’ll be familiar to many of a certain place and time. And it’s this sense of cultural nostalgia that Forbidden Solitaire captures so well.