Platinum Madness – 6 unhinged tales of unlocking PS3′s toughest trophies
Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince
To try to kill a few hours on a rain-soaked Sunday, the missus and I flicked through my game collection. Despite repeatedly offering to teach her how to play FIFA, Mrs Irvine ignored me and plucked a game from the rest that was still covered in cellophane. “Oooh, Harry Potter!” she squealed with joy. “Let’s play this!” Now I’m not a fan of the boy wizard. I haven’t read the books and I had to be dragged along to the films, but my better half adores him. I don’t know why I was initially miffed.
After all, I’d bought the game for this exact reason: rainy day gaming that my non-gamer wife would enjoy. The warning signs were there with the fi rst trophy pling. After a brief explanation of what trophies are and how you get them, she was hooked. To be fair, I love a trophy too, so I was ready to suck up as many as possible.
As long as the missus remained interested and I was adding to my trophy collection then it’s all good. I just never expected us to be in for the long haul. In the blink of an eye we were entirely consumed. We were texting each other at work with, “Did we check the cauldron room? Is it possible to fly another way? Do you want steak for tea tonight?” The answer to the last question is always ‘yes’, but the ones before proved we were verging on second job territory.
Suddenly, I was returning from work with the floorplan of Hogwarts – printed out so we could mark areas we’d already checked for the elusive Crest Collector 14 trophy. And scouring YouTube for guides on how to get the flyer trophies. And turning the air blue with swears and scaring our cat as we screamed at the seemingly impossible potioneer challenges.
Eventually we bagged the plat and finally cast ‘avada kedavra’ on the whole sordid affair. The high fives of the first few trophies become a distant memory, replaced by the relief of completing a fortnight’s worth of extra work. We now leave the house every weekend. Even when it rains.