Less is more. It’s an old maxim that Jumpship seems to have taken as dogma. You can see it at work in the length of Somerville (six hours should see you through to the credits) and in its allusive approach to storytelling, which is handled without a single line of dialogue. But nowhere is this more apparent than what fills the screen as you play. It’s not uncommon for large areas to be cloaked in darkness, all the colour and light saved for a single focal point. Even its splashiest vistas are realised with a few broad brushstrokes: a block of murky brown here, another of drab green there, two grey lines enough to suggest fields bisected by a motorway.

Which is not to say that the results aren’t beautiful. Far from it. Somerville is often like the work of an especially careful painter, a succession of landscapes – farmland to forest, festival site to high street – that add up to one of the most precise evocations of modern Britain we’ve seen in videogames. Those desaturated colours, and the chalky quality of light that Playdead first brought into vogue, lend themselves perfectly to this climate. Playing on a train journey, we look up from the game and out of the window, at a foggy rural scene that could have been torn straight from the Steam Deck screen in our lap. (The smaller device, we should note, is strictly saved for a replay – this game demands being played on the widest screen you have available, with curtains drawn and speakers cranked up.)