My name is Jilly Luke, and I am a 2048 addict. At this point, I imagine most of the internet saying “Hi Jilly” as we sit in the safe circle of a virtual church hall, slumped into our plastic seats, sipping weak orange cordial and imploring each other to stay strong. I’ve been on the wagon for about 16 hours now, but I spent a cool 11 of those asleep. I’ve heard that “other things have been happening” in the world, political revolutions, someone in my family has possibly had a baby, I think some tripos deadline or other has been, raised its hat in greeting and then left again. However, none of them could possibly be as important as 2048 so I don’t care.

Oh 2048, I wish I knew how to quit you.  

2048 is, ostensibly, a game in which you shimmy numbered tiles about, banging them together until you get to 2048. But it’s so much more than that. It’s a way of life, it’s the seat of being, it’s everything. I think I’m one session away from forming a tented community near Granchester (with WiFi) in which like-minded individuals can come and play the game free of judgement from those who “need onto the library computers to print off my dissertation, you weirdo”.

Admittedly, 2048 a bit like something a zany maths teacher would make up to convince you that it’s “cool, hip and fun” to know how to add. But like a bad boy motorcyclist lover, you just keep coming back for more.

I asked the people of science (my mate Tim), who inform me that the whole point of the game is that it gets exponentially harder the higher up the levels you go to the point that it’s nearly impossible to win. Something like that anyway, I was playing 2048 at the time so I wasn’t really listening.

My initial technique on 2048 was to carefully consider where to move the tiles to maximise the likelihood of a successful match and pairing. However, I quickly realised that I am an arts student and so a poor mathematical strategist and that I did just as well by randomly thrashing at the keys like one of Borel’s monkeys.

What with it being the internet, naturally all sorts of imitations of the game have followed. Among the best of which is Doge 2048, the one most likely to remind you that you’ve turned into the kind of person who gets obsessed with computer games probably violates the copyright of Doctor Who and then there’s a stupid one in which the numbers are invisible, which as far as I can see through the screen-induced snow-blindness is for morons. 

But the clever girl knows that there’s nothing better than the cool, crisp hit of the original