The death of a gamer. Long live the gamer?

When I was young, I spent a lot of time playing video games. It started with the Atari 2600, and Frogger, Demon Attack, Combat, Space Invaders, Super Breakout, Defender, Centipede, No Escape, Air-Sea Battle, Pac-Man and, most excitingly for my young self, Pole Position. One of my best friends who lived next door also had one, and round his we would play Dig Dug and others. By today's standards it's laughably basic, but the games were endlessly addictive, although often frustrating. Another friend had a Commodore 64 (or possibly a ZX Spectrum, it was a long time ago and the memories are hazy), but we were unimpressed. That early rejection set a pattern for me - consoles over computers for games every time.

Whenever we went on holiday, I could usually be found playing the 2p coin-flip games or Outrun, and later Virtua Racing, Sega Rally and Daytona. As time moved on, my friend got an Amiga (I forget which type). My parents couldn't afford to buy me anything new, so I kind of forgot about playing computer games for a while.

Then something happened. During a visit to my cousins, we were shown the new console they had and the single game they had for it. The console was a Sega Mega Drive and the game was Sonic the Hedgehog. My 12 year old self was completely blown away. This was so far beyond my previous experience with the Atari 2600 it was difficult to comprehend. The way the little blue fella would get impatient and tap his foot if you made him wait too long. The gorgeous visuals. That insane rotating special stage. And the speed of it. The speed of it. I was smitten. I wanted one more than anything I had ever wanted before. Unfortunately my parents couldn't afford one, but I was nevertheless delighted with the Master System they got me. I played and played and played. Sonic the Hedgehog and Alex Kidd in Miracle World kept me in front of my TV in my bedroom for months on end.

Then, on one glorious Christmas morning, I was completely pole-axed by the Mega Drive I unwrapped. I reckon mom and dad must have got it second hand, but back then I was flabbergasted by it. A number of my school years were lost down a Mega Drive-shaped hole (I did enough to keep up, but I was often consumed by new games instead of homework). Countless hours simply disappeared, dedicated to cracking the games: Desert Strike, Flashback, Road Rash, Wonder Boy in Monster World, Ecco the Dolphin, Street Fighter II (for which I had somehow convinced my parents to fork out £100, including two new controllers) and many more. Weekends were lost in neighbourhood tournaments played on Mortal Kombat, Micro Machines and Virtua Racing (another extravagance on my parents' behalf, costing a whopping £70). I often won; there were few games I couldn't conquer relatively quickly. I was so proud of my copy of Sonic the Hedgehog 2 and the fact that I was the only kid in my circle of friends to get a copy on the day of release that I took it in to school and put it on the corner of my desk for all to see.

At some point, Nintendo released the SNES. Some of my friends got one and a friendly but intense rivalry was struck up. I was firmly in Sega's camp. We had a better mascot - a supercool, superfast, superblue hedgehog versus some fat retarded plumber and his mate? We had more games - as the advert went, you had over 100 reasons to buy something 'mega', but only six to buy something 'super'. Who needed a gazillion different shades of green or the migraine-inducing 'Mode 7' bollocks when you had the playability and the speed? Take Street Fighter II; the SNES version looked and sounded a little prettier, but the Mega Drive version could move more than twice as fast. This is largely what my early 90s consisted of.

Then it started to go wrong. The next generation of consoles were coming. The Amiga CD32, the Atari Jaguar and Panasonic's 3DO amongst others. Sega developed add-ons for the Mega Drive - the Mega CD and the 32X. I wanted them. I asked for a Mega CD. I begged for one. I pleaded for one. I did not get one. On reflection, it was probably a good thing, but at the time I was pretty damn distressed - how could I keep up? I started to notice that the reviews the Mega CD games were getting were not particularly charitable, so I came to terms with not having one. Then came the Sega Saturn. Again, I wanted. Again, I was disappointed. Again, it was probably for the best in the long run.

I watched from the sidelines as Sega took on Sony's first crack at the console market only to get soundly beaten by the PlayStation. Sony couldn't even bother to design games - they left that to the third party developers. The Saturn was notoriously difficult to program for, while the PlayStation was much easier. The number of new releases that included a Saturn version dwindled and Sega disappeared from the industry they once, with Nintendo, dominated. Nintendo eventually entered the fray with the N64, and held their own where their once biggest rivals stuttered and died.

Sega tried again by releasing the first of the next generation of consoles in the Dreamcast. By now I didn't have to rely on my parents and bought one for myself. It was marvellous. Sonic Adventure bought Sega's mascot into the 3-D market and perfect versions of Sega's best arcade releases Crazy Taxi, Sega Rally and Daytona were wonderful to play at home. Soul Calibur and Dead or Alive 2 were hugely intricate considering the simple aim of beating the crap out of your opponent. Capcom released an exclusive chapter of their infamous Resident Evil series in Code: Veronica which genuinely scared the absolute crap out of me. Metropolis Street Racer was utterly revolutionary in that it allowed you to race in accurate versions of London and other major international cities, and it has since survived on other platforms as Project Gotham Racing. Most impressive of all was Sega's own Shenmue which cost millions to develop and was as engrossing as it was possible for a game to be back then. Set in Japan in the 1980s, you literally lived someone else's life as they hunted for their father's killers. It was so intricate that the day to day weather in the game matched the actual day to day weather in the part of Japan in which it was set at the time that it was set. If it rains in the game on, say, April 16th 1984 at about 2 in the afternoon, that means it rained in the same area of Japan at 2pm on April 16th 1984. I was smitten all over again. Internet access and the potential for future online gaming caused a buzz as well. It was not to be.

Everyone kind of expected the Dreamcast to wither and die when Sony released the PlayStation 2. And that's exactly what happened. For the second time, this corporate giant was waltzing in with a new console and slowly choking the life out of my dear Sega. The first time, with the pointless Mega Drive add-ons and awkward to program for Saturn, they probably deserved it, but the Dreamcast easily held its own against the PS2, but thanks to previous form never stood a chance. Bloody Sony and its bloody PlayStation. Thanks to the lessening of support from both developers and consumers, the Dreamcast lost the fight even before Nintendo entered with the GameCube and Microsoft came on board for the first time with the Xbox. Even they struggled against the overwhelming dominance of the PS2. Thanks to the first two incarnations of the PlayStation effectively destroying Sega in the console market, I have an irrational hate of PlayStations of all kinds. After this, Sega announced that they were developing no more consoles and were concentrating on game development only, and I decided that my gaming days would also come to an end. Sony had ruined it all for me. Although, to be honest, Sega kind of ruined it for themselves by destroying their reputation with the successive failures of the Mega CD, 32X and Saturn.

Nowadays, with the PS3, Xbox 360 and Nintendo Wii, gaming is no longer the domain of children and teenagers. The games are vast, intricate and cinematic in scope. Even Charlie Brooker likes them, and he hates almost everything. Sega's release of Bayonetta has recently peaked my interest, as has news of the forthcoming Sonic Generations (if only to relive some of the happiest times of my young life). In addition, the idea of blasting the crap out of someone on the other side of the world through my TV has a certain appeal. Back in the days of the Mega Drive, I used to be almost unbeatable at most games I played. How would I do against your average Italian gamer?

I've bought an Xbox 360. I think it might prove to be a waste of time and money for a number of reasons, not the least of which are my commitments to family and work, meaning I'll not have a great deal of time to play. Still, there's nothing wrong with reliving the memories of a pleasantly simple childhood, is there?

What the hell happened to Aberystwyth?

So we went on holiday for a week to Penbryn, which is on the Welsh coast about 30 miles South of Aberystwyth. The holiday was marvellous and the place is lovely - quiet and relaxing with dramatic scenery and plenty of beaches. On the way there we stopped for a while in Aberystwyth. For a long time, Aberystwyth was a bit like a second home for us because Rach got her degree there and we'd spend most of our weekends there before I went back to my University in Stafford. There's an old assumption that the English aren't fond of the Welsh and that, well, just about everybody hates the English. Anyone with half an ounce of sense can see these for the bollocky generalisations they are and that while there are a few people who act that way, they are in a retarded minority. Which is why YOU SHOULD NOT TAKE THE TITLE OF THIS BLOG POST SERIOUSLY.

Anyway, we came to love Aberystwyth, and while there was one local shop close to the University buildings where the shopkeepers would start talking loudly in Welsh every time you walked in the door, most people were lovely. We loved going out of an evening, we loved spending time on the beach, and generally being together there. I will spare you the mushy romantic bollocks, but it's safe to say that the time we spent there was very special to the both of us.

Cut back to our lunch stop en route to Penbryn. We attempt to park, but the only free space has some pleb standing in it like some kind of statue erected in honour of pricks. We stop and Rach opens the window and politely asks if he's saving the space for someone. I think his unfriendly grunt was supposed to be an affirmative response. Instead of pressing the matter, we just move on - there's no telling what the crunt might do to our car if we argue or force him to move.

We find another car park - the fee is a £3.00 flat rate whether you're staying for 10 minutes, 2 hours or all day. This is infuriating and as it turns out seems to be the same for every car park in Ceredigion. This is bloody ridiculous, but that's another subject, which I won't waste time writing about. We need cash for the car park, so me and Katie head off to find some while Rach and Emily stay with the car. The first place we come to is a Co-op where I buy some chocolate and get some cash back. No fucker in the vicinity smiles at me, Katie or anyone else. It's seems grim and unhappy compared to what I remember. When walking back to the car I see the first car park we tried - the crunt is still standing in the place. Maybe he's mental and not actually holding it for anyone.

While there, we also see a hen party in full flow along the sea front, with a group of girls staggering around and generally acting up. This is at lunch time. It will only take a few more of these to turn our beloved Aberystwyth into Blackpool.

I'm not an idiot. Not completely, anyway. I know that this doesn't mean my Aberystwyth has gone, but just that I got a bit annoyed at some dick standing in a parking space and let it colour the whole visit - after all, why should I have a problem with a group of women celebrating their friend's upcoming marriage? I don't and I got a bit annoyed at myself for getting annoyed at them. If you follow me. It's just that this visit has kind of tarnished the place for me a bit now. I'm going to go back one day I think, just so I can reacquaint myself with the Aberystwyth that my wife and I found and loved when we were teenagers.

Was it worth it? In which I stick my oar in where it’s probably not wanted.

So. The very bad man is dead. Super-Barack got the guy after a couple of years, while Bushtucker couldn't do it in eight. Apparently Bill Clinton got closer to killing him than Bush. Probably while getting his dick sucked. America celebrated loudly and proudly. "I'm pleased that the last thing Osama bin Laden saw was the power and might of the American military" tweeted Rose McGowan. Street parties materialised instantly, with smiling faces reminiscent of the jubilation some Middle Easterners exhibited one devastating September day.

To be fair, you can't really blame the US. The loss of the towers was one of the most shocking events to happen in my lifetime. I remember watching it with a feeling of spaced out detachment - seeing the buildings go was like seeing some impossible vision dreamt up for a new Roland Emmerich movie. Then you start to think about the number of people dying, about the panic and terror they must be feeling and the tears start to fall. Those of us not directly affected cannot even begin to imagine how it must have felt. I have read several accounts from people retelling their view of events that day, most recently this one which never fail to bring the tears back unbidden.

It's just, in the joy, some of the cost seems to have been forgotten. This isn't Kill Bill, after all. Rip-roaring rampages of revenge aren't really appropriate, and to me this certainly smacked of pointless vengeance for the sake of closure. On the whole I don't think we British go in quite so much for closure and therapy. Must be our stiff upper lips and habit of bottling everything up. It's not going to improve things in Iraq or Afghanistan. It's not going to stop Al-Qaeda being arseholes. It may even make things worse in the long run by provoking a further counter-attack in the way revenge for the sake of revenge tends to do.

I understand the lack of objectivity from America, I really do. What the country suffered was gut-wrenchingly awful. A body count in excess of 3000 innocent people. Who wouldn't feel even the smallest amount of satisfaction at the man responsible for it getting his unholy comeuppance? I'm certainly not sorry to see him go.

But there's still that nagging feeling that maybe it wasn't worth it. Are the deaths of tens of thousands of innocent Iraqis, Afghans and Pakistanis worth it? It's normal to place more importance on your own innocent countrymen than on innocent foreigners, especially in situations like this. But more than three times as many dead than September 11 as a direct result of America's hunt for one man? Is Rose McGowan happy that the last thing all those innocent people saw was the power and might of the American military? I doubt it. And you don't just get accidental civilian casualties. There are some, in all armies and in all wars, so in no way is this the province of the US alone, that see the nationality or the colour of the one they are trying to kill, and assign the 'enemy' tag to everyone of that nationality or colour. That's why you get a group of soldiers gang-raping a 14-year-old girl before murdering her, her six-year-old-sister and their parents. Assuming this is true (the place I read it didn't seem to quote sources), I would imagine Ms. McGowan would be rather ashamed of this small minority of the American military.

The September 11 atrocities, dreadful and indefensible as they were, were attacking a symbol of Western capitalist dominance over the rest of the world. It seems to me that the trail of dead left by the invading forces is every bit as inexcusable. Should we not weep equally as hard for the loss of life on the opposing side, which seems more personal and hate-fuelled? I think we should.

I guess the truth is I don't really know how to feel. I'm not sad he's dead, but I'm sorry so many others had to die on both sides of the conflict to achieve that end.

Not built for public speaking.

I am pretty useless at debating and arguing in person. I cannot think of appropriate responses to challenges and I can never find the right words to make my point. This is one of the reasons I like to write this blog - I think I write better than I speak, after I've had time to consider what it is I should say to best make my point. My biggest weakness is that I often use a hundred words when ten would do. I've learnt that for me it's often better just to shut my mouth and lose an argument because whatever I say on the spur of the moment will make me sound like an idiot. After a drink, I sometimes forget this and talk utter shite, and I also forget I have a volume control on my voice. I suspect, however, that I am not alone in that particular trait.

I got to thinking about this after a conversation I had with a friend in which I was asked to confirm whether or not I find Professor Brian Cox attractive. I wrote about science and what it means to me here and I have a huge amount of respect for the new poster boy of physics and cosmology. I refused to answer, because any yes or no answer I gave would not necessarily be what I meant. I think they occasionally read this thing, so I'm going to try to answer it here.

At the route of my refusal to answer is my hatred of being labelled, classified and grouped together with others who are similar. I hate it happening to me and I hate it happening to other people as well. I'm not gay and I'm not straight. I'm not bi either. I am physically attracted to the female sex, but there's a range of different types of attraction. I don't want to put myself inside him particularly, but hell yes, Brian Cox is attractive. I may not fancy his arse much, but I do fancy his mind and his enthusiasm for what he does. To instantly reply to my friend's question in the negative would be, I felt, to disassociate myself from gay people, to intentionally distance myself from any and all elements of homosexuality. I find myself extremely intolerant of any form of intolerance and any assumption that there should be any normal way to live, to be or to love. If you've read certain posts on here, you may think I'm fairly intolerant of religious people but that is not true. A religious person that does not attempt to bring me onside or to indoctrinate others in any way is fine. Public displays of religiony things, like praying, is just dandy. The religions themselves I have less time for, but that's another post. The 'I don't mind, just don't bring it near me' is prejudice masquerading as acceptance. It's like the Tories trying to appeal to environmentalists.

As soon as you take it upon yourself to educate yourself, all reasons and excuses for prejudice disappear. You learn that thinking of being gay as a 'lifestyle choice' is utter bullcrap as sexuality is one of the many things decided in the womb and completely outside a person's control. You learn that to deny the truth of evolution is one of the most absurd things a person could do - the biological, genetic and fossilised evidence of the unifying theory of biology (that's a scientific theory, not a regular one - read up on the difference before you embarrass yourself and declare it's 'only a theory') is so far beyond the ability to successfully debate against that the number of people who still genuinely try is bizarre and frightening. How do these people trust doctors and their diagnoses when the diagnoses are based on where the bacteria lie on the phylogenetic tree, which was developed by studying and building on evolution? You learn that Republicans denying the evidence of man made climate change are basically declaring to the world that they will compromise on anything and cross any boundary if it gains them votes, power and wealth.

All these things and more underlie my refusal to answer the question of Brian Cox's attractiveness. Cox's Wonders of the Solar System and follow up Wonders of the Universe speak so clearly to a way of thinking I feel passionately about, that he becomes a person I find extremely attractive in a number of ways, sexually being the least relevant. Anyway, he's not exactly hard on the eye is he?

An early sign of middle age.

"I used to be 'with it'. Then they changed what 'it' was. Now 'it' seems weird and scary to me. It'll happen to you too." - Abe Simpson.

I'm 32 next month. This feels old. I know to a 50 year old it's nothing - still a shining beacon of youth. I also know to a 20 year old it sounds like the best years of my life are behind me. Being or feeling young or old is relative - there is some truth to that 'only as old as you feel' spiel. Maybe 32 feels old to me because I can remember how it felt to be 17, when the thirties seemed another life away.

Attitudes to certain things change as age increases - I mentioned that already here, but I noticed something this week that is beginning to happen with increasing frequency and is an indication that I'm getting older: I am getting annoyed at the NME.

I've read the NME for years. Loved it for years. For years, it's told me where to find some of the best music on the planet. I always loved the writing; how the writers would describe the music. It's becoming increasingly undeniable to me that the writing is a little youth oriented, and is starting to sound stupid to me. I don't think it's anything to do with the magazine changing, I think it's me. I think I'm getting older, and 'it' is making less and less sense to me, just as Abe Simpson predicted. Take this week's issue. Here are three examples of what I think are supposed to be descriptions of music. "For a man who sings like a dismal hippo, he makes rather a lovely racket." How, pray, is a dismal hippo supposed to sound when he sings? "Like trying to beat out loneliness with a dustbin lid." Um, pardon? Is that anything like The Beatles? "Akin to someone dripping poison in your ear." This is actually supposed to be a recommendation. It is nonsense, and it annoys me because it doesn't tell me how those three songs are supposed to sound. Were I barely five years younger, I don't doubt I'd have loved reading such descriptions of music.

It's not the NME's fault. It just doesn't make sense to me anymore. Guess I'll have to start reading Mojo instead.

How do I know I’m not going to ruin my kid’s life?

As mentioned here, we decided on the Priorslee Primary School, recently upgraded to academy status, to be Katie's primary school, with a number of misgivings. When it came down to it, there was little difference between the two local schools we were considering, and the one we chose simply had a slightly better Ofsted rating. We weren't sure if we had made the right decision. Well. Katie got her first choice, and we're still not sure if it's the right one.

Of course, this doesn't mean all that much compared to Katie having to start only a couple of months after her fourth birthday. And yes, I know she doesn't 'have to' - we could keep her out until year 1, when she'll be five, or we can hold on until either January or April. The thing is, keeping her out for a full year means she'll miss her reception year and go straight into formal lessons, and as there is only one intake this year in September if we hold her back until a later term, the other kids would have already made friends and be used to the routine, meaning there is a risk of her being a friendless outsider.

It could be argued that it makes little difference in the end, the 'I didn't have a great childhood and I turned out alright' view. But there is someone close to me who went to the wrong school, was bullied by a teacher and developed a phobia of school, making a large chunk of their childhood unpleasant. Yes, eventually they turned out fine, and couldn't be lovelier, but I don't want Katie to go through that experience. I want her to love learning for the wonder it brings in its own right, not to feel pressure to perform tricks and jump through hoops for grades, which misses the whole point of education. Starting this early at the wrong school could deny her the positive experience she has a right to. Starting her at any school this early could be a mistake, but we feel we've been forced into putting her in too early to give her a chance to bond with other kids in the same situation. Does she really need to be put into this pattern of a five day week of work to prepare her for an adult life that turns her into a worker bee, a capitalist automaton who exists only to create wealth while she's still so young? It's a frightening thought that a decision such as this could easily wreck a large proportion of Katie's early life, and have repercussions throughout her adult life.

All we can do is make what we think is the best decision at the time and hope it was the right one. But we won't stop worrying it's the wrong one.

Idiot magnets: the downside of the Internet.

"Have your say." Possibly the three most depressing words of any Internet article, on the websites of The Daily Mail and The Guardian, and a great many others. It's even crossed over to TV, following BBC news broadcasts. They are depressing because most people are a) completely uninformed, b) have no intention of having a reasonable debate and simply want a platform to spout unintelligible bile, and c) they are FUCKING IDIOTS. On the Mail website, you tend to get a hate-filled free-for-all, raving at, well, pretty much anything. On the Guardian site they are a little dull, but there are often dissenters who are there to simply piss people off and not discuss the article (the technical term for this is 'trolling', or so I'm told). On the BBC people just tend to send in photos of snow. They are everywhere - on your average James Delingpole post there are countless pricks all congratulating each other on sharing the same illusion of being bamboozled by every scientific institution on the planet as well as Governments the world over and, of course, the 'loony left' (which is an hilariously ironic name because, well, have you heard the main thrust of their conspiracy theory? Who are they to call anyone loony?).

There are other sights out there that are so filled with unimaginable idiocy that I suspect sometimes the comments are made by people trying to be ironic by posting shite to take the piss out of other people who are deadly serious when they post shite. If you follow me. The Daily Star, Fox News, Rebecca Black on Youtube, The Telegraph, The Huffington Post, and a host of other websites; there are so many human-shaped shits voicing useless and pointless opinions it's enough to make you give up on humanity and prowl the streets with a sawn-off shotgun blowing the mind out of anyone who admits to posting on these sites. This relatively newly-embraced obsession with what the average turd on the street thinks about events he has zero expertise on has led to a disturbing turn of events on channels like Fox News in the U.S. and Sky News here in the U.K. where the opinions of the uninformed are given as much weight as those of experts, provided those opinions reinforce the political stance of the broadcaster (in the case of Fox News, this is because the expert opinion is usually contrary to that of the channel's owner). News no longer reports on the state of the nation; it now has an agenda to influence it.

Galvanised by the willingness of viewers to believe what skews most to their personal point of view regardless of the suitability of the person saying it and the credentials of the person speaking to the contrary, in America the Republicans have declared their refusal to accept the established scientific evidence of climate change and have set about reversing any and all legislation controlling carbon emissions and attempting to strip the EPA of any power to enforce controls. They, like those drawn to the comments sections like moronic moths to a flame, willingly choose ignorance because it's how they prefer things to be.

So if you think the comments on these websites are made by nobodies who could never possibly wield any true influence, remember willfully uninformed people just like them are helping to run Governments the world over. And that may be one of the most frightening thoughts of all.

Oh, and yes, I am aware that I am criticising people who rant about bugger all in a completely disconnected way by, um, ranting about it in a completely disconnected way. I never said I was irony-free. A blog called 'Yet another nobody screeching into the void' should have given you some clue, however...