Back in the Waddle

Not sure that title works. It’s supposed to be a play on the fact I’m too fat to ride a horse but looks like I've been bumming a famous Geordie and Spurs legend.

Hello. Yes I was as surprised as you to discover this is still here. And they said the internet wouldn't last! But why am I back dropping my keyboard mashes here? Well, I've destroyed everywhere else I've written and proven myself a Jonah for games sites so it’s back to my little corner of insignificance.

In the space between my previous post and this one I've been waffling in videos and created a videogame podquiz (Level Up), and it’s that little enterprise that has drawn me back here. I need a home for it, somewhere to link to it from now that plughead.net is no more, and in the absence of a clue as to what I’m doing I thought I’d try this old haunt. So here I am.

Oh, and I finally finished my 2011 game of the year, Skyrim, a couple of weeks ago.

On the ball me.

A Gay Post

I’m not gay. Did I need to mention that? Does it matter? Will your opinion of me change now you’ve discovered that I don’t have a penchant for sucking pole? Is using that phrase derogatory to the act of man on man oral love making? What of ladies who love ladies?

The reason I’m clumsily shuffling into this mine field is because gay rights and attitudes towards those who gay seems to have been prominent in the media recently. From online evangelists demanding that some polygons never intersect other polygons to the forthcoming debate and vote in parliament on gay marriage.

As it’s not something I’ve had cause to speak with my children about I found myself wondering how my attitudes and things they may hear in passing might influence them. When putting my eight year old daughter to bed last night I decided to ask her.

ME: [REDACTED], if a boy wants to marry another boy, should he be allowed to?

HER: Boy marry a boy? I guess.

ME: What about girls. Should girls be allowed to marry other girls?

HER: If they want to.

ME: What’s the most important thing then if two people want to get married?

HER: That they love each other. And they take care of each other.

This parenting lark is a doddle.

No Escape

It’s been a tough couple of months. Financially things are finely balanced, as I think they are for most people. Austerity measures bite into the support that low income families rely on. We’d prefer not to, we’d love to be completely independent, but my historic lack of academic performance, inability to co-ordinate my faculties into production, and my social ineptitude have combined to ensure a salary approaching the national average shall remain as lofty a dream as that of those who purchase lottery tickets. But I have my PC. My wonderful PC which takes me away from, well, me.

Or at least it did. My ageing system is finally starting to fail. It has been a wonderful companion over these past few years but I can no longer resist the need to replace its innards. That of course brings us back to our austerity issues. Gaming PCs aren’t cheap, even low to mid performance components for those on a tight budget will stretch you to a couple of consoles worth of purchasing power. Sure, in the long run the PC will work out comparable if not cheaper overall, but it’s still an eye watering initial outlay.

Thankfully I’m not frivolous with money and the years of abusing my body with alcohol, tobacco and drugs are long behind me. I still eat far too much, but I think that’s pretty typical of those who lack a degree of self worth. Whether that’s a result of my being an unwanted inconvenience to be paternally abandoned as an infant leaving me with trust issues I don’t know.

It’s been the ever present monkey on my back: If my own father didn’t like me enough to stick around and I don’t particularly like me, why should anyone? Which leads me to think they don’t and so must be lying if they say they do. And if they’re that deceitful how can I then trust them? That’s pretty tough to resolve when you’re married with children.

The sooner my PC is back up and running and I can stop being me again the better.

Pavlov's Writer

I’m struggling. Things aren’t going well. I’m broken.

My first little bit of scribbling thoughtforms onto the intersplodge this year was to be a review of BIT.TRIP.RUNNER for GamingDaily.co.uk. Around January last year I reviewed BIT.TRIP.BEAT for the site and a quirk of fate had landed this other BIT.TRIP game in my lap so, “How fun” I thought, “it would be to review it as a call back to that other piece.” The problem was when I wrote the RUNNER review it was, well, shit. An uninteresting description of the game and its mechanics. A lifeless interpretation of an otherwise enjoyable, if shallow, platform romp. It simply would not do.

There was a time I’d have sent it in anyway and let Craig (Gaming Daily's Editor) fix it or throw it back at me with pointers as to how to fix it, but not now. Now I would be embarrassed to show it. I was as surprised as anyone to discover I’d developed standards. I’m sure they’re low standards, but standards none the less.

I intended to rewrite the review but first I had to undertake a joyless experience in the playing and reviewing of Postal 3 for plughead.net. I didn’t expect it to be joyless, I expected contrived controversy and poor humour. If only it were that crude!

The review was difficult to write, not least because I was somewhat enraged by the game, and I did seek assistance as to its content prior to submitting it to the world. I was attempting to straddle the line Postal 3 failed to. I hope I succeeded.

Having no further use for Postal 3, I uninstalled it, performed an exorcism on my HDD, and bleached my eyes. I was now free to returned to the BIT.TRIP.RUNNER review. The problem was I sat reading through what I’d written and couldn’t see a way to salvage it, so I decided to start afresh and deleted it. Blank page, fresh start. That blank page stared at me for an hour. I started to panic. I just couldn’t express myself. I’ve exhausted my catalogue of reproductive organ jokes, similes, metaphors, and innuendos, suddenly finding myself unable to perform.

I blamed it on BIT.TRIP.RUNNER. Clearly the game was mediocre and so couldn’t inspire me. I needed something grand or something dire. Something to juice me up a bit.

Gaming Daily were instigating a Friday Night Race Night. I’ve always enjoyed racing games, though like most genres I enjoy my ability lags far behind my enthusiasm. In the discussion to seek a suitable game for the inaugural event I got to thinking about all the various racing games out there and a way for the venture to be completely inclusive. I figured the best way to be all inclusive would be for a game that anyone could pick up easily and cheaply and that wouldn’t be too demanding on hardware. I came to the conclusion that such a game would be Need For Speed World. I decided to check it out.

Having checked it out I decided I should warn others and so sat down to explain why when it comes to racing games you certainly seem to get what you pay for. The fact you’re reading this rather than that should convey how well it went.

These failures have been on pieces I was doing because that’s what I used to do, have an idea or thought about a game and squirt some words out. I’m thinking that as for over a year now I’ve been doing what was asked rather than what I felt like my brain now salivates only when an assignment drops.

I’ll get to test this theory over the next week or so as my review copy of point and click comedy adventure Da New Guys is inbound.

Being Nice

Despite most professional game reviewers being well educated literate people, I’ve noticed an increased level of resignation in much of their work and comments. If you look closely you can see the wreckage brought by the knowledge that irrespective of what they write their opinion is instantly dismissed in a tidal wave of contempt that washes over from the curse that is this communal online cesspool.

It’s the digital age. Zeroes and ones. Right or wrong. Game is the best thing ever, game is the worst thing ever. Scales and degrees are lost and the nuances of descriptive narrative are removed in favour of following the man with the arrow over his head, with the validity of such a movement being the consumerism of the ignorant.

You people make me sick.

The reason I say this is because for all the time I’ve reflected on the games I’ve played and written about them, and as with this blog thing, I am constantly worried about the words I use and whether I’m accurately expressing myself with those scales and nuances I like to experience myself. That’s quite tough for me because as anyone who knows me will appreciate, and I’m sure I have mentioned it here before, I’m an uneducated buffoon. And I don’t say that to be self depreciating or ironic. This isn’t a platform to branch out into a career in comedy podcasts or TV. Certainly not with this face, these teeth, and that hairline. Rather, it’s the confession that I have yet to write anything without a dictionary and thesaurus to hand because I fear using the wrong words. Something that was highlighted recently when we had the plughead.net Game Of The Year discussions and I found myself opining without my usual safety nets. It was a great debate to be part of, but equally terrifying. I suspect that’s why when things get a little tense I revert to knob and tit gags.

I’m aware that even when choosing the correct language and being suitably descriptive and reasoned my opinion isn’t worth a carrot. Highlighted over the festive season by my brother announcing a recent game acquisition which he then sought my opinion on over drinks. I naturally expressed concern and a degree of hurt that he hadn’t read my review and suggested that perhaps rather than me providing a summation he would be better served by reading my review in its entirety.

He asked me for the score and a good / bad list.

That’s what has become of reviews. Marketing is king now and people only (skim)read reviews to validate their hype lead purchases. People don’t want to know what the game is really like, they want nice comments about how they’ve made the right choice.

So why not just be nice? Why not just say what people want to hear? Sure, in a few months they’ll have finished the game and be looking to trade it in, but that’s fine because when they were playing it they felt okay about it. You stroked their head and told them how clever they were. They were culturally relevant because they had bought The Emperors New Franchise Entry and you were in it all together, but all together and all together, you’re all together as complicit and deserving of my scorn.

2011 GOTY and stuff

It’s been an interesting year for me, mostly because I’ve spent a fair portion of it writing about games at both www.plughead.net and www.gamingdaily.co.uk. As the year ends though it has become increasingly difficult to balance that with playing games for their primary entertainment purpose. And the family of course. Mustn’t forget them. So as the year ends and I look at the 105 games currently installed and yet to be completed in my Steam list and realise I really am going to have to reign it in.

I think I went out on a high though with my Xmas 2011 Waffle: http://www.plughead.net/happy-waffle-xmas-2011 (Do feel free to share that with everyone you know)

There have been some truly stunning releases this year but of course Skyrim is my game of the year. You were perhaps expecting me to be different and controversial and choose something that panders to the masses like Modern Warfare 3?

As nice as it would be to be able to separate myself and stand out from the crowd, sometimes something rare and beautiful comes along which unites the righteous as one voice. Something that no longer exists outside your consciousness but envelopes it. That is so compelling you measure time and space by it’s absence. Those weren’t ten minutes I spent sat on my couch watching the headline news item, those were ten minutes I wasn’t crossing the river and running up the hill towards Solitude. The thirty minute ride to work should be more than enough time to investigate and clear Wolfskull cave. As I write these words I’m 9.4miles away from Breezehouse, my Whiterun home, where I left Lydia to rest while I went in search of a Redguard woman who continues to elude me.

That’s not to say Skyrim was the only contender, as while I think 2011 has seen a fair number of titles falling short of expectations, Brink, Dragon Age 2 and Rage being examples that immediately spring to mind, the consequence of this has made those that have actually succeeded in meeting or even exceeding expectations appear all the more magnificent for it. For weeks Portal 2 provided me with tales of joyous narrative discovery and puzzles overcome. Of multiplayer larks where we’d regale each other with how we removed the light path from beneath a colleague’s feet and guffawed into their headset. Or cast a friend into the void by changing the exit portal location just as they’d reached sufficient velocity to be unable to avoid their fate.

Deus Ex: Human Revolution made me the most violent and abusive pacifist imaginable. A contradiction the game itself wears throughout, never truly providing a satisfying consequence to my selected course of action, as irrespective of my desires there’s a story to be told and divergence doesn’t feature in it. Until the push button ending, which was a bit of an elbow blade to the scrotum. And those boss fights! Even when replaying as a gun toting psychopath with a side in kleptomania they felt tagged on, which we have since learned of course, they were. That didn’t stop the game being a thrilling adventure and one I will continue to revisit, as I have with its forebears.

Crytek returned with the their trademark stunningly realised visuals with Crysis 2. A continuation of the franchise that felt more focused and polished than either of its prequels and also acknowledged that the suit is the star of these games, not the lump of meat the player inhabits. That focus however also narrows the field of view and much of Crysis 2 felt a little claustrophobic. Arguably the choices in how to take on the enemies, be it by stealthily cloaking and working my way around or bolstering my armour and going in all guns blazing, are no less decisive to the outcome than in Deus Ex: Human Revolution’s vent crawling versus shotgun to the face approach. Without the pretence of real choice or notion that decisions will affect the outcome it was easy to enjoy a traditional shooter for the modern age. Certainly in terms of pure action gaming it’s difficult to see past Crysis 2.

And let’s not forget that this year I once again get to put on my gruffest voice and whisper into the ear of anyone who’ll listen, “I’m Batman!”

I also think the independent sector has truly risen above the main game studios this year in terms of reconnecting with the audience as to what constitutes an enjoyable gaming experience. They’ve certainly filled the void that endless wheelbarrows of money thrown at cross platform development had created. Trine 2 is puzzle platforming art in motion. Waves is an adrenalin fuelled acid trip. Orcs Must Die is a bizarre action tower defence hybrid that has me sniggering and on tip toes, while I’m sat down.

However, as good, and indeed great, as all these games are they are cast aside and left on the road to Riverwood simply for the crime of not being Bethesda’s latest opus. Certainly it lacks a little polish with its bugs, pop up, broken dialogue, ill conceived UI, and backwards flying dragon patches. Nevertheless, how could Skyrim not be my game of the year when it’s the most fraught, exciting, mysterious and beautiful land I’ve ever visited?

And that was 2011, or as Cave Johnson would say, “We’re done here!”

At Home With The Dentons - Episode Sixteen

Please Release Me

Paul: JC! JC! The reviews are coming through and it’s all good. They’re raving about it.
JC: What?
Paul: JC! JC! The reviews are coming through and it’s all good. They’re raving about it.
JC: No, what are they raving about?
Paul: Deus Ex Human Revolution. It’s getting great scores with some saying that it’s better than the original and that Adam is a far better realised character than either of us.
JC: What? That’s an outrage. How dare they sully the Denton name!
Alex: Hi guys. You watching anything ‘cos I want to watch Phineas and Ferb?
JC: Never mind.
Paul: Be fair. Phineas and Ferb are brilliant.
JC: I hate you both.

Touching Duke

*I’ve been sitting on this wondering what to do with it as it was written on the demo launch day for www.plughead.net who went for something a little more detailed instead. So I’ve decided that rather than let it rot in my Google Docs I’d put it here.*


The game so delayed you’d think it had been sent by City Link is almost within our grasp. Those who pre-ordered or bought Borderlands GOTY edition and therefore got a membership to the First Access Club have been hurriedly downloading the demo all day.

If I was a comic character and you were reading the strip about me playing the demo, here’s what would be appearing in the thought bubbles:

• Intro is like a ‘previously on Duke Nukem’ montage. Nice.
• Games starts and I’m stood at a urinal. And now I’m pissing. Stilll pissing. Bored of pissing now.
• Why have a Whiteboard unless you want me to draw a cock on a rocket powered skateboard on it? I am not above that juvenile level of humouring myself.
• Ugh, checkpoints.
• Locked door syndrome. Duke Nukem, the guy who single handed tears off alien heads and shits down their necks can’t open a door. Go Duke!
• Replaying the last level of Duke 3D is nice. Reminiscent of good times. A simpler time. All nostalgic and warm.
• The health meter is labelled ‘Ego’. Can see why, it’s certainly reflective. Bit wank really though.
• Cycloid dead, field goal scored. Yay.
• Fourth wall broken, 12 years in the making joke done. Yawn.
• The twins fellating Duke while playing is a bit crass. Not sure who that’s supposed to appeal to. It’s not in any way erotic and on a humour level I don’t see what a joke aimed at thirteen year olds is doing in an 18 rated game.
• Driving section. Everyone loves a driving section in a FPS, right?
• Hang on, am I in an RC car? No, it just looks out of proportion and as responsive as a Trappist monk to an offer of a bit of karaoke.
• I do so hate the bloodied retinal blur of impending death.
• Is it me or is the FOV a little narrow?
• Shotgun is meaty. Wish it was as powerful as it feels and sounds.
• Can only carry two firearms at a time. Good. All shooters should adopt this rule.
• Some of the environment is destructible. Cool.
• Yeah shrink ray. Squishy pigs, kersplat.
• Executions. That won’t get old quick.
• I’m sorry the game seems to have accidentally stumbled into an Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom game. If I could just borrow a mine cart to ride back to the FPS I was playing, thanks.
• Oh, is that it?

So that’s that. The demo is short and doesn’t offer anything new or original to the genre. Neither does it make me want to rush out and buy the full game on release. It does remind me of how shooters used to be. Simple, ridiculous, fun. For that reason it’s definitely on my list for a purchase, but it can wait.

Return of the Thing

Hello and welcome to 2011. I know I’m a little late getting around to you, and I know I didn’t actually send you an invite, but I’m glad you made it all the same.
So, here’s what’s been happening in Peachville (up yours Zynga, I’m keeping that) since the little episode with our stupid American friend.

Life In All But Name
This is the stuff that gets in the way of doing meaningless unimportant things that are far more fun than the serious business of work and maintaining a family life. That’s not to suggest family life isn’t fun. Who put this hole here? Anyway, work is moderately satisfying, the family are wonderful, and the house needs work.

Games Unplayed
You’d think that as most of my posts inevitably turn to the subject of games that the lack of posts meant that I hadn’t been playing much. While my gaming has been suitably restricted, those who truly love me will know that I’ve been giving my ill conceived game related words to www.plughead.net and www.gamingdaily.co.uk who seem to like my musings so much they pollute their otherwise excellent content with it. You should visit them. Frequently.

As I discovered when we had our daughter, it’s difficult trying to nestle a child while using a keyboard and mouse, so the arrival of the boy means it’s console gaming time again. The Wii waggling doesn’t work either as there’s still too much scope for dropout, so I’ve finally relented and bought an XBox360. My experience with the Xbox support team is a tale for another day, though you’d be right to surmise I’ll be declaring them a bit shit.

Vroom Vroom
Since the accident last August that killed my FZ6 Fazer I’ve eased back into riding. It took a few months of exercise and physiotherapy to get my neck and shoulder back to how they should be, but thankfully there doesn’t appear to be any long term damage. It’s interesting for me how my caution in certain situations has been replaced by fear. I’m hoping that over time that will change as it does detract from what is an otherwise very enjoyable way to commute. Thankfully the car driver’s insurer didn’t mess us about over the bike and payed up, though I am still waiting for my out of pocket expenses, not least for the replacement gear. Having never been in this position before I don’t know if it’s normal for it to take this long.

Tomorrow
I’ll be a little bit fatter, a little bit balder, and with less life left.

And that’s about it for this brief howdy do as I really should get back to mingling. Try not to make too much noise when you leave.

Twit Her

Twitter provided an unexpected surprise this week. Though before I continue, why is that an acceptable sentence? Surely if it had been expected it would not have been a surprise?

Those of us in the UK can't have escaped the fact that Pope Benedict XVI is visiting our nation, and like many I have been appalled by the stories of abuse and the incumbent Pope's alleged role in assisting in keeping the perpetrators from justice. It is this background that inspired me to reacted to one of the seemingly endless newscasts of the Papal visit with the tweet:

Kid can't believe he saw Pope with his own two eyes. Makes sense, those priests usually approach from the rear.

Now I think that's funny, but I am also well aware that the only person who finds me funny, is me, and I would like to think that the people who follow my tweets accept me for the simple fool I am. The surprise I mentioned arrived a couple of minutes later when I received this from @_Boring1_:

When is it ever funny to make fun of a child that has been molested? Never,it makes you just as sick as the child molester.

I didn't recognise the name of @_Boring1_ as one of my followers so my initial reaction was one of wonder as to who this person was, and my second was to disagree with their reply on a number of levels. Firstly, if there is a victim in my tweet it is the institution that ordains priests, as the inference is that the priest or priests or indeed the whole institution is one of evildoers who would pray on the innocent. Secondly, following @_Boring1_'s logic, any act that has the potential to have a victim would become taboo for humour, which if @_Boring1_ has ever laughed at a Marx Brothers, Three Stooges or Laurel & Hardy movie, or comedians such as Bill Hicks, Eddie Murphy, Richard Prior and George Carlin, makes them a hypocrite, and if they haven't then I simply cannot be dictated to by someone so emotionally crippled. Thirdly, as @_Boring1_ neither follows me nor knows me personally they have no idea who I am or what motivates me to tweet. What if I am a victim of abuse and deal with it through humour, lashing out at the institution that allowed that abuse to happen?

I am now curious though as to who @_Boring1_ is, not only because they felt the need to reply to me but also because they clearly feel morally superior to me and in a position to dictate what I may or may not comment on. So off I pop to Jessica's Twitter page. Jessica describes herself as “a girl,a mom,29 years old.” A 29 year old girl? I would hope that by 29 years of age my daughter would be a woman. Also I notice that while she is proud to boast on her ability to breed, she does not mention a husband or partner. Not that either is a requirement or I believe is a necessity, but I did want to establish the grounds for Jessica's moral superiority claims and why she felt empowered to start dictating morality issues to others.

Having taken the time to search out my tweet and reply to it, I felt it only fair to correct Jessica on her error and so replied:

Phew, good job I didn't actually mock an abused child then. Happy trolling.

I should have known better than to feed the troll but having been attacked by Jessica, who took it upon herself to find my words remember, I never imposed them upon her, I wanted to point out that she was attacking me based on her misunderstanding of what I had written and not what I had actually written. Maybe calling her a troll, while accurate, was a bit rude, but I wasn't abusive and never felt the need to resort to inappropriate language.

Jessica replied again:

Thanks and Happy being a sick fuck.

Obviously Jessica was unable to restrain herself or couldn't articulate her feelings without resorting to abuse. Whichever is the case, how anyone can claim any kind of moral high ground while resorting to that kind of abuse is beyond me, and I would hope beyond any intelligent observer of human behaviour too.

Realising that Jessica would not or could not engage in a rational discussion and was clearly only in the mood to be abusive, I decided to return to the humour:

I'm sick? You're the one chatting up a stranger! Didn't even need to offer you sweets.

Jessica retweeted that. Possibly the most productive thing she's done in her 29 years.

Is it relevant that Jessica is American? Alabama no less!

Motorcyclic Argument

It is not without a sense of irony that my first post since Caught On HelmetCam should happen to be in the wake of me being involved in an accident that left my bike an insurance write off and me off work for a number of weeks recovering from my injuries.

First thing I think it's important to do is thank the North West Ambulance Service as well as the doctors and staff at Arrowe Park Hospital who were pleasant and considerate throughout my time with them, and the Merseyside Police Officer who attended the scene and was very helpful.

Fortunately, though battered, bruised and in a lot of pain, I came out of the accident intact. Communicating with various people and parties since the accident and I could be forgiven for feeling I should have expected the accident to happen simply because I ride a motorcycle. Certainly there have been a number of voices suggesting I should take this as a sign to give up two wheeled transport and shocked that I haven't dismissed the idea of ever riding again.

Having joined the wealth of statistics on road traffic accidents I've been digging a little deeper. Before I took up motorcycling I was aware that relatively speaking motorcyclists are involved in far more accidents than car drivers (I believe motorcycles account for 1% of traffic while being involved in around 20% of accidents) so motorcycling being unsafe is an easy conclusion to reach. That leads me to wondering why it is that when so much time and effort has been put into improving rider training with the emphasis on defensive riding, and a much stricter and difficult two part practical test for motorcyclists, there is still such a disparity?

One statistic that gets raised consistently is that 80% of motorcyclist fatalities involve the motorcyclist travelling at excessive speed, though in raising that it doesn't address the vast majority of the accidents as while 80% is a large proportion, the actual number of fatalities involving motorcycles is a fraction of that involving cars and larger vehicles. That's not to belittle fatalities or diminish their significance, just to give context.

Campaigns aimed at reducing speeds saw little reduction in the number of accidents because most accidents weren't caused by speeding motorcyclists, and it's looking at where safety campaigns are focused now and are seemingly having an impact, combined with the statistics from accident reports across Europe and America, you see the cause of most accidents is in car drivers' observations. Almost everyone I've shown my HelmetCam video has commented on how 'normal' those examples of inconsiderate driving are. Surely that's where the problem lies? While the vast majority of accidents involving motorcycles are the car drivers fault, and almost half of those are cars pulling out from junctions into approaching vehicle's path, the natural impulse seems to be to remove motorcycles from our roads rather than tackle the poor driving standards we've allowed to develop.

I have no doubt that those wishing me to hang up my helmet only have my best interests at heart, and I am grateful for the love expressed (particularly that little lump in the throat from Sheffield, despite him hitting the delete key), and when I am all healed and am able to get back on a bike I won't be doing so in deference to those expressions or because I feel I have some kind of right to be a biker. I'll be doing it because I enjoy it; it's low cost commuting; and because I have faith in you to look, and then look again.

Caught on HelmetCam Vol.1

I got a small DV camera for Father's Day which I mount inside my helmet when commuting to and from work. The examples of poor driving I capture are astounding and surprisingly numerous. It has to be said, it's not all car drivers, I've seen some mad and dangerous stuff from bikers too, however the bike stuff tends to be really obvious and you can probably think now of occasions where a biker has ridden past at ridiculous speed or been pulling wheelies. Thankfully, those do tend to be the minority, all be it a very visual one.
What I've found interesting is the casual attitude of some car drivers. It's almost as if once some people get their license, the basics go out of the window. The most obvious example of this is the middle lane hog. Someone who will sit in the middle lane of a three lane motorway, even when the nearside lane is clear and they are travelling slower than cars in that nearside lane who are approaching from behind, forcing those drivers to either undertake or cross two lanes out and then two lanes back to pass. I've even heard the argument that the driver felt less likely to have an accident by staying in the middle lane as he would need to perform less manoeuvres on his journey so would be less likely to have an accident. Surely someone that unsure of their ability to even change lanes safely shouldn't be behind the wheel?
I don't mean to sound like a car basher, I do drive as well as ride, and I am equally frustrated by fellow road users when driving. The main difference then though is that those inconsiderate and oblivious drivers are less likely to seriously injure to even kill me when I'm in the car.
I've put a few examples together in a video. Please don't emulate anything you see in it.

Oo, colours!

Having once again drifted off to that most unreal of places we call the real world and in doing so neglecting my little bloggette, I thought it was about time I put some words down (up?). Logging in while I thought about what to moan about I found myself confronted with choices and templates and opportunities for prettyness. Not that I'd be interested in such trifling things you understand.
So anyway, forty seven minutes later and I've made it orange. Whoop!

My friend, the racist.

I've not felt compelled of late to share my thoughts, what with being so busy in work, preparing for the new arrival, and just enjoying the political roller-coaster that's been the televised debates and the election itself. Those things, and others, have kept me pre-occupied and happy enough to leave the blogosphere to it's own devices.
Then out of the blue I receive a text message that was so astounding in it's thinly veiled racism that I find myself back at the keyboard.
The guy that sent it to me claims he's not racist (would it be wrong to note that BNP leader Nick Griffin claims the same?), and (unlike Nick Griffin who surely knows he's a bigoted lard sack of intolerance and hate) I think he genuinely believes he isn't.
So to help my racist friend understand just how racist he is (I'm doing this out of love in the hope that together we can make a better world, ish), I've de-constructed the version he put on Facebook:

If we marched for our race and rights, you would call us racists.

This is not a great start as it's immediately evasive. It soon becomes apparent who “we” and “you” are so why wasn't the author comfortable stating so from the outset? Perhaps because if they had it would all too soon have descended into farce as we try to fathom exactly which 'white rights' we are currently denied to the extent that we would need to march. I'm certainly not aware of being denied any rights, including the rights to march and engage in legitimate protest, on account of my ethnicity as a white man. On that basis alone I can't help but see the claim as inflammatory and designed to promote racial tension.

You are proud to be black, brown. yellow and orange (just felt the need to interject at this point to say how pleased I am that the Umpa-Lumpas are represented), and you're not afraid to announce it, but when we announce our white pride, you call us racist.

This is difficult for me to address because I can only do so on assumption as with not being black, brown, yellow, orange or purple or blue, I can sing a rai.. sorry.. I have never suffered ridicule and persecution based on my ethnicity. I'm not helped by the fact that I can't claim to understand exactly what “white pride” is supposed to be either. Am I or should I be proud to be white? My being white would never have meant I was treated as sub-human, so why would I feel the need to reclaim something that has never been forcibly stripped from me? What significance does my whiteness have on how proud I feel? I feel a sense of pride in my achievements and the achievements of those close to me, but my whiteness has no bearing on that. I think I'm probably labouring the point a bit but I just don't see where the “white” fits in, other than to be inflammatory and promote racial tension of course.

You rob us, carjack us, and shoot at us, but when a white police officer shoots a black gang member or beats up a black drug dealer running from the law and posing a threat to society, you call him a racist.

Wow! So, in context, all black, brown, yellow and orange people are violent, gun toting, drug dealing thieves. It follows then that us whites are all fine upstanding law abiding citizens, hence the lack of white people currently in prison! Good job that's indisputable or someone might think it was inflammatory and designed to promote racial tension (last time I say that - promise).
The police are tasked with upholding the law, they are not the dispensers of arbitrary justice (well, they're not supposed to be anyway).

Why is it that only whites can be racist?

It isn't. Racism is faultlessly tolerant in its bigotry.

There is nothing improper about this text message.

Apart from the fact it's overtly racist and designed to create division of course.

Let's see which of you are proud enough to send it on. I sadly don't think many will. That's why we have LOST most of OUR RIGHTS in this country. We won't stand up for ourselves! BE PROUD TO BE WHITE! It's not a crime YET..... but getting very close!

The level of ignorance on display here would shame a lump of igneous rock, right down to the short-sightedness of the author in presenting an opportunity whereby simply attempting to refute the text would in itself disprove the author's premise. Oh irony, you sexy bitch! (someone else can deal with that casual misogyny.)

It is estimated that ONLY 5% of those reaching this point in this text message, will pass it on.

Estimated by who? That's up there with: 73% of statistics are made up on the spot; 13% of people are unlucky; and 100% of this blog's authors see that figure as another attempt at creating a sense of marginalisation where none exists.

Over the next few weeks England will be awash with flags of St George, and the pubs throughout the land will be packed with football fans cheering on England at the World Cup in South Africa. Will every flag bearer be white? Will every drinker screaming his passion at the TV be white? Will every player pulling on the shirt and representing my country be white?

I'm an overweight, middle aged, balding, academically weak, white, heterosexual male, who was born and raised in England. So what?

I'm Game(r)

I love being a gamer, but I hate that there’s a term that defines me by that one leisure activity. Even if we are still clinging to the lower case ‘g’. We are gamers, hear us eat Wotsits and forlornly sigh into our noise reduction microphones attached to our 5.1 headsets. When I was younger and fitter I played football but no-one would ever have called me a footballer. I watch a fair amount of movies and television so should I also be defined as a watcher? I could change my name to Chancy Gardener. I play a number of instruments, though the only sub category of musician I am sufficiently proficient in that I would be comfortable claiming it is drummer. Drummers being musicians with their brains removed jokes notwithstanding.

Other than the activities I do as part of my current employment for which I am defined by my job title (itself a rather meaningless label), there are so many things I do that are surely as equally valid as the ‘gamer’ tag (see what I did there?). I once described myself as an ass kissing, jive talking, soda slurping, crisp chomping, camera clicking, guitar strumming, drum bashing, bullshit spouting, candy assed white boy. I think that pretty much still holds water, particularly as candy assed middle aged fat baldy man doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. It certainly is more encompassing and gives a better idea of who and what I am than defining me as a gamer simply because one of the things I choose to do to entertain myself is play video games.

The latest statement from South Australia’s Attorney-General Michael Atkinson about fearing gamers has highlighted to me that continuing to use the term marginalises everyone who plays video games, and so while the majority of people I know now play games at least on a semi-regular basis, that is to persist with the notion that people who play video games are an insignificant minority group. He has consistently shown himself to be ill informed and lacking in a basic understanding of the medium or the people who play games, but when individuals start name calling or loitering around his house, all people who play games are labelled by association and any moral high ground is lost. As an aside, I notice his crusade against mature video games had now spread to movies too and I do wonder when he’ll start on books. But I digress.

As more and more people play games the term ‘gamer’ loses any significance. It’ll be like defining yourself as human (real world remember, you can still be an elf in Dragon Age:Origins). Can I just be a fat bloke who plays games? Can I be game without being a gamer?

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Fifteen:

Hardly Revolutionary

Paul: Curious without being in any way intriguing wouldn’t you say JC?
JC: What is and would I?
Paul: Trademarking the term revolution as part of the title when the suggestion has always been that augmentation was a technical evolution.
JC: They could have gone with Creationism for all the difference it will make.
Paul: At least you’re talking about it.
JC: Talking about what?

Love is...

Preparing to leave work on Friday, a question came at me from the radio in the corner.
“How will I know if he really loves me?”
Well Whitney, I'd suggest that if he's forcing cocaine up your nose and giving you some old fashioned back handed bitch slapping, I don't think he does. I only hope you don't regret not asking me sooner.
Get yourself a cat.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Fourteen:

Differences Resolved

Paul: Hey JC.
JC: Hi Paul.
Paul: You making a resolution for New Year?
JC: I thought I might try and be more tolerant. I’ve been feeling the strain this year and I know I’ve let my anger get the better of me on occasion, so a more relaxed and caring JC this year I think.
Paul: That’s great, well done.
Alex: Hey guys, happy new year.
JC: Piss off!

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Thirteen:

'Ave it, Ah!

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hi Paul. I saw Avatar last night.
Paul: Isn’t it great? While the story is familiar and dialogue somewhat clichéd, the presentation and effects combine so beautifully that didn’t you find it redefined what we should expect from the cinematic experience?
JC: With my ocular augmentations I thought my vision might correct the effects and didn’t want to risk the extra expense, so I went to the 2D version.
Paul: I have to be somewhere else.

Silence is Olden

I've been spending just over a month now getting back in the habit of getting back into old habits. I'm paying tax again, which is never to be enjoyed, though it at least means I can feel justified in complaining about things of which I care little but am contributing to in some minuscule way.

I'm tootling along at a blistering 60mph on my little motorbike most mornings, while the cold North Wales winds do their utmost to prize my fingers from their joints. I long for the day I can get a bigger bike. One that can have heated grips. Probably should pass my test first though. And get more money.

Minor amusement this week saw the end of the latest series of X-Factor, with the prospect of this year's winner (a boy with a name of some description) potentially being denied the top spot of the nations hit parade by virtue of a significant number of people who, tired of the formulaic approach to the annual inevitability, have set about purchasing an alternate track. Nothing says anarchic quite like orchestrated co-ordination.

Much has been made of the fact both artists are on the Sony label, so whichever way it goes the label are having extra stuffing balls with this year's turkey. I've likened it to deciding to stick it to the man by not buying Coke any more and buying Sprite instead. It's also the concept in itself and the choice of track. All the people urging others to buy Rage Against The Machine, and this little voice in the back of my head is screaming "Fuck you I won't do what you tell me!"
Having said that, it remains a fantastic track and has lost nothing with age, so ultimately I bleat like a sheep and do my bit. If for no other reason that a part of me longs for the Xmas albums of tomorrow, where 'Killing In The Name' nestles between Bowie/Bing's rendition of 'Little Drummer Boy' and McCartney's 'Simply Having A Wonderful Christmas Time'. What a beautiful world that would be.