Busy Doing Nothing

It seams of late I'm finding a myriad of things to not do rather than doing the things I supposedly like to do.

Part of the reason has been decorating. My little munchkin is getting big and she deserves a larger room, so what was effectively an upstairs laundrette has been cleared, stripped, dismantled, extra power points added, inbuilt cupboards ripped out and walls re-plastered. I'm learning new skills, which I guess should be uplifting, but is just another inconvenience.

I've learned plastering isn't as difficult as I thought it would be. Though my efforts are certainly not up to professional standards, they are mighty fine. Similarly, Artexing the ceiling and freeze, while destroying my right shoulder, has resulted in a stippled ceiling that Michaelangelo himself would look at and say,
“S'allright that Peach!”
Only he'd say it in Italian. And cough up a lung. And snog me.

I'm also tootling about on a little motorbike. As I'm currently in v3.0 of my mid-life crisis (v1.0 was cutting all my hair off, v1.1 was dying the resulting mop red, v1.2 was changing from red to purple and v2.0 was the common or garden variety depression) the two wheeled wonder was just a natural progression.

This hasn't left much time for proper gaming. I say proper because I have still been playing, but mostly at friends houses so somewhat superficial. It has allowed me to get to grips with a few new titles, but more on that another time. At home I'm either labouring through some form of DIY or watching The Wire (at time of writing we're about to start season five).

I've also not been reading nor writing, though I can't fathom what I've been doing or not in their place. It's the arse end of September and I've nothing to show for a months worth of existence. That is a somewhat terrifying realisation.

What little gaming I've done at home has mostly been GTA IV (PC), which given some of the nightmare scenarios I'd read about online getting the game to run, is rather splendid looking and smooth. There's no doubt it's a questionable port and certainly seams little thought has been given to optimising for the PC, but the core gameplay is solid and as fun as it ever was.

I've also dipped a tentative toe back into the murky waters of football management. It's been a good few years since I played Championship Manager (PC). Back in the days when Sports Interactive and Eidos were still cuddly bed fellows and spooning, before SI's arm got pins and needles and Eidos kept leaving the light on and toilet seat up.

Since SI went and hopped into Sega's Emperor sized pillow topped, duck downed, snuggle fest', and Eidos inflated there own love dumpling while shouting through their tears how they didn't need SI anymore and they'd make their own CM, I've left them to it. Reviews have suggested that SI have maintained the quality and depth of their CM games in the guise of Football Manager (thankfully sans a bearded knob on the cover artwork) and Eidos's Beautiful Game Studios have struggled and consistently suffered by comparison.

For the 2010 iteration, Eidos decided to offer pre-orders through their website for as little as £2.51. Being the generous sort I am, I gave them £3.00. My place in heaven assured, I waited patiently for the release date whereby I would download the game, spend a couple of hours fumbling about, then walk away from it forever. A solid plan, until the other night I was lambasting my defence for failing to close down the opposition's attacking midfielder when I realised it was beyond three in the morning and I'd been sat at the computer for six hours. Thus far I've navigated far too many menus, noticed a few players performing vastly different to their real life counterparts, and the only Premier League badge is Aston Villa's, with the rest of the league sharing a generic club-coloured shield, which is surprisingly annoying. Surely it would have made more sense to forego the badges altogether? I haven't decided if it's a good game or not, and not having played FM I can't compare the games. It's certainly compelling, for now.

Also on the home front, last night we discovered a mouse in our living room. Having distracted us by making a scratching noise in the hall we went to investigate, only to find nothing until the wife turned around to find it flipping her the finger from the rug in the living room. By the time I entered, all manly like in my shorts with a big stick, the little blighter had disappeared behind the couch. Today has therefore been mainly spent setting traps and laying poison. Oh, and before anyone gets all 'humane' on me, if you'd shit on my carpet I'd poison you too.

And as if that wasn't enough, I lost a tooth today.

Roll on October.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Twelve:

Deny Me Three Times

Paul: Hi JC.
JC: Hey Paul.
Paul: News on the third game in our award winning franchise has gone a bit quiet.
JC: Third game?
Paul: Yes, y'know, Deus Ex 3?
JC: How can they make a third when there wasn't a sequel?
Paul: Yes there was, Invisi...
JC: HOW CAN THEY MAKE A THIRD WHEN THERE WASN'T A SEQUEL?
Paul: Shh, Alex is asleep in the back
JC: Alex?
Paul: Riiight.

Summer Shun

The supposed summer holidays are upon me, which of course means my beloved offspring is home all day and looking for exciting things to do. As such, I don't get as much game time as I would previously because, and here's a crazy notion, I don't play games rated for adults when there's a child walking about the place. Bless her little cotton socks, she does like to play the occasional game though, so when it's raining outside (odd phrase that, when has it ever rained inside?) and she's not having one of her creative sprees, she will hijack her mother's DS or play on the Wii with me. Huzzah and hurray then for Wii Sports Resort (Wii).

Much has been made of the new Motion Plus and in the main the comments about improved interaction and responsiveness are fair. Some of the praise though, particularly from the Nintendo only press, is a bit, obsequious. It certainly works well in the main, but it's not the earth shattering golden glory hole some corners of the media would have us believe. It's fun and works well in most cases, particularly the sword fighting and bowling, but does frustrate at other times. Canoeing is anger inducing crap and had me wondering whether the play-testers were tanked up for that session as I can't see how me performing exaggerated sweeps to my right can have the avatar scooping at his left.

All this Wii focus did mean I took my eyes off the wider scene for a moment, and when I did catch sight again I was genuinely pleased to see that EA had subtitled the new Need For Speed game in a way that really emphasises the direction they've taken the series. Then I spotted the “F”.

IGN are running another “Death of PC Gaming” piece. Read it with disbelief yourself here .

Finally for this little session a word about Ben There, Dan That (PC): Good. Now a word about Time Gentlemen, Please! (PC): Great. Now some more words on both.

I had a little look at Ben There, Dan That some time ago, but, and this may shock you, I was never a huge pointy clicky adventury kind of person. I tended to sit and watch friends play them. That way I could enjoy the story and get bonus jollies from watching their frustration when unable to solve a puzzle. Nothing ventured nothing failed, so to speak. It wasn't until the recent release of Time Gentlemen, Please! that I remembered about Ben There, Dan That and so popped back to the Zombie Cow site to download it and give it a go. Seeing the ad for Time Gentlemen, Please! there as well, and noticing that it cost just £3.44 including VAT, I had this strange uncomfortable feeling of guilt. Why guilt? I don't know. Maybe because I hadn't played Ben There, Dan That when I originally meant to and thus failed to donate any money for future developments. Whatever the reason, I decided that without further ado I would make amends, and even if they turned out to be the worst games I ever swung a cursor at, I was going to help these bastions of the independent gaming development bods. So in the best traditions of those pointy clicky adventury things, I used credit card on website.

I won't bore with the details, and I wouldn't have a clue how to explain what happens in the games without giving away the story and jokes, suffice to say they were some of the most joyous hours of gaming I have ever had. I laughed more at these games than I have at any comedy DVD of the past few years. Self referencing comedy genius of the highest order.

Given that Ben There, Dan That is free, and Time Gentlemen, Please! is just £3.44, I do find myself wondering what kind of person wouldn't head off to www.zombie-cow.com for a download, and the only people I can think of are Nazis, morally righteous mice, and paedophiles. I'm sure you're none of those.

Street Blighter

Time once again proves to be anything but a friend. This time it has teamed up with my failing memory to play the cruellest of tricks. You see, I remember quite clearly being good at Street Fighter II. Back in the old SNES days I first completed it with Blanka, a feat my friends told me was quite an achievement, themselves first making their way through with either Ken or Ryu. I soon followed suit and completed it with all seven of the original playable cast. You'll notice I said seven there. That's because we don't count Zangief. We just don't.

Some years have passed and despite at least six further versions and sequels, we now have Street Fighter IV (360). I'm sure you will appreciate, given my undoubted skills, I had little to fear from this new incarnation. It is, after all, just a modern version of Street Fighter II with nice new graphics. The gameplay mechanics remain as they were back in 1992.

Starting as Ryu I went into the first round and immediately fired off a couple of fireballs and dragon punched my opponent, following up with the whirlwind kick. This was like riding a bike. I was home. That, however, was where the joy got up, left the room, and buggered off to South America with the window cleaner. Before I knew what was happening, this laddett who I believe is called Crimson Viper, in a poorly fitting suit and awful glasses, was beating seven shades of the proverbial out of me. I put it down to complacency and being over confident and resolved that Round 2 would see me regain my rightful place as the Ultimate World Warrior. No, spanked again.

I'm sure I used to be able to play these games. I'm sure I was at least competent. Have my reactions slowed that much? Was I actually just a bit shit and I've spent these intervening years steeped in ignorance and delusion?

Anyway, fighting games are so last century. I've moved on.

At Home with The Dentons - Episode Eleven:

Love Casualty

Paul: See you later JC.
JC: Where are you going?
Paul: Got to pick Alex up from the clinic.
JC: Clinic?
Paul: Yeh, he's had treatment for the infection he caught from Ava.
JC: Ava? But she's, I mean, she's an AI construct. She has no physical form.
Paul: I know. Anyway, I wouldn't use the holograph generator for a while.
JC: Ew!

Tightening Up

I know, I've been slacker than a cheap whore's money maker of late. I'd like to say it's because I've been so focused on my exercise regime that when not pumping my body full of lactic acid and natural endorphins I've been stood in front of a mirror admiring my finely tuned physique.

Obviously I can't say that as it would be an obscenely large mountain of bullshit and only slightly more difficult to swallow than a BBC press release stating that they are actively seeking a woman over the age of 50 to present a popular Saturday night entertainment program.

Anyway, I've no doubt my absence from the densely populated blogosphere has gone largely unnoticed so my preoccupation with other, more interesting, things was under no pressure to cease being indulged.

“What is this wondrous new thing that has kept you from projecting your innermost thoughts out into the void where they are free to roam and meet other thoughts, do some networking, get a job and then turn up on your doorstep one July morning laughing at you, dressed in a fine suit from Slaters in Liverpool, a good one, not one of the cheap ones off the rack but a proper tailored one, like you'd only get for a really special occasion like your wedding, but is now before you being worn as a regular day suit?”

Well no-one in particular, It's none of your damn business and I'll thank you to refrain from such intrusions in future.

A Gull and a Bull

Children are the most wonderful invention. Their innocence is so refreshing, particularly the way they assimilate some of our grown up bullshit.

The other day I was standing in the local Asda chatting with Michael while his dynamic duo (that being his children, not his testicles, as dynamic as I'm sure they are) happily amused themselves rearranging the various carbonated beverages into neat displays. Being children they also wanted to partake of such beverages, and Michael being a budget conscious soul (see: cheap) agreed to allow them to select three, thereby invoking the shops own brand three bottles for a solitary pound of her majesties tender covenant.

Alas the bright colours proved too tempting for the young charges, and soon there was a dilemma. With four flavours to choose from, what method of elimination could be employed?

A Britain's Got Talent style competition was ruled out as Simon Cowell is off having expensive fun on his expensive private jet while he lives his expensive life with his antique marble teeth and 1950's yard brush hair; Amanda Holden was too busy shaving her ankles; and Piers Morgan's a cunt.

Strictly Comes Dancing was a no go as Bruce would just blend in with the greeters so we'd constantly lose him, and Tess, let's be fair, Tess' personality is on ITV hosting Beat The Star.

Dancing On Ice was a none starter. We were nowhere near the freezers and if Holly Willoughby had turned up we'd be too busy restocking the milk cages.

In looking at the flavours on offer, Mike seamed to favour Dandelion & Burdock the least. I got this impression from the way he said Dandelion & Burdock as if he was locking tongues with a camel who had just finished giving it's diarrhetic baboon lover a rim job.

Turning to his children I asked if they knew what Dandelion & Burdock was made from. Of course they didn't, they're children.
“Well a dandelion is a flower, I'm sure you've seen them, they're the ones you pick and blow, not unlike a nose.”
They nodded enthusiastically,
“Well, you take some dandelion flowers and you crush them and their seeds down to a pulp.”
Gripping stuff.
“Now do you know what a Burdock is?”
Of course they didn't, no-one does. And going off to Wiki and claiming you do doesn't count.
“A Burdock is a little beetle, about an inch long,”
I held out my fingers and indicated an inch between my thumb and forefinger. Then bringing my other hand into play I commenced the mime,
“and what you do is peel back the wings and scoop out all the soft stuff underneath like the guts and intestines, and then pound that into the mush. And that's where the flavour comes from. It's full of protein, like eating flies and worms.”

“Don't want that one Dad.”