Half Man Half Biscuit once noted that "it's cliched to be cynical at Christmas", and I have no intention of being so. It would be easy for me to go into a rant about commercialisation or suchlike, but no.
The reason being is that when I do come back home at Christmas, and on this day in particular, I'm always reminded of those who aren't around anymore. I'm reminded of grandparents and great-aunties and uncles that once used to be a part of this, but whom the passage of time has taken from me. If anything, it's a pretty melancholic time of year for me, when I often look at pictures of myself aged seven or eight and feel envious of that little lad's innocence.
And now it's nearly all over. Come Wednesday I'll be back to work and it's gone for another year, that period where I stretch back into the past in search of a sense of belonging and place. I'm not in any way a religious man, but I see Christmas as a time for remembering those in our past and enjoying being with those we have in the present. I hope anybody reading this has been able to take part in the latter.
Saturday, 25 December 2010
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
Shaking All Over
Apparently, there was an earthquake of some variety in Cumbria last night. Can't say I noticed, myself, which perhaps says a lot for the building quality of my parents' house. I'd always wanted to sit through a 'quake, for some reason, and was bitterly disappointed when LA stayed steady during my visit there.
Which is also a roundabout way of being able to say I'm back in the safety of home. Driving back here was probably the most mentally exhausting thing I've done in years (constantly watching for bits of ice on the road takes it out of you) but it was worthwhile if only to eat some decent food for the first time in about three months.
When I do come back here, I'm always reminded of one of the stories my dad told us when driving on the A66 between Penrith (his hometown, where we would visit relatives) and Whitehaven. Driving past Bassenthwaite Lake, there's a lump of chalk on the scree slope of one of the hills.
The story, as I remember it, was that a guy resolved to climb this hill on his faithful horse and attempted to do so. Trust me when I say this was a stupid idea. as the incline is steep beyond belief, but it would appear he didn't do too badly, as the lump of chalk that is supposed to mark how far he made it is pretty far up. But still a long way from the top. The mark was always the "Horse's Head" to my brother and I, as it did look so from the distance you see it from the road.
Now, I've tried looking this up online and found zilch to collaborate anybody else is aware of this story, so it may turn out my dad was just making something up to amuse two small children on a car journey. I'll choose to keep buying the myth for now, though, as it's become one of those symbols on the drive back that reminds me I'm almost home.
Which is also a roundabout way of being able to say I'm back in the safety of home. Driving back here was probably the most mentally exhausting thing I've done in years (constantly watching for bits of ice on the road takes it out of you) but it was worthwhile if only to eat some decent food for the first time in about three months.
When I do come back here, I'm always reminded of one of the stories my dad told us when driving on the A66 between Penrith (his hometown, where we would visit relatives) and Whitehaven. Driving past Bassenthwaite Lake, there's a lump of chalk on the scree slope of one of the hills.
The story, as I remember it, was that a guy resolved to climb this hill on his faithful horse and attempted to do so. Trust me when I say this was a stupid idea. as the incline is steep beyond belief, but it would appear he didn't do too badly, as the lump of chalk that is supposed to mark how far he made it is pretty far up. But still a long way from the top. The mark was always the "Horse's Head" to my brother and I, as it did look so from the distance you see it from the road.
Now, I've tried looking this up online and found zilch to collaborate anybody else is aware of this story, so it may turn out my dad was just making something up to amuse two small children on a car journey. I'll choose to keep buying the myth for now, though, as it's become one of those symbols on the drive back that reminds me I'm almost home.
Sunday, 19 December 2010
Back in the Wastelands
It's unusual for me to write about a game without actually getting round to finishing it, but 45 hours into Fallout: New Vegas and I wonder if I'll get round to doing so. So here's my thoughts so far.
Let's get the positives in first, or at least the main ones as there are too many to list. This is a huge game that can easily swallow up huge sections of your life. Fallout 3 was big, but this is a whole new level. There seems to be far, far more quests to get engaged in and more to explore, despite the Nevada wasteland area not being that much bigger surface-area wise than it's Capital equivalent.
The bods behind Fallout 3 and New Vegas have been sensible in one aspect by not changing too much in the new game. The controls and general look are essentially the same, which will be fine to most. Too many step forwards in one go isn't always the best thing - sometimes we just want a lot more of what we already know we like.
Perhaps expecting that the vast majority of players will have come from Fallout 3, rather than going through a tutorial of sorts, we're thrown right into the mix by having Matthew Perry shoot you - a humble courier for a delivery company - in the head. Obviously. this is going to put a crimp in anyone's day. Luckily, you put on your lucky kex that morning and after being dug from your shallow grave by a passing robot (who thinks it's a cowboy), you're stitched back up a local doctor and sent on your way.
As with Fallout 3, the game world is the setting for a battleground between two groups: here, it's the New California Republic (NCR), who have expanded eastward from the early games, and Caesar's Legion, a cult of personality who like crucifying and enslaving folk they don't like. But there's also a few more groups out there you can ignore, work for or happily hunt and slaughter, such as the Great Khans, the Powder Gangers and the Followers of the Apocalypse. The Brotherhood of Steel are also hiding somewhere in the Wastes, and that's before you consider the plans of the enigmatic Mr House, who rules over the New Vegas Strip.
Though the Karma system is still in place, it's your relations with these gangs that will determine how safely you get around. Keep pissing off the NCR, for example, and it'll get to the point where you feel the full force of their military might, which is a lot more of a hassle than if you cheese off the relatively small and badly equipped Powder Gangers.
Travelling, working and socialising through the Wasteland and Vegas is an enjoyable experience and it doesn't take much encouragement to spend hours veering off the main storyline (i.e. finding out why you were shot in the bonce) to help out the people you meet. Or being a cold-blooded psycho, if you feel so inclined. The feel is helped by the quality of voice casting, with Kris Kristofferson, William Sadler and Michael Dorn featuring, the latter reprising a character he played in Fallout 2. Ron Pearlman, of course, is back as the narrator.
But, but, but, in this gamer's experience, at the exact point things started to get interesting, the bugs kicked in big time. The gamebreaker is my now inability to walk down the Vegas Strip without the game crashing, which is tricky when that location is the heart of the entire game. I've also found two side-quests to be impossible to complete due to bugs. This is on top of other random crashes that are just plain irritating - the biggies are inexcusable.
I'm sure there may be patches to fix these, and I'll have to lug my PS3 round to a friend's house to try and get them downloaded, but it still strikes me as a bit rubbish for a game to be released that seemed so obviously not ready to be so. It's in big danger of turning what could be one of my all-time favourites into an all-time disappointment.
Let's get the positives in first, or at least the main ones as there are too many to list. This is a huge game that can easily swallow up huge sections of your life. Fallout 3 was big, but this is a whole new level. There seems to be far, far more quests to get engaged in and more to explore, despite the Nevada wasteland area not being that much bigger surface-area wise than it's Capital equivalent.
The bods behind Fallout 3 and New Vegas have been sensible in one aspect by not changing too much in the new game. The controls and general look are essentially the same, which will be fine to most. Too many step forwards in one go isn't always the best thing - sometimes we just want a lot more of what we already know we like.
Perhaps expecting that the vast majority of players will have come from Fallout 3, rather than going through a tutorial of sorts, we're thrown right into the mix by having Matthew Perry shoot you - a humble courier for a delivery company - in the head. Obviously. this is going to put a crimp in anyone's day. Luckily, you put on your lucky kex that morning and after being dug from your shallow grave by a passing robot (who thinks it's a cowboy), you're stitched back up a local doctor and sent on your way.
As with Fallout 3, the game world is the setting for a battleground between two groups: here, it's the New California Republic (NCR), who have expanded eastward from the early games, and Caesar's Legion, a cult of personality who like crucifying and enslaving folk they don't like. But there's also a few more groups out there you can ignore, work for or happily hunt and slaughter, such as the Great Khans, the Powder Gangers and the Followers of the Apocalypse. The Brotherhood of Steel are also hiding somewhere in the Wastes, and that's before you consider the plans of the enigmatic Mr House, who rules over the New Vegas Strip.
Though the Karma system is still in place, it's your relations with these gangs that will determine how safely you get around. Keep pissing off the NCR, for example, and it'll get to the point where you feel the full force of their military might, which is a lot more of a hassle than if you cheese off the relatively small and badly equipped Powder Gangers.
Travelling, working and socialising through the Wasteland and Vegas is an enjoyable experience and it doesn't take much encouragement to spend hours veering off the main storyline (i.e. finding out why you were shot in the bonce) to help out the people you meet. Or being a cold-blooded psycho, if you feel so inclined. The feel is helped by the quality of voice casting, with Kris Kristofferson, William Sadler and Michael Dorn featuring, the latter reprising a character he played in Fallout 2. Ron Pearlman, of course, is back as the narrator.
But, but, but, in this gamer's experience, at the exact point things started to get interesting, the bugs kicked in big time. The gamebreaker is my now inability to walk down the Vegas Strip without the game crashing, which is tricky when that location is the heart of the entire game. I've also found two side-quests to be impossible to complete due to bugs. This is on top of other random crashes that are just plain irritating - the biggies are inexcusable.
I'm sure there may be patches to fix these, and I'll have to lug my PS3 round to a friend's house to try and get them downloaded, but it still strikes me as a bit rubbish for a game to be released that seemed so obviously not ready to be so. It's in big danger of turning what could be one of my all-time favourites into an all-time disappointment.
Saturday, 18 December 2010
The Last Mile is the Longest Mile
An early Christmas present came my way when, through a friend, I received my very own Mr. Bill. Thanks go to Richard Feltoon at www.gumbystore.com/ for shipping out to the UK and for showing excellent customer service.As I vowed, I've been treated the little fellow with a lot of respect and compassion and in return, he's been helping me out with my work, as you can see. What a helpful chap.
It's just as well as he has too, as the last week seemed to drag on forever, in no small part due to being the countdown to a long-needed ten days off. Matters weren't helped by picking up a bit of bug in midweek which left my skeleton feeling like it was made of metal and giving me berserk fever dreams on Wednesday night.
Still, all over now and I can afford to relax a little. Or I could, if it weren't for the sodding snow making a unwelcome comeback. Quite how I'm going to get back to West Cumbria is something of a mystery unless we get a rapid thaw. Not to worry about that now, though: I've got a week and a bit of freedom to try and do some writing and play some games. Bliss.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
Strange Arrangements
I believe Dave Coleman over at No Ripcord is set to write a piece about ABC's 1982 debut album The Lexicon of Love, but I thought I'd get my own thoughts in first. Seems only fair, given it was I who recommended the album to him in the first place...
I came to ABC sometime in the mid 90s, from liking their three biggest hits over here, Poison Arrow, The Look of Love and All Of My Heart. At the time, Britpop was all the rage, but it's sounds and lyrical themes did little for me. Indeed, even now the only albums from that whole scene I'd consider listening to would be Blur's Parklike and Pulp's Different Class. ABC, on the other hand, had a huge sound: sweeping orchestral stabs with funky rhythm tracks. Later on, I would see how the band Chic had been a big influence here.
Yet as has been stated elsewhere, the band's frontman, Martin Fry, was fired up by punk in so much as it gave him the confidence to follow his own ambitions. As a student in Sheffield, he interviewed local outfit Vice Versa for his fanzine and ended up as their singer. Renamed ABC, the band benefited from writers such as Paul Morley moving away from the dark sounds of the likes of Joy Division and embracing the brighter 'new pop' angle. Aided by such support, debut single Tears Are Not Enough made the top 20.
For the album, ABC decided they needed the right man to create the sound they wanted. Trevor Horn was a one-time pop star (having fronted Buggles, of Video Killed The Radio Star one hit wonder fame) and growing name in the production world. On the back of working with Malcolm McLaren, he was looking for a new project. ABC turned out to be it, and he signed on for their second single, as a kind of testing ground.
That Poison Arrow turned out to be a brilliantly dramatic piece of pop did the trick, as did it's success. Work began on the album with Horn bringing in his team of Anne Dudley, Gary Langan and J.J. Jeczalik, soon to become the Art of Noise, to help with arrangements, engineering and working the then cutting edge Fairlight synthesiser.
Unlike with Horn's next big project, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Horn was aided in his work by ABC being able enough musicians to play on their own album (drummer David Palmer would later become an in-demand session player with The The and Rod Stewart amongst others) as well as not being short of their own ideas: the spoken word middle section in Poison Arrow being suggested by saxophonist Stephen Singleton.
Though the title and general musical approach may suggest songs more in the Bacharach/David mold, Lexicon is essential an album about being dumped, as had happened to Martin Fry at the time. He even signals his weariness with traditional images of love and romance on All Of My Heart, singing "skip the hearts and flowers/skip the ivory towers".
ABC succeeded where many of their contemporaries failed by producing an consistently brilliant album. While at the time they were lumped in with the New Romantic movement, along with Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet, neither of those bands managed to knock together a set of cohesive songs as brilliant as ABC did. Particular highlights for me are Date Stamp (a cousin of sorts to Heaven 17's I'm Your Money) and Many Happy Returns, but the whole album is filled with hooks, huge choruses and fantastic playing.
The Lexicon of Love topped the album charts in the UK and did well in the States, leading to inevitable second album syndrome - as would happen with Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Working with Gary Langan, Beauty Stab stripped back the excesses of before and tried to tackle political themes. They were never again a serious force at home, instead focusing on the States, where they enjoyed a number of fine pop hits such as Be Near Me and When Smokey Sings. The Lexicon of Love remains their absolute peak, an example of the very best pop music can be.
I came to ABC sometime in the mid 90s, from liking their three biggest hits over here, Poison Arrow, The Look of Love and All Of My Heart. At the time, Britpop was all the rage, but it's sounds and lyrical themes did little for me. Indeed, even now the only albums from that whole scene I'd consider listening to would be Blur's Parklike and Pulp's Different Class. ABC, on the other hand, had a huge sound: sweeping orchestral stabs with funky rhythm tracks. Later on, I would see how the band Chic had been a big influence here.
Yet as has been stated elsewhere, the band's frontman, Martin Fry, was fired up by punk in so much as it gave him the confidence to follow his own ambitions. As a student in Sheffield, he interviewed local outfit Vice Versa for his fanzine and ended up as their singer. Renamed ABC, the band benefited from writers such as Paul Morley moving away from the dark sounds of the likes of Joy Division and embracing the brighter 'new pop' angle. Aided by such support, debut single Tears Are Not Enough made the top 20.
For the album, ABC decided they needed the right man to create the sound they wanted. Trevor Horn was a one-time pop star (having fronted Buggles, of Video Killed The Radio Star one hit wonder fame) and growing name in the production world. On the back of working with Malcolm McLaren, he was looking for a new project. ABC turned out to be it, and he signed on for their second single, as a kind of testing ground.
That Poison Arrow turned out to be a brilliantly dramatic piece of pop did the trick, as did it's success. Work began on the album with Horn bringing in his team of Anne Dudley, Gary Langan and J.J. Jeczalik, soon to become the Art of Noise, to help with arrangements, engineering and working the then cutting edge Fairlight synthesiser.
Unlike with Horn's next big project, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Horn was aided in his work by ABC being able enough musicians to play on their own album (drummer David Palmer would later become an in-demand session player with The The and Rod Stewart amongst others) as well as not being short of their own ideas: the spoken word middle section in Poison Arrow being suggested by saxophonist Stephen Singleton.
Though the title and general musical approach may suggest songs more in the Bacharach/David mold, Lexicon is essential an album about being dumped, as had happened to Martin Fry at the time. He even signals his weariness with traditional images of love and romance on All Of My Heart, singing "skip the hearts and flowers/skip the ivory towers".
ABC succeeded where many of their contemporaries failed by producing an consistently brilliant album. While at the time they were lumped in with the New Romantic movement, along with Duran Duran and Spandau Ballet, neither of those bands managed to knock together a set of cohesive songs as brilliant as ABC did. Particular highlights for me are Date Stamp (a cousin of sorts to Heaven 17's I'm Your Money) and Many Happy Returns, but the whole album is filled with hooks, huge choruses and fantastic playing.
The Lexicon of Love topped the album charts in the UK and did well in the States, leading to inevitable second album syndrome - as would happen with Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Working with Gary Langan, Beauty Stab stripped back the excesses of before and tried to tackle political themes. They were never again a serious force at home, instead focusing on the States, where they enjoyed a number of fine pop hits such as Be Near Me and When Smokey Sings. The Lexicon of Love remains their absolute peak, an example of the very best pop music can be.
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Cup in the Cold
The creation and continued existence of FC United of Manchester, a club formed by supporters of Manchester United disillusioned by the Glazer takeover and top level football as a whole in 2005, is still a contentious issue for many. Supporters of FC are still labelled "Judas Scum" by some and even Alex Ferguson isn't keen on talking about the matter.
My own personal stance has been one of "good luck to them" while still maintaining a certain distance. Perhaps it was just laziness of not wanting to trail up to Bury for a "home" game, I can't say. But when a friend suggested we take a trip to see them play Brighton in a FA Cup 2nd round replay, I decided to make the effort. Yes, a glory hunting ,Johnny-come-Lately am I.
FC United's exploits in the cup have received a fair bit of media attention. Still a fair bit down the non-league ladder, they knocked out League One side Rochdale with a last minute winner in the previous round and a last-minute penalty save from Sam Ashton ensured they held on for a draw down in Brighton, despite being down to 10 men for a fair chunk of the game.
Fans of FC make a lot of their return to "real" football supporting: being able to stand up all game (despite Bury's Gigg Lane stadium being all-seater) along with your mates and have a proper sing-song without some over-zealous steward telling you to sit down and shut up. I'm glad to say this was the case last night - I was especially impressed with the song to tune of Anarchy In The UK that went "I am a FC Fan/I am a Mancunian/Know what I want, and I know how to get it/I wanna destroy/Glazer and Sky". Presumably it's just as well the game was transmitted live on ESPN, the proceeds helping the club raise the cash to construct their own home in Newton Heath, the birthplace of course of "big" United. A crowd of 7,000 will have helped on this front too.
As for the game itself - well, the old adage of "you never get two bites of the cherry" rang true for the most part. Brighton's professional status ensured their players appeared fitter and stronger and they dominated a lot of the possession. FC were never short of effort, however, and showed bits of class through the skill of winger Roca and forward Ben Deegan.
If one player seemed to be the undoing of FC, it was Brighton wideman Elliot Bennett, who teed up the first two goals, the second being a real sucker punch right before half-time. Till this point, United hadn't really challenged the Brighton keeper (who was serenaded with the chant 'You fat bastard' with every touch) but the second half saw them come close following a good move and then win a penalty following more good work from Deegan.
A goal here might have seen a dramatic final 20 minutes, but sadly the chance wasn't converted. Perhaps somewhat deflated, FC's energy levels waned and Brighton grabbed two late goals, including one from Man Of The Match (in my book) Bennett, leading to a slightly flattering scoreline.
Excluding a pitch invasion by a bunch of scallies at full time, which was deservedly met with shouts of 'wankers' from the rest of the crowd, it seemed a good time was had by all. Certainly by myself and my friend, and we reckon we'll be back sometime for a league game this season. OK, so the quality of football may be a far cry from the Premiership, but the atmosphere created by 7,000 had an edge and humour that's often lacking from crowds ten times that size at Old Trafford on many a day. I'm still not sure it could ever be a replacement for my love of the other United, no matter what level they may reach in the future, but I support what the club are trying to do and wish them nothing but good luck.
My own personal stance has been one of "good luck to them" while still maintaining a certain distance. Perhaps it was just laziness of not wanting to trail up to Bury for a "home" game, I can't say. But when a friend suggested we take a trip to see them play Brighton in a FA Cup 2nd round replay, I decided to make the effort. Yes, a glory hunting ,Johnny-come-Lately am I.
FC United's exploits in the cup have received a fair bit of media attention. Still a fair bit down the non-league ladder, they knocked out League One side Rochdale with a last minute winner in the previous round and a last-minute penalty save from Sam Ashton ensured they held on for a draw down in Brighton, despite being down to 10 men for a fair chunk of the game.
Fans of FC make a lot of their return to "real" football supporting: being able to stand up all game (despite Bury's Gigg Lane stadium being all-seater) along with your mates and have a proper sing-song without some over-zealous steward telling you to sit down and shut up. I'm glad to say this was the case last night - I was especially impressed with the song to tune of Anarchy In The UK that went "I am a FC Fan/I am a Mancunian/Know what I want, and I know how to get it/I wanna destroy/Glazer and Sky". Presumably it's just as well the game was transmitted live on ESPN, the proceeds helping the club raise the cash to construct their own home in Newton Heath, the birthplace of course of "big" United. A crowd of 7,000 will have helped on this front too.
As for the game itself - well, the old adage of "you never get two bites of the cherry" rang true for the most part. Brighton's professional status ensured their players appeared fitter and stronger and they dominated a lot of the possession. FC were never short of effort, however, and showed bits of class through the skill of winger Roca and forward Ben Deegan.
If one player seemed to be the undoing of FC, it was Brighton wideman Elliot Bennett, who teed up the first two goals, the second being a real sucker punch right before half-time. Till this point, United hadn't really challenged the Brighton keeper (who was serenaded with the chant 'You fat bastard' with every touch) but the second half saw them come close following a good move and then win a penalty following more good work from Deegan.
A goal here might have seen a dramatic final 20 minutes, but sadly the chance wasn't converted. Perhaps somewhat deflated, FC's energy levels waned and Brighton grabbed two late goals, including one from Man Of The Match (in my book) Bennett, leading to a slightly flattering scoreline.
Excluding a pitch invasion by a bunch of scallies at full time, which was deservedly met with shouts of 'wankers' from the rest of the crowd, it seemed a good time was had by all. Certainly by myself and my friend, and we reckon we'll be back sometime for a league game this season. OK, so the quality of football may be a far cry from the Premiership, but the atmosphere created by 7,000 had an edge and humour that's often lacking from crowds ten times that size at Old Trafford on many a day. I'm still not sure it could ever be a replacement for my love of the other United, no matter what level they may reach in the future, but I support what the club are trying to do and wish them nothing but good luck.
Monday, 6 December 2010
Tragic Figure
It's a habit of mine to get obsessed about things. Bands, football, games and so on. It may have happened again. Seeing a picture of a friend wearing a t-shirt featuring a cartoon head and the slogan 'The Mr. Bill Show', I wanted to find out what this meant.
What it was was a series of sketches that featured on Saturday Night Live throughout the late 70s staring the eponymous Mr. Bill, a play-doh figure created by one Walter Williams, whose attempts to do routine tasks were frustrated by the sadistic Mr. Hands, often ending in disaster for our hero and his dog Spot, leading to his catchphrase "ohhh nooooo!". The link below shows our man try to teach kids all about safety in and out of the home.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k78TVkbrHHM&feature=related
Now, I can't explain why I love this little guy so much, but I do. I think it's his sunny disposition despite his constant injury and mutilation, which made me want a Mr. Bill in my life. Searching online for help, I found a toy version of him is available, the blurb for which went: "Now you can relive the repeated mistreatment and destruction of this innocent with your very own Mr. Bill Bendable Figure. Smash him, crush him, bend him, and make his life miserable."
Well, I'm not going to stand for that. I've resolved to get me a Mr. Bill (which is proving tricky, as none of the retailers I've checked seem to ship to the UK) and show him the love and respect that he deserves after over 30 years of maltreatment.
What it was was a series of sketches that featured on Saturday Night Live throughout the late 70s staring the eponymous Mr. Bill, a play-doh figure created by one Walter Williams, whose attempts to do routine tasks were frustrated by the sadistic Mr. Hands, often ending in disaster for our hero and his dog Spot, leading to his catchphrase "ohhh nooooo!". The link below shows our man try to teach kids all about safety in and out of the home.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k78TVkbrHHM&feature=related
Now, I can't explain why I love this little guy so much, but I do. I think it's his sunny disposition despite his constant injury and mutilation, which made me want a Mr. Bill in my life. Searching online for help, I found a toy version of him is available, the blurb for which went: "Now you can relive the repeated mistreatment and destruction of this innocent with your very own Mr. Bill Bendable Figure. Smash him, crush him, bend him, and make his life miserable."
Well, I'm not going to stand for that. I've resolved to get me a Mr. Bill (which is proving tricky, as none of the retailers I've checked seem to ship to the UK) and show him the love and respect that he deserves after over 30 years of maltreatment.
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Drive, She Said
Though I generally like my video games to have a strong storyline and character development, I've always been a sucker for a good racing game. In the 80s, when I was a nipper, any holiday to Butlins for me was just an chance to beg my dad for some 20p pieces to have a blast on Out Run or Chase HQ.
What the arcade provided back then was far more colourful and high-octane thrills than could be had on your faithful Spectrum. The first racing game I remember was on the Speccy: Chequered Flag let you loose on a featureless track with no other drivers. Boring as hell, but cutting edge at the time. Later, we had gems like the conversions of Chase HQ and Stunt Car Racer to keep our inner speed demon satisfied.
But I digress. I always loved cars as a kid, so racing games were an obvious extension of that. To this day, I like my wheels, but have no idea how they work. All I know is that one pedal make car go faster, another make it slow down, the other change gear to help with the aforementioned two functions. So, as racing games have developed, so they have brought in the ability to tinker endlessly with gear ratios, brake management and all that guff.
Thankfully, we've also been given more arcade style racers to compensate. Out Run 2006: Coast2Coast on the Playstation 2 was an excellent updating of the classic format. More recently, both Burnout: Paradise and Midnight Club: Los Angeles have give me hours of racing fun, the latter especially due to it's 'real-world' cars and setting. They also took care to avoid any kind of in-depth story to the game, knowing the player just wants to drive very fast and dangerously. Need For Speed: Undercover hired actors to film cut-scenes to try and add some sense of drama to proceedings and fell flat on it's arse as a result: I don't care about ruthless mobsters and betrayal in a game like this. Just let me race a Porsche 911 at 150mph into oncoming traffic. Christina Milian did look lovely, though.
All of this is why I gave into temptation and tramped out into the ice yesterday to pick up Gran Turismo 5, a game that doesn't even bother with the pretext of a plot or any point except racing and getting more cars.
Initial impressions are that it looks amazing. It being some years since GT4 and while it doesn't seem an immediate quantum leap, the level of detail in the tracks shows just what the developers were doing all those times the release date was put back. Elsewhere, not much has changed about the core game, only that everything has been tweaked and worked on to make it better.
The addition of the Top Gear test track is a fun one too, especially when you're trying to race on it while driving a VW camper van that doesn't seem able to get about 60mph.
Where they have changed matters is a "level" system, where you gain points by doing well in races and earning new licenses. I can't quite see the point in this - I assume it's to make you go through the game 'properly' and to stop people spamming easy races until they get enough credit to buy the best cars.
The obvious flaw is the loading times, even after you spend an hour dumping a load of info onto your hard drive. Also, the music provided in game is a load of tosh, but that's purely a matter of taste and can be resolved by being able to select your own tunes, which is excellent but seems to take to feature a fatal bug that means the shuffle function doesn't work, meaning you have to manually pick a 'first' song everytime. Very, very annoying. Still, speeding down Le Mans in some fancy French sports car with Killing Joke's Love Like Blood in the background was a pleasing moment.
There was never any doubt that GT5 was going to sell by the ship-load and I'm sure Sony and the developers were overjoyed to get it into the shops before Christmas. I can't find a reason why this shouldn't be so: like it's predecessors, it's addictive playing and the realistic tone of the racing adds rather than takes away. I did find the go-karting very irritating, though - gimme monster trucks next time.
What the arcade provided back then was far more colourful and high-octane thrills than could be had on your faithful Spectrum. The first racing game I remember was on the Speccy: Chequered Flag let you loose on a featureless track with no other drivers. Boring as hell, but cutting edge at the time. Later, we had gems like the conversions of Chase HQ and Stunt Car Racer to keep our inner speed demon satisfied.
But I digress. I always loved cars as a kid, so racing games were an obvious extension of that. To this day, I like my wheels, but have no idea how they work. All I know is that one pedal make car go faster, another make it slow down, the other change gear to help with the aforementioned two functions. So, as racing games have developed, so they have brought in the ability to tinker endlessly with gear ratios, brake management and all that guff.
Thankfully, we've also been given more arcade style racers to compensate. Out Run 2006: Coast2Coast on the Playstation 2 was an excellent updating of the classic format. More recently, both Burnout: Paradise and Midnight Club: Los Angeles have give me hours of racing fun, the latter especially due to it's 'real-world' cars and setting. They also took care to avoid any kind of in-depth story to the game, knowing the player just wants to drive very fast and dangerously. Need For Speed: Undercover hired actors to film cut-scenes to try and add some sense of drama to proceedings and fell flat on it's arse as a result: I don't care about ruthless mobsters and betrayal in a game like this. Just let me race a Porsche 911 at 150mph into oncoming traffic. Christina Milian did look lovely, though.
All of this is why I gave into temptation and tramped out into the ice yesterday to pick up Gran Turismo 5, a game that doesn't even bother with the pretext of a plot or any point except racing and getting more cars.
Initial impressions are that it looks amazing. It being some years since GT4 and while it doesn't seem an immediate quantum leap, the level of detail in the tracks shows just what the developers were doing all those times the release date was put back. Elsewhere, not much has changed about the core game, only that everything has been tweaked and worked on to make it better.
The addition of the Top Gear test track is a fun one too, especially when you're trying to race on it while driving a VW camper van that doesn't seem able to get about 60mph.
Where they have changed matters is a "level" system, where you gain points by doing well in races and earning new licenses. I can't quite see the point in this - I assume it's to make you go through the game 'properly' and to stop people spamming easy races until they get enough credit to buy the best cars.
The obvious flaw is the loading times, even after you spend an hour dumping a load of info onto your hard drive. Also, the music provided in game is a load of tosh, but that's purely a matter of taste and can be resolved by being able to select your own tunes, which is excellent but seems to take to feature a fatal bug that means the shuffle function doesn't work, meaning you have to manually pick a 'first' song everytime. Very, very annoying. Still, speeding down Le Mans in some fancy French sports car with Killing Joke's Love Like Blood in the background was a pleasing moment.
There was never any doubt that GT5 was going to sell by the ship-load and I'm sure Sony and the developers were overjoyed to get it into the shops before Christmas. I can't find a reason why this shouldn't be so: like it's predecessors, it's addictive playing and the realistic tone of the racing adds rather than takes away. I did find the go-karting very irritating, though - gimme monster trucks next time.
Friday, 3 December 2010
Paper and Ink
I can't tell you exactly when I decided I wanted to be a journalist, but I can tell you why. It was because I was crap at football.
This was a conclusion I came too fairly early, probably around the age of seven or so. I was gangling, hopeless at just about all the basic skills except the ability to hit the ball very hard with my left foot. In hindsight, I should have stuck at it, as I can't have been any worse than some of the chancers who've been tried on the left wing for England over the last 20 years.
So, taking on a pragmatic attitude, I resolved to know more about football than anybody else at my school, which evolved into a desire to write about. The idea of being paid to be a footy journalist seemed pretty sound back then, so I ensured that every birthday and Christmas, I got at least one or two football stat books, which I'd pore over and have ensured that to this day I have an incredibly amount of useless information in my head. Outside the confines of a pub quiz, it's unlikely I'll ever need to know Alan Taylor scored both goals in West Ham's 2-0 victory over Fulham in the 1975 cup final.
What it did provide me with was something of a focus to get me through troubled teenage years. I needed to stick in at school to some degree, just so I could get to university to study Journalism. Somehow, despite a complete lack of interest in studying, I managed to get a place at a small university in the South of England.
Over three years, I learnt that I had neither the attitude not the application to crack the journo game. Even back then, the process of 'churnalism' was being taught in some form and the importance of toeing the line was emphasised. Don't be creative, don't be individual, do as you are told.
After graduation, I spent a long time on the dole applying for various jobs on papers and the like, to no joy. Eventually, I wound up in Manchester and while working the cricket ground job I wrote about recently, applied for a journalist job I saw in the local rag, thinking nothing of it. Instead, I got an interview, in which I got down to the last two. Bummer not getting it, but nice to get that close for the first time.
Some months later, out of work again and wondering what the fuck to do with my life, I was sat in the Castle pub, in Manchester's Northern Quarter, when the phone rang and I was asked to return to the aforementioned publishing company. I trooped up a couple of days later, if I remember right it was Valentine's Day, and talked to the publishing manager. I got the job.
The money was peanuts, it involved about three hours of bus journeys a day and there weren't many perks, but the point was that I was a fully paid up journalist. A professional writer, of sorts. It was the first of four major ambitions that I managed to fulfill between 2005-2007.
Seeing my name on a byline was a huge thrill, even if the stories were all on the business-to-business theme of the company's publications and extremely boring. But what made it worthwhile was that the production team (designers and editorial staff) were a great bunch of lads. It helped we were all, but one, United fans and it helped getting up at 6.30am knowing there might be a few laughs to have.
Over time, the crew was broken up due to frustrations with the directors and the chance to make a proper wage elsewhere. I hacked it for two years before my own frustrations spilled over. Despite the chance to take my manager's job and earn a bit more wedge, the workload seemed too much and I bailed.
I've been asked a few times whether I'll go back to the journo gig full-time, and it seems incredibly unlikely. I've been out of the game three years now, in an industry where contacts are everything. And I never really enjoyed the work anyways. The vast majority of hacks do batter farm work, endlessly knocking out passionless articles that are barely read. Much as this blog is probably read by about five people, it's giving me a much better sense of self-fulfillment.
This was a conclusion I came too fairly early, probably around the age of seven or so. I was gangling, hopeless at just about all the basic skills except the ability to hit the ball very hard with my left foot. In hindsight, I should have stuck at it, as I can't have been any worse than some of the chancers who've been tried on the left wing for England over the last 20 years.
So, taking on a pragmatic attitude, I resolved to know more about football than anybody else at my school, which evolved into a desire to write about. The idea of being paid to be a footy journalist seemed pretty sound back then, so I ensured that every birthday and Christmas, I got at least one or two football stat books, which I'd pore over and have ensured that to this day I have an incredibly amount of useless information in my head. Outside the confines of a pub quiz, it's unlikely I'll ever need to know Alan Taylor scored both goals in West Ham's 2-0 victory over Fulham in the 1975 cup final.
What it did provide me with was something of a focus to get me through troubled teenage years. I needed to stick in at school to some degree, just so I could get to university to study Journalism. Somehow, despite a complete lack of interest in studying, I managed to get a place at a small university in the South of England.
Over three years, I learnt that I had neither the attitude not the application to crack the journo game. Even back then, the process of 'churnalism' was being taught in some form and the importance of toeing the line was emphasised. Don't be creative, don't be individual, do as you are told.
After graduation, I spent a long time on the dole applying for various jobs on papers and the like, to no joy. Eventually, I wound up in Manchester and while working the cricket ground job I wrote about recently, applied for a journalist job I saw in the local rag, thinking nothing of it. Instead, I got an interview, in which I got down to the last two. Bummer not getting it, but nice to get that close for the first time.
Some months later, out of work again and wondering what the fuck to do with my life, I was sat in the Castle pub, in Manchester's Northern Quarter, when the phone rang and I was asked to return to the aforementioned publishing company. I trooped up a couple of days later, if I remember right it was Valentine's Day, and talked to the publishing manager. I got the job.
The money was peanuts, it involved about three hours of bus journeys a day and there weren't many perks, but the point was that I was a fully paid up journalist. A professional writer, of sorts. It was the first of four major ambitions that I managed to fulfill between 2005-2007.
Seeing my name on a byline was a huge thrill, even if the stories were all on the business-to-business theme of the company's publications and extremely boring. But what made it worthwhile was that the production team (designers and editorial staff) were a great bunch of lads. It helped we were all, but one, United fans and it helped getting up at 6.30am knowing there might be a few laughs to have.
Over time, the crew was broken up due to frustrations with the directors and the chance to make a proper wage elsewhere. I hacked it for two years before my own frustrations spilled over. Despite the chance to take my manager's job and earn a bit more wedge, the workload seemed too much and I bailed.
I've been asked a few times whether I'll go back to the journo gig full-time, and it seems incredibly unlikely. I've been out of the game three years now, in an industry where contacts are everything. And I never really enjoyed the work anyways. The vast majority of hacks do batter farm work, endlessly knocking out passionless articles that are barely read. Much as this blog is probably read by about five people, it's giving me a much better sense of self-fulfillment.
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