Unusual Games Ltd: Wednesday September 14th 1988

Fell in love on the bus with The Most Beautiful Girl in the World. She got on at Tesco’s and sat across from me. I kept stealing glances at her perfect profile to a Walkman soundtrack of Joe Strummer singing He’s in love with Janie Jones-woah. She doesn’t look like a Janie Jones (not that I know what a Janie Jones should look like). More like a Charlotte or an Angela (why them, I haven’t the foggiest). I got off at Shacklestone and TMBGitW stayed on the bus, no doubt heading for somewhere exotic, like Burton on Trent.
It’s weird, but for some inexplicable reason seeing TMBGitW has left me with an almost unbearable ache in my heart, a kind of longing for something I know I can’t have. I don’t know, maybe I’m going nuts…

><

Made a cup of Nescafé in the kitchen. One of Rex’s memos was Blue-Tacked to the wall:

Unusual Games Ltd.

We Play Further…

_______________________________________
Internal Memo: From the Desk of Rex Champion 7/9/88
To: All Employees
_______________________________________

We are not animals, but human beings. Unlike animals, we do not revel in our own slop. Therefore, as a human being and valued member of the Unusual Team, please ensure that this kitchen is left in a state of which your own (human) mothers would be proud.

Thank you.
Rex Champion

><

Went out for a solitary fag break and noticed that my smoking fingers are both stained yellow. I really must try and give up. Eventually. Random Thoughts:

• One day computer games will be just like real life, only more so
• Maybe I’m trapped in some kind of totally immersive computer game like the one in Red Dwarf and don’t realise it?
• If I am, indeed, trapped in a totally immersive computer game, it’s a pretty shitty one
• If Rex is a loony, what does that make me?
• Zelda is a crap name for a princess; sounds more like a cleaner
• Link is a crap name for a hero, even an elf hero – makes me think of sausages

><

Decided not to go for lunch with Phil, Nathan and especially not with Gaz. Went for a wander down to the Spar and bought a Pot Noodle, a pork pie, a bag of Walkers crisps, a Marathon (‘Internationally known as Snickers’) and a can of Pepsi. On the walk back I determined that I must keep The Right Attitude and make a success of myself at Unusual Games Ltd.

><

Gaz is blanking me. I’d just completed a dungeon in The Legend of Zelda and was stretching my legs by walking around the studio. I stopped off at Gaz’s desk and peered over his shoulder at what he was working on. Gaz was flicking a sheet of tracing paper back and forth on his light box so he could see how two frames of the ‘cool’ kid character for Jumpsterz were working out. Like most of the Graphic Artists in the studio, he was listening to his Walkman and I could hear the tinny rage of a thrash metal band coming from his headphones. I tapped his arm and he glanced up momentarily, his eyes tired and red-rimmed, before returning to his tracing paper flicking. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I shrugged nonchalantly and went back to my desk. But inside I was all churned up and my ears were burning. I wondered what I’d done to make him act that way. Over at his desk by the window, I noticed Mold glance towards me. Before I could look away, he caught me in his beady gaze. “Can I have a word, Tom?” he asked, a dubious half-smile curling the corners of his thin, cruel mouth.

Jargon Note: In computer game parlance, a dungeon is any game location where various traps and puzzles must be overcome by the player in order to progress further.

><

I followed Mold into the Company Boardroom just off Reception. I was really nervous, my head was all hot and my heart was hammering like a bastard. Which annoyed me, because I really shouldn’t be afraid of a little twat like Mold. He sat down at the head of the long boardroom table, leaned forward and steepled his nail-bitten fingers in front of his sneery gob. For comedic effect, I thought about sitting all the way over at the opposite end of the table, but in the end I sat down adjacent to him.
“Is there a problem, Bob?” I asked.
Mold didn’t answer my question, instead he came directly to the point. “You’re currently on a one-month trial period,” he said. “Which means that if you don’t work out, you’ll get your P45. What this really means is, if I, as the Graphical Supervisor, don’t think you’re working out, it’ll be me handing you your P45.” He grinned and I noticed that he had what looked like partially chewed Rice Krispies jammed between his front teeth. “Is that clear, Tom?”
I nodded. “Perfectly, Bob.” And had a momentary fantasy of grabbing his greasy, acne-riddled head and slamming it face-first on to the table.
“Good.” He sat back in his chair, the leatherette seat making a low farting noise. “Now, I’ve spoken to Dick and he agrees with me, so as of today you’ll be working on MonsterTruckz. Dick and I want you to design the splash screen.” I’ve always had a problem with certain people in authority. I hate it when someone who I have no respect for tells me to do something, even if I actually want to do that thing. It was like a small, red cartoon devil had suddenly sprung up on my left shoulder. Go on, urged the little devil, have a bit of fun with this pompous idiot, you know you want to…
“So, you’ve spoken to Dick, then? About this?” I inquired.
“Yes, I’ve spoken to Dick and he agrees with me.”
“He agrees with you about my working on MonsterTruckz?”
“Yes, Dick agrees with me.”
“Good. I’m glad Dick agrees with you.”
“Dick agrees with me.”
I nodded sincerely. “Dick agrees with you about MonsterTruckz.”
“Yes. Dick agrees.” The idiot was so self-involved he was oblivious of the piss-take. I’m sure I could’ve carried it on for much longer without Mold realising what I was doing, but even I was tiring of the silliness.
“Okay, then,” I said. “As long as Dick agrees.”
“Oh, yes, Dick agrees with me.”
“Okay, then.”
Mold stood up. “So, if you speak to Nathan, he’ll sort you out with what you need.”
“Okay, as long as you and Dick agree.”
“Dick and I are in complete agreement.” I started to rise and Mold paused at the door. “Oh, and Tom,” he said, as if what he was about to say was merely an afterthought. I raised my eyebrows expectantly. Mold turned to face me, his sneery smile on his sore-spattered face. “Don’t ever tell me to fuck off or call me a twat again.”
I felt suitably chastised.

><

Nathan seemed only too eager to help. He showed me where the stationery cupboard is and the map chest containing the sheets of tracing paper I’ll need. “Best thing is to do a few sketches of the screen first and then run them past Dick for his approval,” Nathan explained, his magnified eyes huge and scary behind his bottle-bottom lenses. “Once you’ve got Dick’s approval, show Mold and when he approves the wrong sketch, which he always does, say something like, ‘Oh, Dick liked this one.’ Then he’ll tell you that, of course, he meant that one, and away you go.” He winked with one huge eye and handed me a fistful of Magic Markers (basically, fancy American felt pens). “Any problems, give me a shout.”
I was still concerned about why Gaz had blanked me earlier and I asked Nathan if he thought there was anything I’d done to piss him off. “Well, it could be the fact that you’ve transplanted him as Dick’s favourite,” Nathan suggested. This was news to me and I said so (I didn’t say how gay it sounded, because I wasn’t sure of Nathan’s sexual tendencies and I didn’t want to insult him). “The new boys are always Dick’s favourites,” Nathan explained. “Gaz was the new boy before you arrived and he isn’t anymore, so I guess he’s jealous.” “But, Dick hasn’t shown any particular favouritism to me,” I said. “Well, the rumour is that he has.” “Like what?” “Like he wants you and him to work on Project X together once the barn’s been renovated and fitted.” ><><><

Decided I really must unpack the rest of my stuff and then give the flat a good clean. Another example of The Right Attitude I’m employing in all areas of my life.

Got sidetracked while unpacking my books. Every time I got a book out that I remembered fondly, I ended up reading a chapter or two. After one and a half hours I’d only managed to unpack five books: The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, The Magus by John Fowles, The Dead Zone by Stephen King and Red Dragon by Thomas Harris.

Went out for a pizza and ended up getting fish and chips instead because of the queue at Gino’s. Managed to smoke three Marlboro Lights in the time it took to get back to the flat – a walk of no more than ten minutes. That’s 3.3 (recurring) minutes per cigarette. Might be a world record.

While eating I listened to a compilation cassette entitled ‘Tom’s Faves’. Running order as follows:

1. THAT’S ENTERTAINMENT – The Jam
2. SPANISH BOMBS – The Clash
3. UP THE JUNCTION – Squeeze
4. WISH YOU WERE HERE – Pink Floyd
5. EVERY STEP YOU TAKE – The Police
6. FIVE YEARS – David Bowie
7. LITTLE GREEN – Joni Mitchell
8. BABA O’RILEY – The Who
9. KASHMIR – Led Zeppelin
10. ZADOK the Priest – Handel
11. BOHEMIAN RHAPSODY – Queen
12. HOTEL CALIFORNIA – The Eagles
13. BRASS IN POCKET – The Pretenders
14. PERFECT DAY – Lou Reed
15. THIS CHARMING MAN – The Smiths
16. THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN – Thin Lizzy
17. BROWN EYED GIRL – Van Morrison
18. THE END – The Doors

Halfway through Every Step You Take by The Police, I was blubbing into my fish and chips. The song reminded me of Laura. It was Our Song. With my eyes full of tears, I popped the cassette out of the stereo and chucked it in the bin. Then I went to the fridge, got out four cans of Heineken, switched on the TV and drank myself into a stupor.

Unusual Games Ltd: Tuesday September 13th 1988

Woke up from a really strange dream involving two watermelons and a bottle of Johnson’s baby oil.
Rolling over, I squinted at the bedside clock and saw that it was 1:08 a.m. I wondered why I had woken up. The street outside was quiet and the flat wasn’t overly hot or cold. I was suddenly wide-awake and switched on the BBC World Service as I usually did in such circumstances.
The snootily named Hurricane Gilbert, which had already devastated Jamaica causing millions of pounds worth of damage, was now heading for Mexico, no doubt to cause millions more pounds worth of damage. I was totally gutted to hear that Roger Hargreaves, author and illustrator of the Mr. Men books, died of a stroke two days ago at the relatively young age of 53. This, of course, got me thinking about my own mortality. As I lay there in bed in the dark I calculated how much time I had left if I managed to live as long as Roger Hargreaves.

53yrs – 27yrs = 26yrs

Which means that I have less time left than I’ve already lived. This depressed me no end and I spent the rest of the early morning hours planning what I needed to do over the next 26 years in order of priority:

MY 26-YEAR-PLAN

1. Find and marry soulmate by age 28
2. Have 1 child (boy) by age 29
3. Make first million by age 30 (no need to learn to drive because will have chauffer by 30)
4. Write Great British Novel by age 30 (start writing Great British Novel by age 28)
5. Have first major retrospective exhibition in the Tate by age 31 (start painting pictures for exhibition at age 28)
6. Have 2 children (boy and girl) by age 31
7. Buy mansion in Hertfordshire & second home in Miami by age 31
8. Retire age 31
9. Meet 2nd soulmate on Miami beach & divorce 1st soulmate by age 32
10. Live with (but not marry) 2nd soulmate by age 33
11. Live happily ever after for next 70 years, by which time someone will have invented a cure for death

><

The bus was late and Dick spotted me creeping into the studio at 9:03 a.m. He frowned when he saw me and I quickly got to work playing Super Mario Bros. to stop myself from worrying about what he thinks of me arriving three minutes late for work on my second day.
Dick’s desk is in a kind of alcove between the Graphic Artists’ Studio and the Research Library. His desk is twice as big as anyone else’s and he has room in the alcove for a sofa and a large TV. The sofa faces a big window with a view across the fields. On the left hand wall is a bookcase.
It’s obvious that Dick’s hero is George Lucas because the entire upper shelf is dedicated to his life and the films he’s made. The middle shelf is full of art books, magazines and periodicals, while the bottom two shelves are stacked with books on a wide variety of subjects: arcade games of the 1970s, pinball machines, a history of modern cinema, pin-up girls of the 1940s & 50s, a biography of Hugh Hefner, glamour photography, travel guides on Las Vegas, Miami, New York, Chicago and Los Angeles, a book about American automobiles, a glossy coffee-table book about Nazi symbolism, J. G. Frazier’s ‘The Golden Bough’ (illustrated), the Lord of the Rings, every single one of Robert E. Howard’s ‘Conan’ novels, a good-eating guide for Dallas, a book about thoroughbred horses, another about dog-breeding, a biography of Margaret Thatcher, a book about transsexualism, and many more.
On the wall to the right of the window are three pictures. One is of a pretty young blonde curled up on a black satin sheet wearing nothing but a lacy bra and a pair of silk stockings, painted in the style of a 1940s pin-up. The second picture is a slick airbrushed rendition of a gleaming, red Ferrari with the number plate CH8MP1. The third picture is of a sleek black mare, painted in the style of Stubbs. All three pictures are dated 1985 and are signed Dick Champion.
There is a single, gilt-framed photograph on Dick’s obsessively tidy desk. A portrait of his two-year-old daughter, Valerie. She’s frowning at the camera, or someone/something off-camera, and looks very much like her father, with the white-blonde hair and angry blue eyes of an Aryan poster-child.
I get the feeling that Dick Champion is a fascinating and complex guy. I think he may be a genius.

><

Had lunch at the Rabbit’s Arms with Phil, Gaz and Nathan. We discussed the latest episode of Red Dwarf where the characters played an advanced computer game called ‘Better Than Life’, which made everyone’s dreams a reality.

We all compared our own dreams:
GAZ: To never have to friggin’ work again and own a really, really successful club in Liverpool managed by Page 3 girls (to which Phil commented: “I can’t imagine it being a very successful club if it was managed by Page 3 girls…” Gaz: “Some Page 3 girls are really friggin’ clever; they’re not all stupid, you know.” We all begged to differ.)
PHIL: To own my own incredibly successful glamour-modelling agency, marry an incredibly stupid Page 3 girl and have lots of great sex.
NATHAN: To run a dog’s home and marry my Junior School sweetheart.
ME: To be rich, happy and live forever.

2:08 P.M.

Gave up on Super Mario Bros. It’s just too damn hard!

2:11 P.M.

Started playing The Legend of Zelda (recommended by Phil as the greatest game EVER and apparently designed by the same guy who did Super Mario Bros .).

3:10 P.M.

Still playing Legend of Zelda. Completely hooked.

4:00 P.M.

Link is a badass elf.

5:00 P.M.

This game is bloody HUGE!

><

Just missed the 6:05 bus because I’m still exploring Hyrule with Link, searching for the eight pieces of the Triforce of Wisdom. The last bus to Rearton-de-la-Gauche is at 8:20 p.m. and if I miss it I’m here for the night (which might not be a bad thing since I was a bit late for work this morning).
The Legend of Zelda is a very different game from the others I’ve played. For a start, it’s completely immersive; time ceases to have any meaning while you’re playing it. Secondly, you can wander with comparative freedom throughout the game’s environment and explore it to your heart’s content, discovering secrets, collecting treasure from dungeons and battling all kinds of monsters. I’d love to come up with a game like this, a game with such variety of interactions and activities. Perhaps, one day, I will.

Jargon Note:
The Legend of Zelda is played in top down perspective, a view that shows the player’s character and the world around it from above.

><

Managed to get a lift home with Gaz who was working late. He’s the Lead Animator on the Jumpsterz game and it’s his job to make the ‘cool’ kid main character come to life.
Gaz isn’t a happy camper at the moment and I think he agreed to give me a lift just so he could have someone to rant at. It started as soon as we got into his ancient Triumph Stag: “I’ve argued with Dick until I’m blue in the friggin’ face about the bloody backwards baseball cap,” Gaz began, his Scouse accent thickening as the rant went on. “Everyone knows it’s not cool – except for Dick. But will he listen? My arse. It was the same with that stupid little astro-kid-wanker in MoonRocket Kidz. The bloody backwards baseball cap’s a friggin’ cliché; it’s what businessmen like Dick think is cool. Like U-bloody-2. All them businessmen are listening to U2 on their Walkmans or in-car stereos. They think U2 is cool, just like they think backwards friggin’ baseball caps are cool. But friggin’ U2’s about as cool as my mother’s arse!”
I felt compelled to defend Dick in the face of this verbal barrage (if not Gaz’s poor mother’s chilly backside), but the compulsion swiftly left me. I didn’t want Gaz to think I was a brown-nosing creep, or punch me in the face. Or both. And anyway, he was driving me home. The least I could do was listen to his rants.
“And another thing,” he continued, slapping the steering wheel angrily to accentuate his point. “What is it with that friggin’ brother of his?”
He glared at me, daring me to respond, the pockmarks on his forehead deepening into abyssal tunnels leading to his furious brain. I asked him if he meant Rex Champion.
Another angry slap for the poor steering wheel. The Triumph veered slightly, almost knocking over a cyclist riding without lights. “Rex, yes – who the fuck else?”
“What’s wrong with him?” I inquired.
“He’s a friggin’ loony, that’s what! Thing is, he used to be a bloody nice bloke, would actually come out with us to the pub and that. But lately no-one’s seen him. He hides away all day up in his flat on the top floor and we just get these weird friggin’ memos dropped from on high.” (Here Gaz adopted his version of a ‘posh’ accent) “‘I would like to remind everyone that our operating hours are 9:00 a.m. to 6:00 p.m.’ … ‘I’m sure everyone realises that the toilets must be left in the state that you found them’ … ‘Please ensure that all coffee mugs and utensils are returned to the kitchen at the end of each working day.’” Another slap to the steering wheel and the car veered again, this time knocking over a couple of traffic cones. “I mean, who the friggin’ hell does he think he is now? Lord friggin’ God Almighty?”
“Well, he is the boss…” I said in a small voice.
"I’ve had about all I can friggin’ take from the bloody Champion Brothers!” Gaz roared. “They can go friggin’ fuck themselves!”
I shielded my eyes as the car swerved to avoid a green VW Beetle, mounted the pavement, knocked over a waste bin, scattered several punters outside the Jade Garden and came to rest below my flat.
“See you tomorrow, mate,” Gaz said sweetly and slightly breathlessly as he reached across and opened the door for me.
Shaking like a leaf, I staggered from the car and at the same time vowed never to take up Gaz’s offer of a lift ever again.
In the future, if I miss the last bus, I’ll cadge a lift from someone else. Or walk. Or learn to drive. Or sleep at my desk. Anything but spend a hair-raising, rant-filled fifteen minutes in a car with Gaz. Anything.

><

Switched on the TV and collapsed on the sofa. Was asleep in seconds. Dreamt I was Princess Zelda and Dick Champion was Link, armed with a sword and come to save me from a dragon with Gaz’s face…
Awoke at 9:52 P.M. dazed and confused.
The phone was ringing and I managed to stagger across to it, stumbling over my Den of Boxes as I did so. It was my Mum wondering how I was doing. I said fine. She said good I’m glad. I asked how she was. She said her back was playing up again. I said oh no. She said we all have our crosses to bear. I said we do and how’s Dad? She said he’s fine, looking forward to Christmas. I said it’s only September and he’s looking forward to Christmas? She said yes dear and you how are you doing? I said I’m fine again. She said good I’m glad and the job? How’s that going? I said really well. She said I’m sure it’ll be a good stopgap before you get a proper job. I said it is a proper job, they pay me and everything – well, not yet, but they will at the end of the month – seven thousand five hundred pounds a year I’ll get. She said that’s nice dear. I said yes it is. She said well I’m glad you’re happy and things are going well. I said I’m not happy but things are going pretty well. She said that’s good. I said goodbye Mum. She said bye Tom and blew a kiss down the phone before hanging up.
I put down the receiver and immediately felt like crying, overcome by a crushing sense of loneliness. My mother always seems to have that effect on me. I looked around at my sad little flat, the sink full of dirty dishes, the empty takeaway cartons, beer cans, overflowing ashtray, portable telly. And I thought, is this it? Is this all I’ve managed to achieve after three years at Slough Polytechnic and a degree in Vocational Arts? I missed my friends back home in Woking, my friends from Poly, even Laura my ex-girlfriend who left me for that loser resident deejay at the Liquid Club in Staines. The glass is always half-empty with me.
At that moment my academic achievements and in particular, my degree, seemed completely useless. Except, my degree was the reason I got the job at Unusual Games Ltd. in the first place. Dick had seemed really impressed when he’d read my CV during my interview.
“We don’t have anyone working at Unusual Games Ltd. with a degree,” he’d told me.
I thought back to what Dick had said to me on my first day, about how I had The Right Attitude, and that lifted my spirits a bit. Wiping my eyes, I switched off the TV and went into the bedroom.
Outside the window a couple of drunks were shouting at each other. I took off my clothes, chucked them in the corner, padded into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. I looked like shit in the mirror. I have a shit degree and live in shithole flat. But at least I have a job now.
At least I have The Right Attitude.

Unusual Games Ltd: Monday September 12th 1988

Nobody Knows Anything.

William Goldman

geek noun; probably from English dialect geek, geck fool, from Low German geck, from Middle Low German; date 1914; 1 : a carnival performer often billed as a wild man whose act usually includes biting the head off a live chicken or snake; 2 : a person often of an intellectual bent who is disliked; 3 : an enthusiast or expert especially in a technological field or activity

Merriam-Webster’s Online Dictionary

I’m twenty-seven years old and I’ve never played a computer game. Arcade games, yes – Space Invaders, Galaxian, Missile Command, PacMan and Asteroids. But I’ve never even touched a keyboard, let alone a joypad for the 8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System. So when Dick, the younger Champion brother and co-founder of Unusual Games Ltd., handed me his joypad, I was actually quite excited.
As I was trying to work out the correct way to hold it, Dick gave me a brief overview of computer games. For example, he told me that:
“Pixel is short for ‘Picture Element’; every character and background in a game is made up of pixels…”
and what ‘gameplay’ is:
“It’s what the player does in a game…”
and his thoughts on ‘The Future’:
“I believe that computer games will get more and more popular…”

Jargon Note:
Bit is short for ‘binary digit’, a basic unit of information storage in computing; 8-bit, as in the ‘8-bit Nintendo Entertainment System’, refers to the processor used in that games machine.

><

It was my first day at Unusual Games Ltd., and Dick Champion and I were sitting at my desk in the Graphic Artists’ studio surrounded by ten or so Graphic Artists, every single one of whom appeared to suffer from a different kind of skin disease. I myself have suffered from recurrent bouts of eczema all my life, so I felt immediately at home and was left wondering whether a skin disease is a prerequisite for employment as a Graphic Artist at Unusual Games Ltd.
Dick Champion is about the same age as me* and he’s a Graphic Artist, too, although he doesn’t sport any visible signs of a skin disease. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt with gold cufflinks and a paisley tie. His trousers have knife-edge creases and his brown brogues have been polished to a gleaming shine. He’s about my height, but he’s slightly overweight with the blond hair and scarily pale blue eyes of a Nazi SS officer. In spite of this, he appears to be quite friendly.
“…And one day, maybe in about five years, computer games will be as popular as TV–” Dick intoned, completing his Vision Of The Future, “–and porn,” he added as a slightly incongruous afterthought, his blue eyes glazing over. “They might even be as popular as porn…”
I was impressed. I’d never met a true visionary before.
Dick nodded slowly, ruminatively, his eyes continuing to glaze over. He was obviously still thinking about computer games as porn. To snap him out of his reverie, I tried to switch on the Nintendo Entertainment System (which everyone calls the ‘NESS’, like it’s a loch in Scotland) sitting like a utilitarian, grey, Japanese Pandora’s Box on my desk. Unfortunately, I was unable to find the on switch and scrabbled around for a bit until Dick noticed and clicked his tongue admonishingly but not unkindly.
“You really are a videogame virgin, aren’t you?” he said good naturedly, reaching out with a well-manicured finger and deftly flicking the NESS’s on switch.
I sniggered nervously. It was my first day at the company and I didn’t want everyone to find out how much of a fool I was just yet. Over by the window, a diminutive man-boy with a greasy brush-cut and appalling acne, wearing a sweater with a large grey check, brand new jeans and white high-top trainers, sniggered along with me. At least, that was what I thought he was doing…
Dick Champion rose languidly from his chair and patted me patronisingly on my already balding head. “Spend the rest of the day playing games. And don’t worry, Tom, you’ll soon pick it up,” he said, yet I could tell by the note of warning in his voice that if I didn’t pick it up very quickly, my days at Unusual Games were numbered.

Jargon Note:
The Nintendo Entertainment System (N.E.S.), known in Japan as the ‘Famicom’, is a games console, a machine dedicated solely to playing videogames (as opposed to a personal computer, which can be used to perform other tasks such as word processing).

*At my job interview, Dick informed me that the average age at Unusual Games Ltd. is 27; the oldest employee is Dick’s father, who is 53, while the youngest, a Games Tester, is 17.

><

Geographical Observations:
Unusual Games Ltd. is located in the village of Shacklestone, deep in the heart of the flat patchwork of fields and trees known as the Leicestershire countryside, smack bang in the middle of the patchwork of fields, trees, hills, houses, skyscrapers and motorways known as the United Kingdom.
The offices of Unusual Games Ltd. are situated at Shirehall Farm, in a big, renovated farmhouse dating from the 18th century. The farmhouse overlooks a main road and is set in twelve acres of pastureland with a wood on its northern edge. To one side of the farmhouse is a large courtyard surrounded by various outbuildings. The courtyard is used as a car park by the various Graphic Artists, Software Engineers, Games Testers and Support Staff employed by Unusual Games Ltd.
The farmhouse and courtyard are enclosed by a tall, redbrick wall topped with broken glass. A narrow door in the wall opens on to the main road. Security cameras and lights are fixed to the four corners of the courtyard. The farmhouse’s main entrance is up a flight of stone steps leading from the courtyard. There is a security light above the door and an intercom box fixed to the wall on the right. The intercom is connected to the Administration Office on the first floor.
The Reception area has two tall windows overlooking the courtyard. The wall opposite the windows is covered in posters advertising Unusual Games Ltd’s hit computer games, several framed awards and four photographs of a German Shepherd called Gunther. There is a leather sofa beneath the windows facing the posters, awards and photos of Gunther. There is no Reception Desk.
From Reception, a door opens out into a short hallway with a window at the far end. To the left are the stairs leading up to the first floor where the Administration Office, Games Testing Office and Meeting Rooms are located. To the right is a door opening out into the Graphic Artists’ studio. A second door in Reception leads to the Company Boardroom, where there is a door in the back marked PRIVATE AUTHORISED STAFF ONLY, which opens out into a small room with closed circuit TV monitors displaying various views of the courtyard. A third door in Reception opens on to a short flight of stairs leading down to the cellar where the Hardware Workshop and Kitchen are located.

Jargon Note:
A Games Tester is a school-leaver who probably thought that getting paid a paltry sum for playing games all day would be a fun way to make a living. Most Games Testers I know soon change their minds and leave after about a month to go and get a job that’s more fulfilling, like working in a factory or a building site.

><

During a cigarette break on the street outside the farmhouse (smoking has been banned throughout Shirehall Farm by Dick’s obsessively health-conscious and mysterious older brother, Rex), I got chatting to a fellow smoker called Phil, a grizzled, bearded and bespectacled ex-Disney animator of 32 with the most awful scalp-based psoriasis I have ever seen.
Phil told me that the Champion Brothers had bought Shirehall Farm and its twelve acres of land following the success of their third computer game, Fightlaw, and a purchase of a stake in Unusual Games Ltd., by the Japanese computer games giant, Nintendo.
“Before then, Dick and Rex had been making games solely for the Spectrum*,” Phil explained winsomely, a gust of autumn wind causing a small snowstorm to swirl across his shoulders. “Fightlaw was their first NESS game.”
Phil can list every single one of the Champion Brothers’ games in chronological order:

Thrustbagz
Fzzzzt!
PanzPro
Bizkit
BasementBlast
MoonrocketKidz
SwordFoxx
Subterror
Fightlaw
ET7
PistolScare
Hexagram

Phil’s a big fan of the Champion Brothers. And he really fancies the solitary Champion Sister, Gayle, who I haven’t met yet.
“At the moment I’m animating the main sprites in PowaKillaz,” Phil explained, taking a last deep drag on his rollie. He looked suddenly glum. “It’s a long way from Disney.”

Jargon Note:
A sprite is an animated image comprised of pixels.

*The ‘ZX Spectrum’, to give it its proper title (affectionately known as the ‘Speccy’), was a home computer released in the UK on the 23rd April 1982 by the British inventor Clive Sinclair.

><

Spent the past hour following the boss’s orders and playing a game called Flower Jam Ninjaz. Once I managed to get the joypad the right way round, I actually started making some progress. The game involves jumping a little girl made out of flowers across a number of moving platforms. If you miss-time the jumps, the little flower girl plunges into a sea of bubbling lava the colour of Bird’s custard. A series of tinny-sounding bloops and blurps announces her demise, and petals from her head rise forlornly to the surface of the lava.
The artwork (collectively termed ‘graphics’) is really crude and the animation even cruder. Also, the gameplay is very repetitive – steer and jump, steer and jump – moving left to right across the screen. I kept wondering what my motivation was, especially when I finished the first level of the game and a bunch of Japanese writing appeared across a badly-rendered picture of a castle made out of what looked like bars of worn soap.
I was just figuring out what I had to do next, and more importantly, why, when I heard a familiar sniggering behind me. It was the diminutive man-boy with the brush-cut and appalling acne.
“Flower Jam Ninjaz, eh?” he said, the derisory nasality of his voice grating on my nerves. “I racked up 15,000 points in the first twenty minutes,” he crowed while pointing accusingly at my own obviously desultory score at the top of the screen. “You only got 1200!” He let out a braying laugh and cast around the room with his piggy eyes for approval. None was forthcoming.
I admit I was really shocked by his behaviour. This is my first ‘proper’ job and I’d expected a higher degree of professionalism. The last time I’d been exposed to this kind of sneering, childish one-upmanship had been in the school playground. I was better than this. I was a grown up and would behave in a professional manner. So, taking the moral high ground, I twisted round in my chair and smiled up at him.
“Fuck off, twat,” I said.
Of course, I’d made a terrible mistake in saying this. The diminutive man-boy with the brush-cut and appalling acne is called Bob Mold. And Bob Mold, it transpires, is my Supervisor.

Jargon Note:
The term graphics comprises all of the artwork in a game, including characters and backgrounds.

><

In a nearby pub, the Rabbit’s Arms, I sat and drank bitter shandy with Phil and his psoriasis. We’d been given a lift to the pub by another Graphic Artist called Gaz, a ginger-haired, angry-looking Scouser with acne scars pocking his high forehead. Gaz has a ponytail, which in my experience marks him out as trouble. Or maybe it’s just that he can’t be bothered to get a haircut.
“Not a particularly good start,” Phil commented, just about stifling a laugh that I hoped wasn’t at my expense.
Gaz raised his pint of lager in a toast to me. “I believe in calling a twat a friggin’ twat.”
I said how amazed I was that Mold hadn’t reprimanded me, had simply sneered and returned to his desk. Phil explained that at Unusual Games Ltd., nobody was ever reprimanded.
“They just move your desk into the cupboard,” Phil said.
I laughed.
“No, really,” Phil insisted. “They move you into the cupboard at the top of the stairs on the first floor.”
“They hope you get the idea you’re not friggin’ wanted and just leave,” Gaz added.
Phil sipped his shandy. “Saves on payouts for unlawful dismissal.”
We spent the rest of our lunch hour talking about the forthcoming Summer Olympics in Seoul, a subject I have absolutely no interest in whatsoever. Gaz managed to down three pints of lager to my single bitter shandy. He didn’t eat anything and was definitely slightly pissed when we piled into his car. All the same, we only mounted the pavement twice on the journey back to the office.

><

I am Unusual Games Ltd. employee #25. I sit at a desk on the ground floor of the farmhouse in the Graphic Artists’ studio. The carpet is light green and dappled with mysterious brown stains. There is a single window with a view across the fields. To my right is a wall with an old-fashioned radiator. Mounted above this is a poster of Samantha Fox in a silver bikini.
Directly across from me is another desk occupied by a tall, thin Graphic Artist by the name of Nathan. He suffers from seborrheic dermatitis and is so long-sighted he not only needs glasses with bottle-bottom lenses but a desk-sized magnifying glass to do his work. Beneath the glass is an enormous sheet of tracing paper. The tracing paper has a large grid drawn on it in black felt pen and Nathan is colouring in the grid with several different coloured markers. I can just about see the picture Nathan is creating on the grid. It’s the opening illustration for the PowaKillaz game. Nathan tells me that this kind of illustration is known as a ‘splash screen’ and in this instance it shows the game’s title in large, bloody letters above two monstrous men squaring up to each other.

Jargon Note:
The splash screen is an illustration that appears at the beginning of a computer game and invariably incorporates the game’s title.

><

I got lost on my way to the toilet and inadvertently wandered into the office where the Software Engineers are based. This is a large room at the back of the farmhouse with several young men hunched behind personal computers. Each one of them stares so intently at his screen that it looks as if he is trying to mesmerise it. Each one of them sports a hairstyle that went out with Led Zeppelin. Each one of them looks like he needs a good wash.
The dress code runs to two extremes, either Goth Black (black teeshirt and black jeans) or shirt and tie. There is no middle ground as far as body weight is concerned; each and every Software Engineer is either grossly overweight or dangerously underweight (and for some reason the shirt and tie brigade are the underweight ones). Empty pizza boxes and Coke cans litter every surface. The walls are plastered in posters advertising Japanese computer games, invariably displaying disturbing animé girl-women with unfeasibly large breasts. The room is eerily silent and stinks of B.O., farts and stale food. The silence is interrupted by the occasional burst of rapid typing.
No-one acknowledged my presence even when I asked where the toilet was. But at least they don’t have skin diseases.

Jargon Note:
Software Engineer is basically a more important-sounding title for ‘programmer’ or ‘coder’, i.e., a person who writes the instructions in a language (or ‘code’) the computer understands in order for that computer to carry out certain functions.

><

Super Mario Bros. is by far the best game I’ve played on the NESS, it beats Flower Jam Ninjaz hands down. I’ve fallen in love with the tiny Italian plumber. Even for a paltry little sprite, Mario’s got so much character, and I adore the joyful music and sound effects.
Dick checked in to see how I was getting on. He had Gayle, the solitary Champion Sister with him. I noticed Phil over in the corner going all moon-eyed when she appeared. Gayle’s lovely. Blue-eyed and blonde with curves in all the right places. Her only drawback is her voice. High-pitched and far too girly like she’s got to flaunt her femininity in the all-male environment of Unusual Games Ltd.
“Oh, I love this game,” she twittered when she saw what I was playing. “Mario’s so cute!”
Over in the corner I heard Phil give a sigh heavy with suppressed desire.
Dick shot him a withering glare before introducing me. “Gayle, this is Tom. It’s his first day at the company.”
“What do you do, Tom?” Gayle squeaked.
I couldn’t help but notice that her breasts were almost as unfeasible as those of the animé girl-women adorning the Software Engineers’ office.
“I’m a Graphic Artist,” I announced proudly.
“Gayle does all our music,” Dick explained. “She’s a composer and the only female in the company.”
Gayle giggled, her breasts jiggling delightfully. Phil sighed again; quieter this time.
“The only female apart from, Sandra and Claire in the office. Oh, and Trixie, of course,” Gayle corrected.
A cloud seemed to pass across Dick’s eyes. “Yes. Trixie.”
“Who’s Trixie?” I asked.
Dick’s nostrils flared. “My wife,” he said and turned smartly away.
I watched him stride purposefully to the door and wondered why he’d reacted as he did when I asked about his wife.
“Nice to meet you, Tom,” Gayle chirped and followed her brother from the room.
When she was gone all ten Graphic Artists let out a collective groan.
“Everyone wants to shag Gayle,” announced Gaz hopefully.
“And everyone wants to shag Trixie, too,” said Nathan in a low voice.
Another collective groan.
“No-one would dare try,” Phil remarked. “Dick wouldn’t just fire them, he’d kill them first.”
“And then he’d fire them,” chipped in a short, squat Graphic Artist with patches of erythroderma on both cheeks.
Everyone laughed except for Mold.

><

I don’t currently have a girlfriend and I discovered that the same is true for the majority of Graphic Artists at Unusual Games Ltd. Only Gaz is in a relationship, though this is with the barmaid at the Rabbit’s Arms. Apparently, Phil was married to an American girl when he worked at Disney but she left him for a bloke who was paid to dress up as Pluto at the Disneyland theme park. Nathan told everyone he once had a girlfriend at Junior School. When Phil asked Mold if he was seeing anyone, Mold told him to shut-up and get on with his work.
No-one has kids – “Not that I friggin’ know of anyway,” Gaz sniggered – and no-one appears to want any either. Which is surprising since kids are our customers.
I myself would really like to settle down one day. Tomorrow would be good.

><

I wonder what game I’ll be working on?
There are currently four games on the go at Unusual Games Ltd:

1. PowaKillaz – a fighting game
2. Monster Truckz Off-Road Racing – a racing game with big trucks
3. Jumpsterz – a platform game (similar to Flower Jam Ninjaz but with green lava and a ‘cool’ kid character)
4. Project X – which nobody knows much about (apparently, Dick and Rex have been working on it in secret)

With regards to Project X, Phil tells me that the Champions are currently renovating one of the outbuildings to house the project – the large barn on the far side of the courtyard. Sounds exciting and I can only hope that this is what I’ll be working on when they decide to allocate me to a game.
Mold overheard us talking about Project X and threatened to have us moved to The Cupboard if we mentioned it again. The guy really is a complete twat.

Jargon Note:
In computer game parlance cool means wearing a baseball cap backwards.

><

Literally bumped into the Champion Brothers’ Dad, Ronnie, by the snack machine. He was loading it up and I turned the corner rather quickly, knocking him over and spilling Twixes all over the floor. I helped him to his feet and tried not to be surprised by the fact that he only came up to my solar plexus. As if to make up for being so short he’s got the most enormous moustache I’ve ever seen. It makes him look like a cross between a garden gnome and a walrus.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Ronnie asked accusingly.
I nodded and apologised for knocking him over. He stroked his voluminous moustache and looked me up and down, all but cricking his neck as he did so.
“Graphic Artist?” he suggested.
I nodded again.
“I can always tell,” Ronnie said knowingly. “The eczema on your wrists gave you away.”

><

My first day was almost over and I was looking forward to a stimulating evening of takeaway Chinese, four cans of Heineken and about three minutes of a porn video loaned me by my brother. I’ve recently moved into a flat above the Chinese takeaway in Rearton-de-la-Gauche, which is about five miles from Unusual Games Ltd. It’s very convenient for work and I could cycle there if I wasn’t so lazy.
My Dad bought me a car when he heard I finally got a job. Trouble is, I haven’t passed my driving test yet, so I catch the bus from the stop just outside the takeaway. The car is an eleven-year-old Austin Allegro with a pair of rancid furry dice still dangling from the rear-view mirror and TREV and TRACE emblazoned across the windscreen. It’s currently parked outside my parents’ house in Woking and likely to remain there for the foreseeable future.

><

I was just leaving the building to catch the 6:05 bus from outside the Spar when Dick cornered me in Reception.
“So, how was your first day, Tom?”
“Great!” I announced, a little too enthusiastically.
Dick nodded seriously. “I think you’re going to do very well here at Unusual Games Ltd., Tom,” he said. “You’ve got the right attitude.”
I had a big shit-eating grin on my face all the way home. The Right Attitude, I thought, over and over, The Right Attitude...
I’m sure that The Right Attitude is going to take me right to the top.

Random Thoughts:

• Computer games are all about steering animated sprites and timed button presses
• If computer game titles have an ‘s’ in them, the ‘s’ should be transposed to a ‘z’, as in PowerKillaz, Monster Truckz, Flower Jam Ninjaz etc.
• Is the success of a game proportionate to the number of transposed ‘s’s in its title?
• What is the difference between a computer game and a videogame?
• Game ‘graphics’ appear to only have four colours
• I need to play more computer games
• Computer games are kind of crap

><

My flat needs cleaning and my stuff needs unpacking. I’ve been living here for a week now, ever since I heard I’d got the job at Unusual Games Ltd.* and I still haven’t unpacked my stuff, in particular, my books and my art materials. Every surface is covered in a thin layer of detritus. I’ve written the word BIBBLE in the dust on top of the TV.
The flat has three rooms: a living/kitchen area, a tiny bedroom and a tinier bathroom. The landlord is a big, scary Scotsman with an incomprehensible accent. I just about managed to decipher that he’d be up to collect the rent the first Monday of every month. Because he scared me and I wanted to see him as little as possible, I told him I’d pay by direct debit.
The living/kitchen area is full of cardboard boxes and the other evening when I was drunk after my third I’ve Finally Got A Job celebration, I made a kind of den out of them, which I slept in that night. There are a few things in the flat that need fixing, all of which will likely remain broken until I move out. The toilet seat is loose, the kitchen tap drips constantly, and the bedroom light goes out when they switch off the fluorescent Jade Garden takeaway sign downstairs.
There’s another flat next to mine and I’ve yet to meet its occupant. Occasionally, I can hear Classical music drifting through the walls.

*When I received the letter informing me I’d got the job, I actually fainted. My mother thought I’d had a stroke and called an ambulance. It was very embarrassing.

continues...