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