It's fuckitty hot. I tried to venture outside but was beaten back by the unseasonal summer blaze, and had to cool myself down by playing Skyrim in my underpants for an hour.Or three. It's amazing how running around digital snowy peaks can (almost) make you believe you're a Scandinavian warrior from days of yore, and that it's a bit chilly, as opposed to being a semi-dressed lazy bastard living vicariously through pixellated fun, cowering from the sweltering midday sun.
I actually hate video games (or computer games. Is there a difference? Fucked if I know) because they are time vampires. I grew up in a console free-house, and while I wouldn't make such outlandish claims to have been outdoorsy, I did spend most of my formative years outside. Mostly throwing things at stuff. Crab apples at buses, pebbles at pigeons, flaming arrows at passers-by*.
In fact, I didn't buy a console until I was 22, and even then, it was only because I thought the initial outlay would save me money as it might stop me going to the pub. It did. In fact, it stopped me doing most things other than smoking fags, drinking coffee and trying to rescue Princess Daisy . I started to dream in Mario-vision. I pictured any forthcoming real world tasks, such as the Do The Dishes, or Buy Some Food, as Mario-esque tasks. Sometimes I would spend so much time awake I would start to hallucinate gold coins**. I was a fragile shell of a being, living on Pot Noodles and Power-Ups.
When, six months later, some scrotal-feeding inbred burgled my console from the Leeds house in which I was living, I was both broken and freed. And I vowed never to get another console. Life was mine. I took it by the horns and shoved a finger up its arse***.
Now, and for the last two years, I have been an accidental owner of an X-box, and like a crack pipe, it squats in my room reminding me that I'm weak, and it is the master. Just One More Hit quite quickly becomes Where the Fuck Did the Last Four Hours Disappear? Those little grey bastards should have an inbuilt timer allowing a maximum of two hours a day. They are pernicious leech on the soul of humanity, and I can't take any more.
There's a dragon I've been in combat with all day. I'm going to hunt it down and kill it, then read a book or something. I will be productive, but first? I've got to chase that dragon.
*Seriously, After watching a sword-and-sandals epic featuring 'Greek fire', we decided to make our own with paraffin and rags. Then climb onto the roof of our flats, ignite and launch. The council estate version of a historical re-enactment.
**I think my cigarettes were spiked
***This isn't a sexual metaphor. This is how South African I know trains his dogs. At least, he says that what he's doing.
