1193: London Calling

I went to London today. I do not like going to London. I do not like London generally, in fact.

Fortunately, my trip to London today meant that I didn’t have to go very far, as in I didn’t have to catch the tube or the train or the bus or anything like that. We got a coach in (which, yes, did require getting up at 5 in the morning, but which was a relatively painless experience) then were able to walk to where we were going (the passport office, if you were curious) and then walk back, catch the bus home and not have to piss about with Londoners and their attitudes towards other people.

For many, living in London appears to be some sort of ultimate goal, some sort of Ultimate Cool Status. It is, of course, certainly true that a lot of industries make their home in the nation’s capital — the UK video games industry barely acknowledges that any other city exists, for example — but I cannot possibly imagine ever living there. It must be hellish. And expensive. Why would you want to pay a fortune to live somewhere that is hellish?

I had a job offer a while back that would have required me to move to London. I’ve thought back on my career path since then, which has been entirely working from home for American companies, and I wonder if I might have been better off taking that one as it was a more inherently “stable” position. The conclusion I inevitably reach is “no”, incidentally, with a large contributing factor to feeling that way being the fact that I don’t have to live in London. (The others being that I wouldn’t, by now, be living back in Southampton near my friends and with Andie, which are all awesome things in my life that I’m happy about.)

I’ll tell you why I don’t like London. Well, some of the reasons, anyway.

The weather is never right. When it’s grey and miserable, it’s really grey and miserable, and the dirty streets and oppressive, cramped way in which all the buildings are crammed together just emphasises how grey and miserable it is. When it’s hot, meanwhile, like it was today, it’s really hot, and humid, and the thickness of the dirty air from the hordes of cars who inexplicably think it’s a good idea to drive around Central London (hint: it’s really not) just makes it all the more unpleasant to immerse yourself in. Particularly when, yes, you’ve been up since five in the morning.

As I said above, thankfully I didn’t really run into my other London bugbears today as we were pretty much “in and out” — or as close to “in and out” as is possible when riding a bus from a couple of hours’ drive away. For the record, though, said bugbears largely revolve around people who have to be wherever they’re going faster than you getting wherever you’re going. This most commonly shows itself on the Underground escalators, where the left lane is the “dickhead” lane of people who think that barging past people who are often carrying large, heavy suitcases and/or bags will get them where they’re going a bit faster. (Hint: it probably doesn’t, given that when you get to the bottom you all have to wait for the same train.) It also shows itself on the street, where if you dare walk anywhere except smooshed up against a wall, some jerkoff in a suit will come charging past you on Important City-Boy Business and make you — just for one, single, blissful, homicidal instant — consider pushing him into the path of the open-top tour bus that is coming around the corner.

As I say, though, thankfully I didn’t encounter any of these issues today, and instead we saw some ducks, geese and other unidentified (well, someone has identified them, obviously) birds in St. James’ Park. Which was quite nice.

I still hate London, though. Even with its “nice bits”.

#oneaday Day 935: Edinburgh, How I Miss Thee

A brief Twitter conversation with the always-awesome Mitu Khandaker got me all nostalgic this evening. Y’see, Mitu has just come back from the Edinburgh Interactive Festival, where she was speaking about exciting and clever things to do with love, sex, relationships and obsession in games — a topic which I find particularly fascinating, as my extensive series of posts on Katawa Shoujo will attest.

But that’s not what I want to talk about today, as I’m sure video and/or slides from Mitu’s presentation will be available online at some point soon, and they will probably say things rather more coherently than I can. (I LOVE YOU EMIIIIIII)

No, instead I just want to look back on why Edinburgh is awesome. Because it is awesome, and if you’ve never been I strongly suggest you take the opportunity to do so.

My memories of Edinburgh stem entirely from my several trips to the Fringe festival with the Southampton University theatre group, known on various different occasions as SUSU Theatre Group, “Blow Up” and “RATTLESNAKE!”, for reasons that I have, sadly, since forgotten.

My first trip there came during my first year at university. I’d joined the theatre group and had already had a small part in our overly-elaborate and rather pretentious production of Macbeth. The Matrix was still fashionable, you see, so it was seemingly obligatory for every student theatre company in the country to do a Matrix-inspired Shakespeare production, and we were no exception. (It actually ended up being quite good, though vastly over budget.)

Anyway, Wachowski-Shakespeare crossovers aside, my association with the theatre group eventually led to me auditioning for the Edinburgh production and successfully securing a part. The play we’d decided to take up was Ivan Turgenev’s A Month In The Country, which is a good play with interesting characters (I played Afanasy Bolshintsov, a character for whom I was legitimately able to leverage my legendary Harold Bishop impersonation), but quite heavy going. Our bright idea was to perform it outdoors in the Edinburgh Botanical Gardens, which sounded like a great idea on paper.

Actually, it was a pretty great idea that added some lovely atmosphere to the play, the only flaws in the plan being 1) the amount of rain that Scotland gets and 2) the fact that the Botanical Gardens were rather off the beaten track. As a direct result of 2), we had rather disappointing viewing figures, but soldiered on regardless, despite having no more than one or two people watching most days.

Performing the play was just a relatively small part of the whole experience, though.

In the mornings, we’d be flyering on the Royal Mile, one of the main streets in Edinburgh that attracts entertainers and promoters come Fringe time. Flyering was always fun, even if it was rather difficult to sell the idea of a tragic Russian love story performed outdoors in a venue no-one really knew the location of to passing tourists. We managed to get a few people coming along, though — and not just all our respective parents.

In the evenings, we’d take in some shows (all right, lots of shows) and then go drinking. Lots of drinking. You see, at the time, Scotland’s licensing laws were significantly different to England’s — in England, you could only drink until 11pm in a pub and 2am in a club; in Scotland you could drink until… actually, I can’t remember what time you could drink until in a Scottish pub (I want to say 2am) but I certainly remember that the clubs were open until 4am.

Our two regular haunts for drinking purposes were the “Frankenstein” pub, a rather tacky (but awesome) theme bar that sold overpriced (but awesome… and deadly) cocktails; and a club just around the corner called Espionage, which had five floors, each of which was themed after a far-flung locale that James Bond had visited in one of his movies. (Incidentally, I am very pleased to note that both of those venues are still there. That makes me feel warm and fuzzy.) Following drinking until some ungodly hour in the morning, we’d often decide that The Thing To Do at that point was to get a pizza from the conveniently-located all-night pizza place that was near Frankenstein — an all-night pizza place which provided you with said pizza at an astonishingly high speed.

It wasn’t all roses, though. On this first trip, I was enjoying the experience but found myself suffering considerably from the social anxiety that has wracked my personal life for as long as I can remember. I found it difficult to start up conversations with the people I was living with at times — despite the fact I was acting with them every day — and I found myself worrying that people would think the things I said would be stupid. I recall one evening getting very depressed, breaking down in tears and being very embarrassed about the whole situation despite the fact I was sitting by myself in the hallway when it happened.

Two of the guys I was staying with came to my rescue: Chris and Des (no relation to Des). I was very grateful to them, because they proved to me that the things rattling around in my head were completely wrong. They took me in to their room, talked to me, got to know me and let me stay the night in there with them. (To sleep. This was not a period of “experimentation” for me.) We had some laughs, particularly at Chris’ expense when he fell asleep in mid-sentence, and I got up the following morning feeling considerably more positive about myself, my situation and my ability to make friends.

That night was a real turning point for me. Remembering that night gave me the confidence to go back to Edinburgh on two other occasions with the theatre group — once without a show, once with a double-bill of The Importance of Being Earnest and Alan Ayckbourn’s Round and Round the Garden. Both visits were amazing, and neither were tainted by feelings of anxiety. In fact, the experiences I had on those two visits were remarkably akin to the way I felt when I visited PAX East a couple of years ago before my life went to shit — I felt like I was “home”, “among friends”, and completely comfortable. I would have given anything for it to have lasted forever.

But these things don’t last forever, sadly. What will stay with me forever, however, is the memories — Des getting told off for trying to dry-hump a guy dressed as a dinosaur on the Royal Mile; recording our drunken conversations on a Dictaphone in the kitchen of the hostel we were staying at; climbing Arthur’s Seat after a solid night of drinking, reaching the summit in time for sunrise, drinking sake in silence as we witnessed dawn breaking, then sliding down the muddy hillside on our arses.

Thinking about it, my positive memories largely revolve around what I did while I was there than the city itself. I’ve never been there when it wasn’t Fringe time, see — and at Fringe time it’s a magical place, infused with a wonderful atmosphere all day and all night for the entire duration of the festival. But from what I saw beneath the glitz and slightly grotty glamour of Fringe time, it’s a beautiful city, too, and one that you really should visit if you’ve never had the opportunity. One day I’ll make it back there, though whether or not it’ll be at Fringe time I don’t yet know!

#oneaday Day 809: PAX Pact

Disclaimer: I’m aware that I wrote almost exactly the same post as you’re about to read at this time last year, and for that I make absolutely no apologies.

It’s PAX East time! Yay! I’m not there! Boooo.

I’ve not been to many conventions or big shows like that over the years, so I have very fond memories of those I have been able to attend. My decision to attend PAX East in 2010 was very much a spur of the moment thing — I’d decided I wanted to leave my primary school teaching job because I’d given it a chance and determined it wasn’t for me, I was trying as hard as I could to pursue a career in the Writing Words About Games industry, and I was feeling a bit miserable and lonely. So, with a little financial help, I flew across the pond to Boston and went to my first big show in America.

It was an exciting time for a number of reasons. I’d just started working for Kombo.com which, while it didn’t pay particularly well, provided me with a position where I could legitimately say I was a professional member of the games press. I knew that a large number of my buddies from communities such as Bitmob and The Squadron of Shame would be in attendance, so I’d have the opportunity to meet some people face to face. And I always love the opportunity to visit the States. I’d never been to Boston before, and while I was under no illusions that I’d be seeing much of the city while I was there, I was looking forward to being Somewhere New.

It was also terrifying. As a sufferer of social anixety at the best of times, the prospect of meeting people I’d only ever talked to on the Internet in the past was a scary one. What if we didn’t get on? What if it was a massive disaster and it destroyed the carefully-cultivated relationships we’d built up with one another? What if I had nothing to say? What if I got lost and it was actually because they wanted to lose me? All these thoughts whirled around my head as I was on the plane, but I was very happy to discover that PAX was, in fact, a happy, inclusive and wonderful place for geeks of all descriptions to call home — whether they were someone who just liked video games or was also into collectible card games, role-playing games, board games, cosplay, the history of technology… anything like that.

That word — “home” — is an important one. Because it felt good to be there. It felt like a world which I wanted to belong to, surrounded by people that I wanted to be with. It was a world that accepted and embraced each other’s differences and brought people from many different walks of life together in the name of common interests. Perhaps most importantly, it made friendships real. It’s all very well chatting to people online on a regular basis, but once you’ve spent time with those people in person — seen them, heard them, hugged them, tickled their beards in a homoerotic manner where applicable — your friendship is on a different level. I haven’t seen some of those people I met at PAX East 2010 in person since that weekend two years ago, but in many ways I feel closer, more connected to them than many of my — for want of a better word — “real” friends. Perhaps it’s because they’re also “Internet friends” that I speak to most days via Twitter, Facebook and G+.

Whatever the reason, knowing that lots of people I know are at PAX East right now and undoubtedly having a great time (and/or queueing for hours) makes me a bit sad — not that they’re there, obviously, but that I’m not there with them.

I propose a pact, then, faraway friends: PAX East 2013. Be there. You have a year to prepare. Get cracking.

#oneaday Day 780: Nihon

It’s a big ol’ stereotype for someone who is “into” video games to have an interest in Japan — at least it was, anyway. As popular, mainstream titles have shifted far more towards Western studios with this current console generation, Japan and all things related seem to have been relegated to something of a niche. And that’s absolutely fine, I think, because it means that people like me can explore things like the country’s culture without feeling like they’re jumping on some sort of bandwagon.

I say “explore”. Most of my knowledge of Japanese culture comes from, you guessed it, video games. (That and following J-List on Facebook.) But before dismissing that out of hand, it’s worth noting that many Japanese games do explore and celebrate Japanese culture and traditions in a way that you hardly ever see in Western titles.

I can remember the first game I played in which I was conscious of this: Shenmue on the Dreamcast. I found it interesting that the main character removed his shoes every time he entered his house. Not only was this a pleasing attention to detail, I discovered that this is traditional behaviour. And given that Shenmue was based very much on the idea of creating a realistic, small-scale game world in which to “live” as much as pursue the game’s story, this was just one of many things which initially jarred but started to make sense the more time I spent with them.

The Persona series are notable for this, too. To date, I’ve only played Persona 3 and 4 (and have recently started the first game in the series) but I feel I got a good sense of what it’s like to be a high school kid in Japan — or at least, as close an interpretation as the media will ever give you. I do wonder if the depiction of Japanese schoolkids in anime and video games is akin to the depiction of American “highschoolers” in TV shows and movies like Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Clueless.

From these games and numerous others (including Katawa Shoujo which, interestingly, was actually developed by Westerners who clearly had a good understanding of Japanese culture) I’ve picked up all sorts of useless facts (mostly centring around schools) which may come in handy should I ever find myself in Nihon-koku. I know that schools have big shoe racks inside their front doors. I know that kids are expected to join clubs as well as attend classes. I know that traditional festivals with fireworks are A Big Deal, and that boys supposedly go crazy for girls in yukata. Boys also go crazy for girls in hot springs. I know that udon and soba are types of noodles, and that takoyaki is both made from octopus and regarded as a kind of fast food. (I also know that your stats have to be high enough to finish a big beef bowl, but the same could be said for a big-ass steak in the West.) Moving into more esoteric territory, I know that popular supernatural mythology suggests that restless spirits often hold grudges and can do very unpleasant things to people who piss them off.

It strikes me every time I play one of these Japan-centric games (the most recent being Persona and Corpse Party) that it’s rare to see an analogous “learning experience” in Western games. Or is it? Perhaps I’m just too immersed in Western culture on a daily basis to notice; or perhaps Western culture has lost a lot of its traditions over the years, leaving most people free to behave in a manner of their own choosing. Consider what you did when you walked into your house today: did you take your shoes off? The answer is “maybe”, because it wasn’t expected (unless you have a self-decided “shoes off household”) so it was up to you.

We still have plenty of strange traditions of our own, though, mostly, like Japan, surrounding significant festivals. Look at Christmas: we have carol singers, German markets in city centres, mulled wine, mince pies, midnight mass, christingles and all manner of other things. We have very specific rituals in place to celebrate things like birthdays. We cheer when waiting staff drop trays of drinks (though I really wish we wouldn’t), and we have songs for all occasions.

As I think about it further, it’s becoming clearer to me why there’s something of a tendency to see comparatively less traditional culture in Western video games than we do in Japanese ones. It’s to do with subject matter and setting: Japan is very fond of mixing the mundane and the uncanny for dramatic and unexpected effect, whereas in the West we’re rather fond of “hero”-type characters who focus on getting the job done, not pissing around building up his Social Links. This is a generalisation, of course — there are plenty of games that involve a lot of sitting around talking, though even then they tend to be through a self-deprecating lens rather than taking a genuine pride in traditional culture. When was the last time you saw an English character (i.e. someone from England, and not just a character with an English accent) who was not either 1) evil or 2) posh — or sometimes both?

Perhaps there’s no place for traditional culture or ritual in Western video games — or no traditional culture or ritual left in our modern society to even incorporate into a game. That’s fine, of course, though I think it rather sad, in that case, that we have the opportunity to learn a great deal about Japanese culture from their creative output, while any Japanese players exploring the Western body of work will arguably take little from it save “nice architecture”.

Am I wrong? If so, please feel free to share some of your favourite examples of video games that exemplify Western culture, tradition and ritual in the comments — I’d be curious to hear what people think, or even, if they don’t think it’s relevant, why they don’t care.

#oneaday Day 730: Foreigner

We fly home from the US of A tomorrrow. It’s been a good trip but over far too quickly for my liking. Still, it will be nice to sleep in our own bed again, as the sofa bed we’ve been kipping on all week isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, to say the least. That and the idiosyncratic heating in the room we’re in having two settings: “hot as the sun” and “freeze your balls off”.

As much as I like America, though, it will be nice to get back to “normality”, I guess. Haven’t quite adjusted to the time change while we’ve been here, so going back home is going to be interesting. Either I’ll be able to sleep normally, or I’ll have to endure the mild annoyance of a completely screwed up body clock again. We’ll have to wait and see.

Mostly, though, it will be nice to feel like I’m in my “home” country again. America is superficially similar to the UK in many ways (only a bit bigger) but every so often you’re reminded that you are a foreigner in a strange land.

Try to find prepacked sandwiches in a supermarket, for example. Or decipher a menu at a Mexican restaurant. Or remember what the different types of eggs you can order at breakfast are (hint: it’s not “boiled, fried, poached and scrambled”. Or have a discussion about a kid’s grade point average. Or… Well, I could go on. But I won’t.

It’s actually pretty interesting to see quite how different two cultures which speak the same language can end up. You say “tomato”, I say “why are you shouting out names of fruit?”, that sort of thing.

I’m sure you get used to it after a while living here. Perhaps one day I’ll have the opportunity to get used to it for myself.

Dream on, eh?

#oneaday Day 124: Landmark

It’s quite amazing what you find right under your own nose sometime. No, I’m not talking about that disgusting green mucous that dribbled forth from your nostrils when you had that really hot chilli earlier. I’m talking about the cool stuff in the place where you live — or in the places near where you live — that you completely ignore because, well, they’re right there and therefore you take them for granted.

I’m specifically referring to London which, if you’re paying attention, you’ll know I’m currently sitting in. London is full of Awesome Stuff, yet if you work here, or spend most of your visits to our nation’s illustrious capital hunting down job interviews, yelling into a mobile phone or attempting to cross the entire city without leaving a Pret A Manger for more than two minutes then you probably won’t notice them.

I went to the Tower of London today. Yes, the one with the ravens and the executions and all that stuff. It’s an impressive structure, and properly interesting to wander around inside, if only because it’s a very old castle that is pretty much completely intact, although they don’t chop people’s heads off there any more. The Crown Jewels are pretty impressive, too — very sparkly, though a bit too bling for everyday wear, to be honest. And the coronation robe looks a bit like a pair of curtains.

The guided tour around the place — a thing I normally hate with a passion, as you inevitably get stuck behind a sweaty German tourist who is sixteen feet taller than you, has a chronic flatulence problem and no sense of personal space — was highly entertaining thanks to the Yeoman’s sense of humour and entertaining mannerisms. He made the stories about various people having their heads chopped off interesting, and gave some interesting context to the relics and antiquities on display in the museumy parts of the tower.

From the equipment on display, we can conjecture that all previous Kings of England were tanking classes, thanks to their heavy plate armour, though many later monarchs favoured the flintlock pistol, including one absolutely massive one that must have been about eight feet long, thereby disqualifying itself from the “pistol” category somewhat.

Interestingly, there was also a P-90 “Personal Defense Weapon”, last seen in GoldenEye 007 on the Nintendo 64 — and in StarGate, apparently. Oh, and a gold-plated sub-machine gun. And a jewel-encrusted pistol that was actually a working thing, confiscated by the police. Kind of awesome, even if it did actually kill someone.

So anyway, this rambling does have a point: if you live somewhere with something awesome (or near somewhere with something awesome) then for God’s sake go and visit it. It’s famous for a reason.

#oneaday Day 123: Going Underground

The London Underground is, like most subterranean metro systems, something of a mixed blessing. It allows you to quickly and easily traverse London without having to take your own life into your hands every time you cross a road, but sometimes I wonder if the very nature of the transport system makes it less efficient than it perhaps could be.

Take my journey to where I am right now, for example. (In a hotel overlooking Tower Bridge.) I had to catch a Circle Line train from Kings Cross to get here. In order to get from the platform where my train arrived into Kings Cross to the platform where Circle Line trains departed from, I had to walk for a good 10-15 minutes, including up and down a few sets of stairs and through a labyrinthine series of corridors that the Minotaur would be proud of.

It gets worse if you have to change lines somewhere. Not only do you have to walk all the way to the platform, you then have to get off and walk for another 10-15 minutes to get to the other line in the station, which is inevitably a very long distance away, somewhere deep in the bowels of the Earth.

And then when you poke your head back out above ground, you realise that the fifteen stops you’ve taken have actually caused you to travel less than a mile, and that you can still see your starting point from where you are sitting right now.

Despite all this, though, I kind of like travelling on the Underground. It presents a curious assault on the senses, the likes of which you don’t get anywhere else. There’s the smell, for one thing — and I’m not talking about the pissy scent of a tramp who has collapsed, possibly dead, somewhere in the station. I’m talking about that strange smell you get near the platforms. I have no idea what it is, and it’s probably something unpleasant, but I kind of like it.

Then there’s the sound. Underground trains make great noises. From the vwwwwoooooooo they make when they’re moving to the clackity-clack of running over bumpy bits in the track (fear my technical knowhow of how the rail systems of this country work) to the unnecessarily plummy voice of the automated announcement system, there’s a great combination of sounds.

Plus, if you ever get bored waiting for a train, you can always play the Which Rat Is Going To Get Electrocuted First game, the rules of which I probably don’t need to explain.

#oneaday Day 72: Jam on Toast

The tail-lights of the cars in front of you brighten as they apply the brakes. Your collective speed drops. There seem to be an awful lot more cars around than there were a moment ago, and a few trucks, too. Your heart sinks.

Yes, you’re entering a traffic jam.

At this point, you will do one (or more) of several things. You may suddenly wonder if you have enough music to cover the entire period this eventuality may cover. You may consider phoning someone at your destination to let them know you’re likely to be late. You may decide that no, this jam couldn’t possibly last for very long because it appeared out of nowhere, so there’s no need to phone ahead, because you left the house with plenty of time to spare just in case this happened. You may emit a string of incredibly loud and offensive swearwords—this is considerably more likely if you’re in the car by yourself and/or are an extrovert/sufferer of Tourette’s.

Then you see the electronic signs warning you of the “recommended” speeds (or, if you’re on the M25, the actual variable speed limit which you can be pulled over and/or caught on speed camera for.) You see it and you figure that hey, 40 mph may not be quick, but at least it’s moving, right?

Wrong. What they don’t tell you is that the “recommended” speeds are actually a cunningly disguised secret code. Fortunately, I have cracked it.

20mph – You ain’t going anywhere for at least an hour and probably more like three hours, plus.
40mph – You will move, but very slowly. You will be lucky to break 20mph.
60mph – You will move at a relatively comfortable speed but will be lucky to break 40mph and will often have to brake suddenly for no apparent reason.
End of speed limit – Theoretically, you are allowed to drive at full speed now, but the volume of traffic coming out of the jam means that this will be very difficult to achieve for at least another half an hour.

People have developed various coping mechanisms in order to deal with the stress and frustration of traffic jams. You could shout and swear some more. You could turn your music up. If you’re a Mercedes driver, you could weave in and out of lanes in an attempt to get as far forward as possible. And if you’re an asshole, you could use the hard shoulder and/or filter lanes for junctions to “jump the queue” and get as far forward as possible by barging in. But if you do this, you deserve to be scooped up by a gigantic super-powerful electromagnet (which picks your car up, obviously, not you, unless you’re a robot) and fed to an ant-eater which has been inflated to unnatural proportions via the ethically questionable misuse of SCIENCE! and which has developed a taste for cars—so much so that the giant form of the ant-eater has in fact been re-dubbed the car-eater.

So yeah. Don’t do that. Sit and wait patiently. Because ultimately, no amount of screaming, shouting, swearing, lane-weaving or driving like a dick is going to affect the fact that there are hundreds of cars stuck in place, just like you. And until the day when all cars have a button that allows them to take off and fly away like the DeLorean in Back to the Future (when, if you think about it, we won’t really need roads at all any more) there’s nothing you can do about it.

So sit. Wait. Suffer with the rest of us.

#oneaday Day 58: Things To Do in a Traffic Jam

I like driving. It’s fun. Whether you’re negotiating twisty-turny country lanes, putting your foot to the floor on a motorway or simply contemplating the fact that you’re actually sitting in a chair that is moving at 70 miles per hour (seriously, that’s pretty mind-boggling when you consider the speed the other chairs in your life don’t move at) driving is, for the most part, a pleasurable experience for those who enjoy using cars for the purpose they were designed for. (Obviously those who don’t like driving or are scared of it are exempt from the above.)

There’s one thing sure to spoil any nice drive, though: a traffic jam. They’re a pain in the arse whether they come in the form of backed-up traffic over a narrow hump-backed bridge due to a lost sheep standing bewildered in the middle of a single-track road, gridlock in a town centre or one of those inexplicable jams that form on a motorway, force everyone to sit stationary for approximately 500 years then start moving again with absolutely no trace of whatever caused the jam at the front of it.

So that’s why it’s important to have a repertoire of entertainment ready. Those of you with kids will have probably played I-Spy to death. But you don’t always have kids with you, and indeed sometimes you’re all by yourself. So here is a selection of Things to Do in a Traffic Jam, with some suitable for solo play, others suitable for a party of disgruntled passengers to join in with.

Rev-Counter Roulette

Players: 1-car capacity
Traffic speed: Stationary
Danger level: Mild peril

Put your car in neutral or at the very least, push the clutch all the way down. Players take a moment to place their bets from 1-whatever your rev counter goes up to. (Obviously you need a rev counter to play this.) When everyone has placed a bet, quickly press the accelerator pedal as hard as you like (or not). Whoever bet the closest to the highest point your rev counter reached wins and gets a travel sweet and/or the opportunity to punch everyone else in the face.

Gangster Trip-Meter

Players: 1-car capacity
Traffic speed: Slow to moderate
Danger level: None

Agree a timeframe appropriate for the speed of the traffic. If it is moving a bit, five minutes. If it is going very slowly, perhaps ten minutes. Set your car’s trip meter to zero and set a timer for the timeframe you decided. Place bets on what the trip meter will read at the end of the timeframe. Whoever bet the closest to the final result wins.

Optional rule: whoever bet furthest away from the final result has to remove an item of clothing, which makes the following game much more interesting if it’s cold.

Master of Elements

Players: 1-car capacity
Traffic speed: Any
Danger level: Slim to none

Depending on the ambient temperature, set the car’s heating system to whatever will be most uncomfortable and turn the fan up to full. If it’s very cold, you may also wish to open all the windows. The first person to complain that it’s too hot/too cold/too windy is the loser and gets ridiculed by everyone else and/or punched in the face.

Optional rule: Strip rules may also be added to this game. Depending on the temperature, this may be a benefit or a handicap.

Frogger

Players: 1
Traffic speed: Slow to moderate
Danger level: Moderate

Set yourself a time limit appropriate for the amount of traffic and the speed it is moving. For heavy and/or stationary traffic, use a longer time limit. In the time limit attempt to change lanes from the inside to the outside lane as many times as possible.

Warning: Playing this game will cause most other members of the traffic jam to think you are a complete dick. If you are driving a BMW or Mercedes, you can play this game without fear, as people will expect you to be driving like that anyway.

The World’s Slowest Drag Race

Players: 1
Traffic speed: Slow to moderate
Danger level: Mild peril

Set yourself a time limit and choose a target in another lane. Don’t choose a BMW or Mercedes, or anyone who is obviously playing Frogger, because they’ll change lanes a lot. Start the clock and see who is further ahead at the end of the time limit.

If you’re driving in convoy with other people, you can play this with the other convoy members. Passengers in the losing car have to perform forfeits such as getting their bums out.

#oneaday, Day 54: Travels of an Angry Jedi – Brick Lane

London is a city of many surprises. A lot of them are “oh, this part of our illustrious capital is a shithole”, but surprises nonetheless. Today’s excursion was no exception.

Following an event I attended which I can’t talk about (yet) we were recommended to head to an area called “Brick Lane”, with the assurance that “if you like curry, you can’t go far wrong”. I like curry, so it seemed like a sensible choice.

I wasn’t ready for what our party was confronted with. Imagine, if you will, the Las Vegas Strip. Now imagine the street is only one car-width wide and one-way. Now, instead of casinos and strip clubs, imagine every single establishment on the street is a curry house. Now, instead of people in fancy uniforms looking for valet parking and/or prostitution business, imagine every establishment has at least one overly aggressive Asian gentleman outside offering increasingly ridiculous deals in order to get you to frequent his establishment. (The best we heard was 2 free drinks and a 95% discount, which led us to believe that even breathing in the food’s fumes would lead to immediate food poisoning.)

It was quite an experience, the likes of which I’ve never seen anywhere else. The whole street was lit up like a red light district, with curry houses hawking their wares with increasingly outlandish neon displays the further down the street you went.

I’ve only gone and forgotten the name of the place we ate at, but it was quite good. We were recommended by someone who knew Brick Lane’s idiosyncrasies to look out for two things: restaurants that were full, and restaurants that didn’t have anyone hawking their wares outside. Sadly the latter was impossible as every place had someone outside badgering people with crazy deals and discounts that I doubt very much they would have honoured come bill-paying time. But the one we picked was pretty full the whole time we were there.

The toilets smelled absolutely awful, though, like a fetid stench-pit from the very bowels of Hell. Fortunately you couldn’t smell them from the eating area. Probably for the best.

So there’s your tourist attraction of the day. In London? Like curry? Don’t mind being harassed by what are essentially curry-pimps? Then Brick Lane is for you.