#oneaday Day 861: Cycle of Life

Today I took ownership of a shiny new bicycle. It is red.

Technically I took ownership of a shiny new bicycle (that was red) yesterday, but said shiny new bicycle was far too big for me, meaning that my testicles suffered considerable (and uncomfortable) compression when attempting to stand astride it, and making actually getting on to the saddle without looking like some sort of Special Person an impossible task. It didn't do wonders for my confidence, so I took it back and exchanged it for a smaller one. Now I can ride it without feeling like I'm going to fall off. At least, not quite as much.

I haven't ridden a bike for at least five years, I think. I used to do it a fair bit and have always enjoyed it, despite not being very good at it. I'm fairly clumsy and cack-handed and balance has never been a particularly strong point, meaning that I'm not very good at doing things like signalling, or riding without my hands clamped firmly to the handlebars. (Any tips for getting over that particular phobia are most welcome.) I'm also not particularly good at going uphill, changing gear (with either hand) or bumping up onto a pavement. But I can, at least, pedal, move forwards and stay upright without falling off into heavy traffic and dying, which is a start.

Cycling is good exercise. I've been doing a lot on the exercise bike at the gym recently — up to an hour at a time — and it got me thinking I should get back on the "real cycling" at some point, particularly as the weather is so nice at the moment. Observations so far are that real cycling is significantly more challenging than gym cycling (at least on the resistance level I've had it set at, it seems) but you get to be outside and have the nice feeling of the wind rushing past you, which is most pleasant and one of the reasons I've always enjoyed getting on a bike as a means of transportation and recreation.

That "transportation" part is a good thing about real cycling. At the gym, you pedal and pedal and pedal for hours and don't go anywhere, you just make the little numbers on the screen go up. On a real bike, you can actually go somewhere that is too far away to walk. Granted, the speed at which I cycle probably isn't significantly faster than walking (unless I'm going downhill) but at least it makes some places that were previously inaccessible without jumping in the car a little more, well, accessible. This is nice. I could probably even cycle to the gym if I tried hard enough, though I then have to consider the fact that I also have to cycle back after exerting myself lifting heavy things and/or all the other stuff I decide to torture myself with.

I would very much like to get fit and lose weight, as has probably been made clear numerous times on these very pages. The more alternative activities I have to help achieve that goal, the less likely (hopefully) I am to get demoralised or bored with the whole thing. I'm doing pretty well with watching what I eat and trying to get more exercise on a regular basis — this is just another means to that end. We'll have to wait and see if it helps. Hopefully it will.

#oneaday Day 860: Kairobot

Have you played any of the games by Kairosoft on iOS and Android devices? If not, you really should. They're quite remarkable little experiences, all the more noteworthy for fitting surprisingly deep gameplay into less than 10MB in most cases. This is a big benefit for those of you who habitually fill your phone and/or tablet device with all manner of crap games that you never play.

Kairosoft's games are business sims/strategy games at heart. All of them feature adorable pixel art and dreadful MIDI music. Most of them involve attempting to make as much money as possible over the course of a fixed period of time which varies depending on the title. Some are almost identical to one another, others take slightly different approaches.

All are utterly bewildering the first time you play them.

Most players' first experience with this little Japanese software company's work tends to be with their breakout hit Game Dev Story which, as the title suggests, sees the player running a fledgling game development company over the course of twenty in-game years. As the game progresses, players develop their staff, produce new games, try to woo the public and even have the opportunity to develop their own game console. Throughout, knowing tips of the hat are given to the games industry with pun-based names and not-quite-real game systems coming on to the market and acting much like their real-life counterparts. Develop for the Game Boy equivalent, for example, and you'll be on to a winner. Decide to support the Virtual Boy equivalent and you may find that your sales aren't quite what you expect.

Basic gameplay in Game Dev Story is pretty straightforward. Through a series of simple menus, you tell your minions what to do and keep a careful eye on your finances. What's interesting about it (and all Kairosoft's other titles, for that matter) is how much is going on beneath the surface. Markets are being simulated; seasonal growth and decline is taken into account; real-world trends form a key part of the game. On your first run-through, you may not discover everything the game has to offer. On each subsequent runthrough, you find out more until you're making ridiculous amounts of money with each one of your blockbusters.

The most recent Kairosoft title I've tried is an Android title known as Cafeteria Nipponica. This, as the name suggests, is a restaurant management game where it's up to the player to take between one and three restaurants to the very top of their game. This is achieved by hiring staff, levelling them up, researching new dishes and, occasionally, sending staff members out into the fields to look for ingredients and "treasure". I haven't got my head around everything the game is doing at the moment, but if nothing else, seeing little pixel people running around making a restaurant work is most entertaining. Like most of the company's other titles, a lot of concepts are treated in a rather "abstract" manner, and so long as you don't go in expecting a literal simulation of how a restaurant actually works, you'll have a blast.

If you've read my previous post How to Play Pocket Academy, you'll know that success in these games is sometimes quite hard to come by, and it's quite easy to mess things up beyond all recognition. That's okay, though, because the game remains so unerringly polite about the whole thing throughout that you can't feel too bad even as your money spirals into the red more and more with each passing month.

In short, then, if you're looking for something to occupy your time on the toilet/bus that isn't Angry Birds, then almost anything by our Japanese friends here is certainly worth a look. While they may not be the cheapest mobile games out there, that's not necessarily a bad thing. They'll provide you with a ton of entertainment for about the price of a single Starbucks coffee. And you can't complain at that, really. That's just good business.

#oneaday Day 859: HAWT

It is officially Hot. The sun has been out all day, and this means that all the world's Hot has been stored up for the whole day and is now being stored in our bedroom making it an unbearable oven almost impossible to sleep in without leaving a noisy fan on all night.

This means that Summer is Here, or something along those lines, anyway.

I have a weird relationship with summer. I've written about this subject in the past, but after 858 previous daily entries, frankly it's sometimes difficult to come up with completely original topics, so I'm going to write about it again. (The last time was in 2010, anyway, so I think I've earned the right to do it again.) I digress. Let me start again.

I have a weird relationship with summer. I like the fact that it's warm and it looks nice outside and you can wear shorts and not put a coat on and whatnot, but I dislike the fact it makes my arse sweaty (apparently my arse contains my body's thermostat, meaning that if I get slightly too hot it's the first place to start sweating) and it can be uncomfortable to sit outside in for too long, particularly if you're prone to burning like I am.

I like the fact that it's socially acceptable to get out a hosepipe (assuming they haven't been banned in your region due to "drought" conditions — and let's not get started on the misuse of that term) and spray it all over yourself on the "mist" setting. Well, okay, maybe not socially acceptable, but certainly understandable.

I like the fact that paddling pools become a viable option in the summer, even for grown adults who should really know better.

I like that you can do normally indoor-type stuff outside (though techie geeks really need to invent a phone/tablet/laptop screen that is actually at all visible in the sunlight and has a faster response time than e-ink displays) and that it's pretty much obligatory to have some sort of iced drink to hand at all times.

I dislike the fact that if you get burned, then everything hurts for days afterwards. Particularly worthy of ire is getting burned on the top of your head, which is enormously uncomfortable and itchy — doubly frustrating for one such as myself who suffers from a perpetually-itchy head.

I dislike the fact that scrawny chavs feel the need to take their shirts off and display their hairless, prepubescent-looking chests to the world while walking around town.

I dislike that you can very easily inadvertently blind yourself with nothing but a phone screen and an unfortunate reflection.

I like that you can get in your car, open all the windows and drive to your destination with fresh air blowing in freely, regardless of what it does to your hair. (My hair inevitably looks stupid, so being windswept has very little effect on my usual appearance.)

I like that it's a good time of year to play Dead or Alive Xtreme 2, not only one of the most perverted non-hentai (well, there's no bonking in it, anyway) games in the world, but also one of the most summery things in existence.

I like the feeling of summer humidity exploding into a heavy rainstorm, and standing out in that warm rain getting drenched.

See? Mixed feelings. I don't do "being Hot" very well, and if I had the choice I'd rather be too cold than too hot. But there's plenty to like about the summer. It's a cheerful time of year, particularly in a country such as this which spends an awful lot of time overcast, raining or both.

As such, I've bought a bike and will be picking it up tomorrow with a view to actually Going Outside when I get the chance. This, then, is doubtless a cue for the sun to disappear for the rest of the year and a torrential deluge of Biblical proportions to begin. Oh well. Good intentions and all that.

What are your favourite and most-despised things about the summer?

(Cue silence. In the past, ending a post with a question has generally been a prompt for there to be no comments whatsoever. But I'm not giving up now, dammit.)

#oneaday Day 858: Pete Achieved [Blog-Rollin']

Time to take a break from the creative writing on here for a little while (though I will try and continue doing it behind the scenes) and talk a little bit about the current hotness that is Diablo III. Now the furore over its botched launch has somewhat subsided and at least a few people are starting to realise that "online game" and "persistent online DRM" are two completely different things, we can take stock of the things that the game does extremely well.

I wanted to focus on one in particular, because it's something I think Blizzard handles extremely well, and it's also something which divides opinion about modern gaming immensely.

Achievements.

I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with Achievements. On the one hand, if used well, they can encourage you to try playing a game in lots of different ways — Crackdown springs immediately to mind here, with its quirky challenges such as playing tennis with a car and rocket launchers, sticking things together, climbing up to the top of the highest building and leaping off without dying. On the other, you get shit like you see in Call of Duty, which gives you an Achievement for starting the single-player campaign.

Some people actively pursue Achievements (or Sony's synonymous Trophies), even going so far as to play a game well beyond its enjoyment event horizon just so they can say they have "1000G-ed" or "Platinumed" it. There's often a lot of "filler" Achievements in there, making this an unnecessary slog at times. On other occasions, it can ruin the experience of playing a game by directing the experience too much — I "1000G-ed" The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion and walked away from the game realising that I had still missed at least half of the game's content — and had no motivation or incentive to seek it out after that. The Elder Scrolls series is supposed to be about freeform, open-world exploration, and the Achievements (tied to various quest lines) completely spoiled that for me by shunting me down specific quest paths.

So back to Blizzard, and Diablo III specifically. Diablo III features a wide range of Achievements for all sorts of things. There are Achievements for reaching significant milestones in the game's story — beating bosses, completing Acts, that sort of thing. There are Achievements rewarding those who explore thoroughly and delve into the surprisingly deep lore. There are Achievements for completing special challenges, encouraging players to play more skilfully. There are class-specific Achievements, nudging players in the direction of a good way to play said classes. And there are plenty more besides. There are hundreds of them, as they are not limited by Microsoft and Sony's arbitrary limits, and chasing them is an immensely addictive experience.

One key thing about the whole system uses Diablo III's persistently-online nature to great effect. As soon as someone on your friends list attains an Achievement, you're notified. This helps to encourage communication between people and also lets players see at a glance how their friends are doing. It's even possible for players to browse each others' profiles and check out what Achievements they've managed to snag, providing incentive for a little good-natured competition when, say, one sees that the other has somehow killed the Skeleton King in less than 20 seconds. In short, it helps make Diablo III into a more social game, which is exactly what it's been designed to be. Where its predecessors had discrete, segregated "single player" and "multiplayer" components, Diablo III blends this all together into a seamless online experience that encourages communication, competition and cooperation, where players can feel like they're making progress even when playing by themselves, and continue making progress when they want to play with friends. It's a good fit for the series' gameplay, though it makes the ludonarrative dissonance between the ridiculous on-screen action (punching people's skeletons out!) and the rather serious fire-and-brimstone plot seem all the more silly.

If you haven't given Diablo III a shot yet, it's well worth it. Over 6 million people can't be wrong. Although if you value your sanity I wouldn't advise looking at Blizzard's forums. Ever.

(I think I still have a Starter Edition code knocking around somewhere, so if anyone wants to give it a go for free, get in touch and I can give you the code. First come, first served.)

#oneaday Day 857: Another Ending

This had to be it.

He'd been stuck here for — how long? Days? Weeks? Months? Time had lost all meaning in these tunnels. He'd been here so long that he'd all but forgotten why he had been sent down here in the first place.

The only thing keeping him going was the thought of her. He knew that she'd be there waiting for him. She had promised. It was the one memory from his past life that he remembered. She would be there. She had to be there. Otherwise all this was meaningless.

He was the last survivor. He knew that much. None of the others had lasted. Some had died, some had succumbed to madness, others had simply disappeared, never to be seen again. He was alone. That knowledge made him all the more determined to succeed, to get out of this hell-hole.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been running, but he was breathless. He drew the pistol from its holster — he wasn't even sure if it still worked — and sat down with his back against the wall. The uneven rock wall was uncomfortable and dug into his back, but he didn't care. He just needed to rest for a little while. He felt the end was near, but he needed to be on top of his game for any last-minute challenges Fate might have in store for him.

He closed his eyes. Unconsciousness took him quickly, and his head slumped to the side. Visions swirled in his mind's eye. Past blended with present and with future, confused images flashing into his subconscious for a moment, then vanishing.

"Guilty."

The word echoed through his brain. It was the word that had sent him here. The word that no-one ever wanted to hear. The word that struck fear into the hearts of everyone.

What was he guilty of?

"Guilty."

How had this happened?

"Guilty."

Why had it–

He awoke with a start, his eyes flicking open. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, but down here it didn't matter. All he had to do was press onward. The end had to be near. She would be waiting for him. She would be there. She had to be.

He stood unsteadily, bracing himself on the wall as he pulled himself up. He was hungry and thirsty, and his supplies were getting low. He holstered the pistol and started walking again for a few paces, before breaking into a light jog. His boots clip-clopped on the hard floor and echoed around the tunnel. They pinched his feet, but he had to keep going forward.

As he jogged, the never-changing scenery of the tunnel's walls either side of him, his mind wandered. Fragments of lost memories remained just out of reach, tantalising him with promises of truths perhaps best forgotten. But still her face was there, urging him onwards, pushing him forwards.

"Guilty."

The word that had haunted his dreams while he slept was pounding at the boundaries of repressed memories now. He knew that behind the walls his mind had put up, there was a torrent of pain and suffering. He didn't want to let it out. But every time—

"Guilty."

Thump.

Cracks were appearing.

"No," he said out loud to himself. "Please."

"Guilty."

Thump.

A flash. A vision. A room. Dark, with small shafts of light beaming in through the dirty window.

"Guilty."

Thump.

He was sitting in a chair. In front of him, there they were. Those who decided his fate, whether he liked it or not.

"Guilty."

Thump.

The walls were coming down. He couldn't stop them. He kept running, but the memories were seeping out. The horror.

"You stand accused of forbidden knowledge," said the voice. His blood chilled, and shivers ran down his spine. "How do you plead?"

He was speechless. He couldn't respond. Whatever he said would damn him. He had no control of this. The voices were coming in thick and fast now, flooding his brain — so much noise — and he couldn't stop them.

"Guilty," most of them were saying. "Guilty."

They had already made up their minds. There was nothing he could do that would make a difference.

"Guilty," he said. The voices stopped for a moment. Everything seemed to be frozen in time.

The memory faded. He was still running. He grit his teeth and tried to concentrate as best he could, willing the walls within his mind to push themselves back into place.

"Guilty," the voice still continued, softer this time.

He tripped on a loose stone and fell to the ground, skidding along the floor a short way. It hurt.

He lay on the floor and closed his eyes to concentrate fully. He had to control this.

Be still, he said to his troubled mind. Be silent.

The angry sea of images threatening to break into his mind's eye swelled and roared for a moment before calming, settling and quietening. He was in control. It was all right. He was safe, for now.

He couldn't think about the past. He couldn't. How he had discovered this ability, this curse. It was too much. The memories threatened to swell and overcome again, but he pushed them down forcefully, and they stayed quietened.

Focus, he said to himself. Calmness. That is what will get me through this.

Opening his eyes, he got to his feet and started walking. He did not break into a run this time, he simply walked, his back straight and upright, staring straight ahead. This was different. This was focus. He felt centred, at peace. But it was taking all his concentration and effort to remain that way. He didn't know if he'd be able to hold it. But he had to try.

Minutes flowed into hours as he walked. The tunnel seemed to go on forever, always straight ahead, never deviating from its course. When would it end?

He pushed the thought out of his mind and continued to walk. He had to stay absolutely focused, otherwise he would fail, and he would never get out of here.

Suddenly, a voice. He couldn't tell if it was in his mind or if he was actually hearing it. But it sounded like her.

"You're going to make it," she said. "I know you will. I'm waiting for you. Just a little further."

A door opened. Brilliant white light flooded into the tunnel from the other side. A silhouette stepped into it. A familiar silhouette. A comforting one.

He came ever closer, not breaking his focus for a moment. He had to take his time, to maintain his control, otherwise it would simply slip away from him. He was going to make it.

As he came closer to the blinding light, he saw her face. She was crying, but she was smiling. She extended her hand to him.

He kept walking. Closer now. It was definitely her. She had kept her word.

He reached out.

He took her hand.

And it was over.

#oneaday Day 856: An Ending

The atmosphere in the room was solemn. Silence hung in the air, making it feel cloying, oppressive.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not after what she'd done.

At least she'd admitted it, he thought to himself. But not without him putting her in a position where she had no choice but to admit it.

He hadn't expected things to go this way. He used to think that no challenge was insurmountable, that they'd always be able to make it through, together.

But not this time. Not after what she'd done.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and all he could see was the face of the one who had caused this whole mess. Of course, he didn't know what the Stranger looked like in real life, so the "face" he saw was obscured by shadow and mist. But he knew who it represented.

He felt himself gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, so he opened his eyes again to try and banish the unwanted intruder into his thoughts.

She gazed at him, her face a picture of abject misery. She really hadn't meant things to happen this way. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but she knew from the beginning that what she'd been getting into carried that risk. And still she'd done it — why? For the thrill? No, that wasn't it; it was more a sense of ennui, dissatisfaction, of being stuck in a rut.

She hadn't felt comfortable raising the subject, so she'd simply started plotting behind his back. Before she realised that every little plan she made without his knowledge was just going to cut deeper, she was in too far. There was no going back.

She didn't regret doing what she did — the alternative was just sinking into a black mire of mutual resentment and depression, and she knew that he knew this too; he just didn't want to admit it, or didn't know how to tackle it. He'd never been good at that sort of thing.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, her voice cracking a little from the pair of them having been sat silently for so long. "I really am."

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it like she always used to. Still he didn't look at her. He seemed to be staring into the middle distance.

His eyes were filling with tears. He couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear the thought that this was it, that it was over. He wanted to hate her, but he couldn't. He loved her, even after everything that had happened. But he couldn't bring himself to turn her way and say it. It was too late. Too late.

She put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him towards her. He resisted a little to begin with, but then allowed himself to be pulled in. He buried his head in her shoulder and felt something snap inside his mind. He started to cry, big gulping sobs that he couldn't control. He'd never felt so utterly wretched in all his life, and here he was, baring his soul and showing himself completely helpless and vulnerable to this woman who had just an hour earlier crushed his dreams for the future.

She held him close, not saying a word as the waves of emotion rocked his whole body. Tears fell from her eyes, but she was silent. She needed to be strong. If she were to give in to this pitiful display before her, then she'd never be able to move on — and neither would he.

His sobs subsided, and she gently pushed him away, trying to get him to look at her. Still he wouldn't make eye contact. His body was limp, deflated, like all the fight had gone from him.

"You know this is for the best, right?" she said.

Gazing at the wall a few metres to her left, he simply nodded after a short pause. He closed his eyes, and the Stranger was there again, mocking him. I won, the cloudy vision seemed to say. I won.

He felt his mouth tighten as he struggled to hold back the pent-up emotions and once again failed, exploding into tears with a wailing sob that broke his companion's heart.

He slumped forward off the seat and onto his knees on the floor. He bent over until his head was on the carpet. Down here it felt safe, for some reason. He didn't want to get up. Everything above the floor was scary and upsetting. The world was out to get him, and he couldn't cope any more. He just couldn't take it.

He clenched his fist and slammed it as hard as he could into the floor. The impact boomed and rattled the room. Searing pain shot through his hand and he instantly regretted his outburst of aggression.

She just watched. There was nothing more she could do right now.

She stood.

She walked.

She left.

She didn't look back. He didn't even notice she'd gone to begin with. Down on the floor, in his own private little world, he was safe, but the face of the Stranger was threatening to invade. He crawled over to the seat and rested his head on the soft cushion, still warm from where she'd been sitting. The question as to where she had gone entered his mind, then was blown out again as quickly as it had come.

He slammed his fist into the cushion, imagining he was throwing a devastating punch at the face of the Stranger. Another. And another. And another. He roared with rage, yelling obscenities with each strike. It wasn't making him feel any better. Inside, he knew what he was doing was useless; impotent. But it didn't matter.

She was gone. And he knew she wasn't coming back.

#oneaday Day 855: Another Beginning

"Hey."

The voice startled him, though it was gentle in its tone. He looked up to see the source of the monosyllabic greeting, and there she was. He wasn't sure quite how long he'd been sitting on this bench staring at his feet, but it must have been some time, as the daylight streaming in from outside the concourse momentarily dazzled him.

"Hey," she said again, smiling. She was a pretty young woman, with coppery, curly ginger hair that fell around her shoulders, and a few girlish freckles still evident around her nose. He regarded her with curiosity, but his cheeks quickly flushed, causing him to reflexively turn back to the safety of contemplating his shoes.

She sat down next to him, bending forward to try and meet his floorward gaze.

"Hey!" she said again, a little more forcefully. "Are you all right?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but it was completely dry. He closed it, swallowed and tried again.

"Nervous," he croaked, still not looking up.

"Yeah," she said. "I got that. I'm nervous too. I think everyone here is."

He raised his head and turned to face his companion.

"You hide it well," he said in a meek voice, cracking a half-hearted smile and inwardly wishing the ground would swallow him up just in case she found his comment in some way offensive.

"And you don't," she giggled. "I'm just teasing. Everyone deals with nerves differently. Me, I just need to talk to someone, to get the thoughts racing around my head out in the open, you know?"

He knew. He wished he could be as easygoing as she evidently was. But talking to people — especially strangers — made him even more nervous, so he found it difficult to imagine how striking up a conversation could possibly help.

"Yeah," he said, turning back to his shoes. He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't sweat it," she said gently. "We're all in the same situation here. Far from home, not sure what to expect, far from our friends… so we just have to make the best of it."

"Right," he said, not sure whether he was supposed to offer any more information at this point.

"I'll go first, then," she said, releasing her hand's grip on his shoulder. "I'm Jennifer. You can call me Jenn. I'm here because by some freak of nature I managed to ace my schoolwork despite hating almost every minute of it. They thought I'd be a good candidate, so here I am."

He waited, trying to determine whether or not she'd finished talking. After a few seconds of expectant silence, he realised that it was his turn to say something.

"D-David," he said, pausing. "I test well. I have the 'right kind of brain', apparently, whatever that means."

"It means that you're a good candidate too," said Jenn, placing her hand on his shoulder again. "There now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

He sat up and raised his head to look at her, cracking a more genuine smile this time.

"No," he said. "No, I guess it wasn't."

She smiled at him and he felt warm inside. It was nice. It was a feeling he hadn't felt since the last time he saw his sister, but that was–

"You looked lonely," she said, interrupting his train of thought.

"What?"

"You looked lonely," she repeated. "I'm lonely too. You might not believe that given the way I've been acting, but I am. I was lonely back home and I so desperately don't want to be lonely here. I don't… I just…"

She looked upset. The sudden shift in her demeanour took him off guard somewhat, and he'd obviously let his surprise show in his face.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. It looked like her eyes were glistening slightly with tears, but he couldn't be sure. "Just met you and here I am blabbering on. You must think I'm a right schizo. I'm sorry if I–"

"Would you like to be friends, Jenn?" he interjected. It was the most assertive thing he had ever done in his life, and inwardly he felt immensely proud of himself. He braced himself for rejection, swallowing deeply as he regarded her expression of surprise, somewhat akin to a startled animal just before it bolts. After a second or two that felt like hours, her expression softened and she smiled that warm smile again.

"Of course I would," she said. "You know, you don't have to actually ask."

"I know," he said. "But I thought I'd be polite."

She giggled and suddenly hugged him. The embrace took him by surprise, but he didn't struggle. He was just getting comfortable when she released him again.

"I think we're going to be good friends, David," she said. "Very good friends indeed."

At that moment, all the fear and trepidation he had been feeling melted away. Although neither of them knew exactly what the future held for them — no-one who joined the Project did — he knew now that he didn't have to face it alone, and he felt safe in that knowledge.

"Come on," she said, standing and offering her hand. "Let's go get started."

He looked up at her quizzically for a moment, then smiled, took her hand and stood. The pair of them began to walk hand-in-hand towards the bright light of the day.

The image froze, then quickly faded to black.

"Wonderful," said the observer.

#oneaday Day 854: A Beginning

[Preface: Been thinking I should do some creative writing again, and I had an interesting idea the other day. I thought for the next few days I'd share some doodlings that I'd come up with.

The concept is that the complete "book" or whatever you want to call it will be a book of "beginnings and endings" — short stories/scenes/vignettes that mark either the beginning or the end of something. This could be a first meeting, the beginning of a new romance, the start of a new job… or the end of someone's life, a successfully-completed mission, someone saying goodbye to a past life. I haven't figured out quite how I want to structure the overall thing yet but I'm thinking all the stories will be set in the same "world" and "time", whatever that might end up being, and that characters from some stories will show up in others. Some "endings" will match up with the "beginnings", others will stand alone. They'll all be jumbled, though, so the reader will have to do a bit of mental dot-connecting to figure out the full picture.

Anyway. It might all be a bit ambitious or it might work well. We'll see. Here's the first mini-story/scene/whatever I've written, which is a Beginning.]

"Who are you?" said the girl.

She'd come across the boy completely by chance. He looked about the same age as her, with mousy-brown unkempt hair and some tatty-looking clothing that she guessed was a hand-me-down from a sibling.

He turned to face her slowly.

"Who are you?" he echoed back at her, his face curious; hesitant.

She frowned and looked him up and down. His face was dirty, but his eyes sparkled with life. She had already arbitrarily decided that she was going to like him very much, but she knew better than to declare something like this up front. People had to work for her friendship.

"I'm Laura," she said. "You still haven't told me who you are. And I asked you first."

He looked at her suspiciously and put down the stick he was holding.

"Sam," he said. "I'm Sam."

An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments. Laura continued to gaze at Sam, sizing him up, analysing him. Sam, meanwhile, looked anywhere but at the pretty young girl in front of him, his gaze alighting by turns on a nearby log, an interesting-looking leaf on the floor or a pattern in the old oak tree's bark that looked a bit like a person if you squinted.

"What are you doing here, Sam?" said Laura eventually, satisfied that she had learned all she could with her eyes alone.

"I, err," said Sam, his cheeks flushing. He didn't like to tell people about his secret place, but since she was already here… "I like to come here sometimes," he said. "To be alone. Away from the grown-ups."

"Why do you want to be away from the grown-ups?" said Laura.

"Because they're mean," he said. "I don't like them."

"You don't like your parents?"

"No."

Silence fell once again. Laura had never known someone who didn't like their parents. There were times when she thought she didn't like them — usually times when she had gotten into trouble for something or other — but she'd learned pretty quickly that fluttering her pretty eyelashes, saying "sorry" in a meek voice and, occasionally, crying usually got her back into their good books.

"Why?" she said after a moment, deciding that the best approach would be the direct one. Sam said nothing in response for a moment and turned away from her. He picked up his stick, brushed away some leaves and started scratching marks into the dirty ground of the woods.

"Sam?" she said, craning her neck to look over his shoulder at what he might be scratching on the floor, but hesitating to come any closer. Still he said nothing. She stood in quiet contemplation for a moment, waiting for him to make the next move.

Finally, he turned around, the stick still in his hand. His eyes sparkled as he looked right at her, making eye contact for the first time. He looked sad.

"What is it?" she said. He said nothing, but simply gestured in the direction of the crude picture he'd scrawled on the forest floor with his stick. Looking back at him with an unspoken question hanging in the air, he nodded. She took a step forward to better see the markings.

Her eyes filled with tears, and all she wanted to do was hug him. She walked right up to him, looked into his sparkling, sad eyes and put her arms around him. His body, stiff and tense until now, softened as he relaxed into her embrace. He rested his head on her shoulder and put his own arms around her.

The pair of them wept.

#oneaday Day 853: Friend Collecting

I didn't understand it back in the MySpace days, and I still don't understand it now.

Friend collecting. Why? Just… why?

I am, of course, referring to the phenomenon seen in the comments thread of this Facebook post here:

(with apologies to Kalam, who is nothing to do with this.)

"Who wants 2,000+ friend requests?" asks Ahmed Hamoui, only with poorer use of punctuation and a seeming inability to use the number keys on his keyboard.

To his question, I answer "Not me. Fuck off."

Facebook is noisy enough at the best of times. Can you imagine how chaotic and useless it would be if you 1) got 2,000 friend requests and 2) accepted all of them? It would completely negate the core concept of Facebook (or what it used to be, at least) which is to be a "social tool" that helps you to connect with family and friends. The very nature of the way Facebook works pretty much encourages you to limit the friends you add to being people you actually know, otherwise there's that horrid risk of people seeing photos they shouldn't. Because despite the fact that everyone knows you shouldn't post embarrassing photos online, everyone still does. (Not to mention the fact that you have no control over what other people post.)

This sort of thing happens on Twitter, too, with the whole "#TeamFollowBack" thing, whereby certain tweeters promise to follow back if you follow them. At heart, this sounds like a relatively admirable thing to do, promoting mutual, equal discussions and– oh wait, most of them are just collecting followers for no apparent reason then filling their entire timeline alternating between bragging about how many followers they have and bleating about how close to the next "milestone" they are. (Please RT.)

I trimmed my Twitter list massively a month or two back because it was just getting too much to deal with. I flip-flopped between two equally annoying problems: things moving too fast for me to be able to keep up with, and everyone posting the exact same thing at the exact same time either due to press embargoes or the death of a celebrity. So rather than complain about it, I cut the people who were irritating me or whom I hadn't "spoken" to for a while, and now enjoy a much more pleasurable life online. Sure, my timeline still gets flooded every time a celebrity (usually one I've never heard of) dies, but at least I can keep up with the conversations for the most part.

Which makes me wonder why on Earth you would want to put yourself in a position on Facebook or Twitter where it is literally impossible to follow and engage with that many people. Surely at that point social media ceases being at all "social" and simply becomes white noise?

Or perhaps I'm just getting old. It seems to be mostly young kids (particularly Justin Bieber fans for some reason) engaging in this behaviour. Perhaps they have a much greater tolerance for being bombarded with crap than I do. Perhaps they're numb to it. Perhaps they don't really want to "socialise" at all online, simply grow a bigger e-peen than their friends and/or strangers they don't know.

Whatever. I don't really care. I have cultivated a relatively small but close-knit circle of friends online, much as in "real life", and I'm happy with it that way. It's nice to have occasional new people trickle into the mix through, say, this blog or Twitter or what have you, but I certainly don't feel any need to bellow at the top of my lungs about how close I am to 1,500 Twitter followers, and I have no idea how many friends I have on Facebook — nor do I care.

If you'd like 2,000 friend requests on Facebook, simply "Like" this post then go fuck yourself.

#oneaday Day 852: Carmageddon Reincarnation

I absolutely loved the original Carmageddon. Like, way too much.

I remember discovering it. I was hanging out with my school bud Andrew, and we'd just grabbed the latest PC Zone with its demo disc. Said disc carried a demo of Carmageddon, and we fired it up out of curiosity, as a lot of the press we'd seen about the game (this was pre-Internet for the most part) had been overwhelmingly positive.

The demo in question carried a single level from Carmageddon, time limited to about five minutes in total, if I remember rightly. That may not sound like much, but a single level in Carmageddon was, in fact, a vast open-world environment in which the race circuit with checkpoints was a relatively minor and inconsequential detail. As such, pretty much every playthrough of the demo we had was totally different — though when we discovered that flinging the player car off the top of the tallest building on the map tended to do utterly hilarious things with the game's damage model, our sessions turned to being races to said building and seeing how many times we could throw ourselves into oblivion before the car became undriveable.

But I'll back up a moment for those who, for whatever reason, are unaware of Carmageddon.

Carmageddon was a series of PC games (later ported to consoles… badly) that were ostensibly racing games but were, in fact, automotive playgrounds that were absolute joys to tool around in. They were also some of the most unabashedly offensive games of all time, though the whole thing was suffused with such a ridiculous, over the top sense of humour that it was pretty much impossible to be upset by the splattering innards that made a regular appearance. You try not to giggle with glee when your car is pinging around a cramped city block like a pinball (complete with PINGPINGPINGPINGPING noises) and electrocuting passers-by with its "Pedestrian Electro-Bastard Ray".

Victory in a Carmageddon level could be achieved in three ways. First, you could actually complete the race by going through all the checkpoints in the right order. This was often referred to as "the boring way", though the later tracks were actually pretty challenging.

Second, you could wreck all of the other racers. This was rather challenging, especially early in the game when your car was a bit crap and couldn't hope to stand up to the might of a huge bulldozer. But it was immensely satisfying when you pulled it off — particularly when you successfully recreated David and Goliath with an appropriately ill-matched pair of vehicles.

Thirdly, you could run over every pedestrian wandering around the map. This was no small feat, given that most maps had anywhere between 500 and 1,000 pedestrians shambling around, going about their business. The best thing about taking this approach is that it forced you to explore the map fully to figure out where they were all hiding. Most maps included a powerup that showed where they all were on the map.

It wasn't just mindless carnage, though. You had to strategise somewhat, since there was a constantly-ticking timer putting paid to your best-laid plans. Doing damage to other racers, mowing down pedestrians and collecting certain powerups extended the timer well beyond its starting value, so an early priority when going for the more challenging victory conditions was getting the timer up to a level where you had a bit of breathing room.

It was, in short, a great game, and one of the earliest "sandbox" games that I can think of. I also have fond memories of the game due to the fact I spent a worthwhile and profitable summer playing it to death and writing a tips book which initially was provided free with an issue of PC Zone, and which was later thrown in for free with Virgin Megastores' special edition version of the game (that came in an absolutely massive box) one Christmas.

Basically, I would love to play a new, up-to-date version with, say, online multiplayer and all manner of other goodies.

And what do you know? Original developer Stainless Games has acquired the rights to the Carmageddon name and is — hopefully, anyway — going to make a new entry in the series. This is possibly the most exciting gaming news I have heard for years. The prospect of a new Carmageddon game on modern hardware with online play is an immensely enticing one. The original games had multiplayer, sure, but they were released at a time where playing online was something reserved for those who knew what an IPX network was. In other words, they were best played at LAN parties or with workmates in the office. Living out in the sticks at the time, I had precisely zero opportunities to do this, so you can imagine my excitement at the idea of being able to crash, bash and splatter friends over my windscreen.

If you, too, have fond memories of Carmageddon — or would just like an immensely fun, irreverent sandbox driving-and-chaos experience — get thee over to Kickstarter and back the new project. With 18 days to go, the project is already nearly three-quarters funded, and there are some pretty sweet rewards on offer for backers, depending on how much you pledge.

Stainless reckons the new game will be with us around February of next year. In the meantime, they're apparently looking into what it would take to get the first two games (the third had nothing to do with them) released on services such as GOG.com and Steam.