2212: The Stat Connection

“Go to your Stats page and check your top 3-5 posts. Why do you think they’ve been successful? Find the connection between them, and write about it.”

Daily Post, February 9, 2016

All right. Let’s have a look, then. Since we’re not that far into 2016 and WordPress doesn’t appear to have an “all time” function to search top posts, I’ll provide the top five posts (excluding the homepage, which makes up the majority of pageviews but doesn’t tell me much) for both 2016 so far and 2015. In other words, these are posts that people saw the title of (probably on social media or via a search engine) and directly clicked through to, rather than simply checking my front page each day.

Here’s 2016 so far:

And here’s 2015:

All right. So let’s get analysing.

Since I write about a wide variety of topics on this blog — regular readers will know that it’s my personal outlet for venting about whatever is on my mind on any given day rather than any attempt to provide a coherent editorial experience — it’s perhaps not surprising that not all of the entries in these two lists have something in common, but there are a few common themes along the way.

How to Do Stuff

Let’s look at 2016, first. Both How to Win at Omega Quintet and Helping your Squad in Xenoblade X were written in 2015 (indicated by them not having the orange bar next to them), yet have remained consistently popular since I wrote them. The reason for this is that they are instructional content: guides for video games. Instructions or guides are consistent traffic magnets, regardless of the subject matter of your site, because one of the most common things people search the Internet for is how to do something. Video games sites often use guide content for current popular games to attract visitors to their site and guarantee a baseline of ad revenue, then cross their fingers that readers will click through to other, less “baity” content. It doesn’t always work like that, of course, which is why we’ve seen a rise in deliberately provocative “clickbait” content across the board, not just in games journalism.

Anyway. The reason that my guide content for both Omega Quintet and Xenoblade X proved popular is that these were both games that had a specific audience, but neither of them were “big” enough for a commercial site to want to devote time and column inches to them. In other words, those searching for help when playing Omega Quintet and/or Xenoblade X would be out of luck when searching the big video games sites, but a cursory Google search would doubtless throw up my posts here fairly early on — indeed, at the time of writing, my post on Omega Quintet appears sixth in my (admittedly personalised) Google search results, embarrassingly with a typo in the preview text which I have now corrected:

It’s for this reason that a couple of my other previous posts have proven popular over time: my post on How to Play Pocket Academy, for example, detailing the baffling and frankly illogical mechanics of Kairosoft’s mobile-based school sim, rode high in my rankings for quite some time. I tell you: if you want traffic, write posts that tell people how to do stuff, and preferably how to do stuff that mainstream sites haven’t covered.

The Power of Sharing

My most popular posts are always several orders of magnitude more popular than their nearest rivals, with perhaps the most impressive example being 2015’s An Open Letter to Paul Glass, Slimming World Consultant, Upper Shirley. This post was pretty far from my more regular subject matter on popular media, particularly video games, and yet it was my most popular individual post for 2015. Why? Because it had the absolute shit shared out of it.

Paul Glass was the consultant at our local Slimming World group when I first joined, and his enthusiasm and belief in the programme was and is a big part of why I’ve stuck with it and had so much success over the course of the last year — I’ve lost six stone in a year, hopefully with more still to come off. When he revealed that he would be leaving the group to spend more time with his family in far-off climes, I felt it important to express my feelings about what he had helped me accomplish in such a way that I could be clearly understood. I’m shy and socially anxious by nature, and at the time I wrote this I’m not sure how confident I would have felt saying all those words in person, but writing them down on paper is no big deal: I can “fire and forget” that way.

Something told me that I should probably share this post a little wider than just my Twitter followers, though, and so I decided to make one of my extremely irregular visits to Facebook to post a link to the letter on the Facebook group for the Slimming World group in question. That one simple action caused that one single post to absolutely explode in popularity, as it was shared by group members, Paul himself, and subsequently by other people I’d never met involved with Slimming World in various capacities, either as group members or staff.

You never can quite tell what the next big viral sensation is going to be, but there is one thing that all my popular posts do tend to have in common:

The Passion of the Post

It is, I feel, no coincidence that my most widely shared, most popular posts are those in which I feel most passionate about the things that I am writing about. I am a person who, I feel, can express their passion for something pretty clearly through my writing. And indeed, due to the aforementioned shyness and social anxiety mentioned above, I find writing to be the easiest means through which I can express that passion to an audience that can — hopefully — appreciate what I’m saying, or at least respect it.

2015’s most popular posts were all about passion, from my letter to Paul to Perhaps We Should Stop Insulting Fans of Japanese Games. Four out of the five posts above were about video games — four out of the five posts were pretty much about the same thing, in fact, which was critics’ regular dismissive and unfair treatment of both Japanese game developers and the fans of the games they make — but these posts all resonated deeply both with myself and with the circle of friends I’ve cultivated on social media, most of whom share the same interests as me.

Consequently, much as my letter to Paul got shared far and wide, so too did The Joyless Wankers of the Games Press (actually written the year before in response to an absolutely atrocious review of Fairy Fencer F on my former stomping grounds of USgamer), Some Thoughts for Critics (a response to Jim Sterling’s dreadful and ill-informed review of Senran Kagura 2), Hi Games Journalism, It’s Time We Had Another Chat (a response to Mike Diver’s equally dreadful and ill-informed review of Senran Kagura 2, a game which is a ton of fun but which proved to be a whipping boy for self-described “progressive” types on the grounds of the female characters’ big jiggly breasts) and the aforementioned Perhaps We Should Stop Insulting Fans of Japanese Games (a response to an extraordinarily narrow-minded editorial on USgamer by my former editor Jeremy Parish, and almost certainly the reason he has me blocked on Twitter). I saw these posts get shared and reshared, not only on Twitter, but also on Facebook and Reddit, the latter of which I don’t really use myself.

The things I had written had clearly got the strength of my feelings across, and other people felt like they could relate to them in some way — either agreeing or disagreeing — and this caused them to explode in popularity, at least in terms of numbers. The same, too, can be said for 2016’s Why It Would Be A Mistake to Not Localise Valkyrie Drive Bhikkuni, an impassioned plea for the progressive loudmouths not to stop Senran Kagura creator Kenichiro Takaki’s new game making it over to Western shores.

Bovril?

I’ll be honest, I have no idea why a post from 2013 about beef-and-yeast-extract black sticky substance Bovril is my third most popular post this year so far, but oddly enough this post has been consistently popular: it finished 2015 in sixth place, just after my various rants at the games journalism industry and also ranked sixth in 2014, but only managed 19th place in its original year of publication.

It’s not even a particularly exciting post: it simply describes what Bovril is and how I feel about it. It doesn’t even appear on the front page of Google results for Bovril. But I guess it meant something to someone somewhere. Perhaps not many people write about Bovril on the Internet, and my post offered a safe space for Bovril fans to convene and share in silent contemplation of salty beef drinks. Or perhaps it’s just one of those things that can’t quite be explained.

So what can we learn from this?

There are a few things you can probably see my most popular posts have in common. To my eye, these things are:

A clear, conversational title that makes it clear what the post is about — i.e. a simple subject line rather than a “title” that tries to be clever or funny
Passion for the subject — clear emotion, either positive or negative, is infectious and relatable
Scope for sharing — be it a topic that a lot of people feel strongly about, or something that is written in such a way that presents a strong argument in favour of or against something
Complete honesty — even at the expense of a few “bridges” if necessary
Instructions on how to do stuff — particularly if nowhere else has published instructions on how to do that stuff

Not all of my most popular posts have all of the above elements — although I do make a specific effort to apply the “complete honesty” element to everything I write — but these are, by far, the most common factors that all of my most popular posts have between them.

I hope that’s proved as enlightening for you as it has for me: it’s certainly given me some food for thought with regard to what to write about going forward from here, so I’d say both as a writing exercise and an analytical investigation, this post has been a great success.

Thanks, Daily Post!

1761: Sensitised

If you buy in to the popular perception that various forms of media — particularly movies, TV and video games — desensitise people to horrific and violent things, then you are an idiot.

Okay, that might be a bit strong, even if it’s what I believe. But the experience I went through this morning certainly drove home the fact that reality is reality, and fantasy is fantasy.

It was something I’d seen many times in the virtual world. Something I’d deliberately caused to happen many times in the virtual world. And yet seeing it in reality — even for just the fleeting moment that I did — was horrifying and disturbing.

I was driving to work as I normally do, along the M27, which regular readers will know is a road I despise for numerous reasons, not least of which is the fact that it gets very busy and seems to have more than its fair share of “incidents” and “accidents”, according to the overhead electronic signs. (I’m not actually sure what the difference between the two is, but I know that they both cause enormous delays on a nearly daily basis.)

It was early in the morning. The sun was just starting to rise, bathing the Eastern sky, which I was driving towards, in a pretty peachy-orange glow peeking out from behind the clouds. The day was dawning, and it was just about becoming possible to see things without the assistance of artificial lighting, though the streetlamps were still illuminated and most drivers still had their headlamps on.

The traffic wasn’t heavy — as I’ve noted recently, I’ve started leaving for work a lot earlier in the morning than I had done, as this allows me to miss the rush hour jams on the way to work, though I usually get caught in the beginnings of them on the way back when I leave. There was a steady flow of cars in both directions, though; people were on their way to work, though not yet in the numbers that would swarm onto the devil road just an hour or so later.

In other words, it was a perfectly normal morning. I was driving along, minding my own business, listening to some Emerson, Lake and Palmer and trying to make up my mind whether I was enjoying it or not, when suddenly it happened.

Over on the other side of the motorway, a small white van spun out of control then flipped over in what I can only describe as a movie-style crash. I was passing it by in the other direction as it happened, so I didn’t see the aftermath, but what I did see was enough to etch itself onto my memory for the rest of the day.

It didn’t look as if the van had actually hit anything; it looked like a loss of control. I wouldn’t have expected a simple loss of control to result in the vehicle leaping in the air and corkscrewing, however, but that’s what it did; it was a crash of the ilk you’d see in a video game like Burnout, only it was really happening. There was someone inside that van; there were people in the streams of cars that were speeding towards it, unaware that disaster had just struck a few hundred yards ahead of them. As I say, I didn’t see any of the aftermath, but I would be very surprised if there weren’t at least a couple of other cars involved after the fact — and I’d be even more surprised if anyone managed to get out of that without at least a few injuries.

It was a strange thing to witness; I felt surreal and disconnected, but at the same time painfully aware that it had really happened just a few metres away from me. It occupied my thoughts for the remainder of my journey to work, particularly as I saw the traffic starting to build up in the opposite direction and, with admirable response time, the emergency services start to make their way down the road to deal with the situation.

I don’t know how it happened or indeed what happened next; I hope that anyone involved in what looked like a horrific accident is as all right as it’s possible to be when something like that happens.

And if you’re heading out onto the roads in these wet and windy winter months, particularly first thing in the morning? Do please be careful.

1752: Death to Shitty Roads

I may comically exaggerate my dislike of certain things at times, but for the most part these are nothing but exaggerations for (possible) comedic effect. There are very few things in this life that I genuinely hate.

But the motorway that runs along the south coast, connecting, among other places, the town where I live (Southampton) and the town where I work (Havant, just beyond Portsmouth), is one of those things I do hate. Oh, M27, how I loathe and detest you so. How I wish you weren’t so awful. How I wish I wasn’t obliged to drive on you every day since, despite your shittiness, you are the most efficient means for me to get from my home to my work.

The M27 isn’t an especially poorly maintained road or anything — although the patch around Southampton has a somewhat bumpy surface that serves as a convenient “you’re nearly home!” landmark for my return journey — but it clearly isn’t suitable for its purpose. It’s heavily used by commuters every morning and evening rush hour, and it clogs up pretty much every day for well over an hour in either direction. You can set your watch by the traffic reports on local radio saying day after day that the M27 is busy between Fareham and Southampton Airport, since it is literally every single (working) day.

It’s one of those roads that clogs up for seemingly no reason. “QUEUE AHEAD,” the overhead signs will warn, offering a somewhat optimistic recommended speed of first 60mph and then 40mph (which can be translated to 40 and 15-20 in real terms respectively) as the sea of brake lights illuminates ahead and the flow of traffic slows to a crawl. Everyone will proceed like this for a while, and then just as suddenly as it started, it will clear up and start moving again.

There is one part of this dreadful road where it’s possible to see how jams form; I think I mentioned it a few days ago, but while I’m complaining it bears mentioning again. For the most part, the M27 is a typical three-lane motorway in either direction, but for one single solitary mile just beyond Portsmouth, there’s a fourth lane added on the “fast” side, dubbed a “climbing lane”. This is inevitably used by BMW drivers to pull out aggressively, charge past everyone else and then get stuck when, just under a mile later, the lane disappears again, merging back into what was before (and immediately afterwards is again) the “fast” lane. Jams form as those screaming up the climbing lane shove back in to the main flow of traffic, with other cars moving aside in an attempt to get out of the way of these aggressive drivers. Everyone ends up squished against one another and a jam forms; it’s no coincidence that immediately after the end of the climbing lane, the flow of traffic gets back to normal.

The reason I’m whingeing about the M27 this evening is because it decided to be particularly annoying for my journey home. I was tired, I was hungry and I just wanted to get home and relax. But the M27 had other ideas, first throwing a broken-down lorry in the middle lane in the path of everyone, followed by not one, not two, not three but four separate accidents in the space of about five miles. The weather wasn’t even particularly bad; there were just four separate but nearby incidents of disastrous driving; one car with all its windows smashed in the central reservation; another that had obviously skidded off where the motorway and a slip road parted ways at a junction; another where one car had seemingly hit the back of another so hard that the front of the former was practically fused with the latter; and another that I didn’t see just ahead of where I pulled off to actually get home, gnashing my teeth by this point.

I haven’t yet figured out the optimum time to do the commute to and from work. I’m beginning to think it might actually be in the interests of my own sanity to get up ridiculously early and drive in before the rest of the horde hits the roads; that way, I’ll get to come home before the rest of the horde hits the roads on the way back. I’m tempted to try that tomorrow, but it does involve getting up horrendously early, something which I struggle with at the best of times; perhaps it will be worth it, though. We’ll see!

1736: Traffic Report

It is traffic that drives the modern Web, whether we’re talking about a commercial site or a personal social media page, but I’m gradually coming to regard the relentless pursuit of this easily measurable but sometimes quite misleading metric as something I’m keen to step as far away from as possible.

Why? Because the behaviour of the Internet hivemind — they who create the traffic — is predictable. Write something interesting and compelling — but, crucially, not controversial — that you’ve poured blood, sweat and tears into and came away from feeling yes, this is one of the best things I’ve ever written, and you’ll inevitably barely register a blip on the graphs. On the flip side, write something controversial or angry — preferably with plenty of finger-pointing — and you’ll get hundreds, thousands of hits. But are they the kind of people you want to be attracting to what you’re writing?

In the case of a commercial site, it doesn’t actually matter all that much; in the case of the biggest sites like IGN, the comments section moves so quickly with all the commenters’ vapid nonsense that there’s no time for anyone to be able to fixate on the actual people who have been reading it in most cases — unless, of course, it becomes clear that the community at large has an opinion contrary to that of the writer, in which case it usually degenerates into a battle of snark via Twitter within hours of publication. But even on smaller sites, comments sections are easily ignored; ultimately, it is those traffic figures that are totted up at the end of each week to determine how “well” things are going — the theory runs that if you lure people in with more “clickbaity” stuff, they will hopefully enjoy it and stick around to click through to some other, less controversial but much better pieces. It doesn’t necessarily work like that, sadly: bounce rates are high, and tricky to “fix”, particularly if you contemplate how your own personal browsing habits tend to go.

In the case of a personal site like this one, however, it very much does matter who you’re attracting to read the things you’ve written. I have a small group of semi-regular to regular commenters on this site, all of whom I’ve gotten to know and come to regard as friends. When someone new shows up, their first comment is important; it determines whether or not I actually want to engage with them, or whether I never want to speak to them ever again. It’s nice when the former happens; when the latter happens, however — something which is seemingly exponentially more likely on a high-traffic day — it can be anything from mildly annoying to actually quite scary, particularly for someone with anxiety issues around certain social situations.

It’s for this reason that I’ve come to dread the WordPress notification that reads “Your stats are booming!” because it means that, for whatever reason, lots of people have come to my site and are doubtless just itching to leave a comment on something and tell me how much I’m wrong. (The side effect of the aforementioned anxiety is that one negative comment counts for about 20 positive comments, making it very hard to get a nice, calming balance, and making me very anxious and nervous about the possibility of arguments, even over the smallest of things.) Today was one of those days: something I wrote a little while back — something which I stand by, but am also keen to put behind me now my life is moving forwards — got linked a whole lot. Judging by my stat reports, it seems it was linked from Twitter, Reddit and a few other places and, at the time of writing, has produced my “best” traffic day for a very long time.

I can’t say I’m particularly happy about that, though, because all it means is that I’ve written something contentious that I anticipate those who agree will stay quite and maybe give a Like, while those who disagree will jump in the comments and yell at me. (The comments on the aforementioned piece are now closed, so this makes prospective yellers’ lives at least a little bit more difficult, which is something.)

Since ditching the hustle and bustle of social media, with its constant pursuit of validation through Likes and Comments, I’ve become much more content to simply continue along on my way without interference from wider society. And while you may point your finger at me and say that I’m just trying to live in a bubble or an echo chamber, to that I simply say so what? We don’t need to open everything we say and do up to public scrutiny, and just because you publish something online for family and friends to read doesn’t mean that you particualrly want it shared with the wider world.

It’s a fact of life, however, that with this modern, connected world, if you publish anything online, whatever it is, you open yourself up to it being shared more widely, possibly well outside of your own safe place, and consequently run the risk of attracting… undesirables, shall we say. And that sort of thing is starting to make me increasingly uncomfortable — particularly after I’ve been the victim of an organised Twitter harassment campaign in the past; something I’m really not keen to repeat in any shape or form through any online medium.

Oh, don’t worry, this blog isn’t going anywhere; personally speaking, it’s been a valuable outlet and almost a form of “therapy” for me over the course of the last four and a bit years, so I can’t seem myself giving it up any time soon. I would, however, ask anyone reading any post on this site and contemplating sharing it or leaving a comment to take a step back for a moment and think about the person behind the words: a 33-year old dude who is just now finally starting to get his life moving in a vaguely normal direction after numerous years of upheaval, disappointment, upset, anger and chaos; a 33-year old dude who, after 4+ years of working “on the Internet” is now keen to have a bit of a quiet life. I’m not saying don’t share; I’m not saying don’t comment; I’m not sure what I am saying, really, if I’m perfectly honest: just please take what I’ve said above into account. That’s all I ask.

1720: Jam

I’ve had a decent-length commute to work on several occasions throughout my life to date, and every time, I’ve found myself wondering how on Earth some of the road layouts I have to drive through got approved.

Take my daily journey to my current place of employment. The majority of this involves driving along a motorway that is a major route along the south coast. For starters, the road itself is in appalling condition — it’s something of a bumpy ride as I leave Southampton, then smooths out a bit later, though is still a bit of a pothole-ridden mess in a few places.

It’s some strange things it does with its layout that are the most baffling, though. My “favourite” — and I use this term loosely — is a short section of less than half a mile in length where the previously three-lane motorway turns into four lanes — the rightmost lane splits in two, with the new fourth lane becoming what it calls a “climbing lane”. I am unsure of the exact purpose of this fourth lane, because 1) the road there isn’t particularly hilly (either upwards in one direction or downwards in the other) and thus I question the need for a “climbing lane” if indeed it is for “climbing” a hill and 2) all it seems to get used for anyway is for BMW, Mercedes and Audi drivers to aggressively pull out into and then overtake the people they think are going too slowly. (Which, as I’m sure you know, can be summed up as “everyone”.)

Splitting into four lanes isn’t a terrible idea as it spreads the traffic out somewhat, and that particular stretch of the road tends to get very busy around rush hour. Which is why it’s utterly bewildering that said four-lane stretch lasts for, as I mentioned above, less than half a mile, at which point the new fourth lane then merges back into the third, almost inevitably causing a traffic jam every single day.

Predictable traffic jams are a pain in the arse, but you can at least plan your journey around them if you know that it’s 95% likely you will get stuck for at least 10 minutes in one particular spot. On my commute for another job much further back, the traffic jams around Winchester were so predictable — and so stationary — that I had the time to create a Gowalla (Foursquare precursor) check-in spot called Winchester Traffic Jam and write a description on my phone before anything moved again… then check into it every single day, because it was always in the exact same spot.

I guess the explanation for these dodgy stretches of road is simply that the amount of traffic has increased over the years, while the road capacity hasn’t. But there are places where it’s a clear and obvious problem; all you have to do is listen to the local radio’s traffic report each day to hear exactly the same places coming up time and time again. (And the traffic report lady demonstrating her slightly annoying habit of saying “Your queue…” instead of “There is a queue…”, as if queues are something desirable being handed out to everyone.)

Since you can’t just shut a major road off completely — particularly while people are commuting on it — it’s difficult to know how these situations could be resolved. I guess we just have to resign ourselves to the fact that yes, we are going to waste a considerable portion of our life creeping forwards at 10mph wondering if we should phone ahead to work and tell them that the traffic is, once again, quite bad.

At least it’s quality time to listen to some music or podcasts — something which I missed while I was working at home.

#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 279: Saturday Drivers

I don’t know why anyone bothers to try and do anything on a Saturday, particularly if doing said thing involves riding in a car for any length of time.

“Why’s that?” I hear you ask.

“Well,” I say, “it’s to do with traffic.”

When asked to elaborate, I elaborate on the fact that traffic gets bloody everywhere on a Saturday, but particularly in the various town centres of the UK. Everyone decides that Saturday is “shopping day”, which makes a certain amount of sense, given that normal people (i.e. not unemployed scrotes like me) are normally working throughout the course of the week. But to this I respond “why not Sunday? What’s wrong with Sunday?”

It’s a fair question, I feel. Although the opening hours of most shops are shorter on Sundays, opening later and closing earlier, there is, these days, otherwise nothing to distinguish the experience of shopping on a Sunday in a town centre to shopping on a Saturday. Sure, there may be more people coming and going from church. If you happen to be passing by a church, of course. Which, let’s face it, shopping centres aren’t known for being built in close proximity to.

The net result of all this trafficky nonsense on a Saturday, of course, is that any time you actually want to get something done that involves passing through (or even near) a town centre on a Saturday, you had better budget at least twice as much time as you think you need. Because a good 50% of your journey will be spent staring at another car’s arse wondering if you’ll ever see your home again. I experienced the joy of this today, with a trip into Eastleigh town centre earlier in the day (Eastleigh being a town remarkable for featuring a road layout designed by someone who has no idea how big a car is) and later a trip to Southampton (jammed solid) to pick up my friend Tom in order to give him a lift to my other friend Sam’s in Winchester. Oddly enough, Winchester, which is usually a traffic-infested hellhole thanks to being a medieval city that wasn’t really designed with cars in mind, and features a Gowalla spot for the traffic jam which occurs every day like clockwork between 5 and 7pm, was pretty clear. Result.

The above isn’t just limited to town centres, either. Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of driving on the crown jewel of Britain’s road system, the M25, will be well familiar with this feeling. Except on the M25 you don’t even have any interesting towny sights to enjoy while you’re stuck behind a million other cars that stretch off to the horizon with no obvious reason for stopping dead on a road designed for driving at 70mph. No, you have concrete, and other cars. And trucks. And that’s about it. Not fun. At all. Better hope there’s something good on the radio, or at least that you have some entertaining content on your iPod.

So basically, my advice to you? If it’s Saturday, then just stay in. You don’t need to go out. Just stay in. Catch up on TV. Watch a DVD. Play a lengthy video game. Listen to some music. Read a book.

Anything. Anything but go for a drive.