All that comes with it

I listen to a lot of BBC Radio 4.  Not quite as much as I used to do before I discovered the wonderful world of podcasting (The Word and Collings and Herrin are particularly worth checking out), but still have it on a fair bit. 
 
For the chronically American amongst you, Radio 4 is a bit like NPR but a lot better.  It is arguably the jewel in the crown of the BBC. Just check out the webpage if you don’t believe me. Every single program they have broadcast in the last seven days is up there waiting for you to listen to. And it’s all free at the point of delivery. I particularly recommend the comedy and the factual sections.
 
I have inherited my love of Radio 4 from my parents.  It was our constant companion on every single car journey we made. And I honestly believe that it shaped both my sense of humour and my inquiring mind just as much if not more than TV and the educational system ever did.
 
It is, in short, worth the licence fee all on its own (as is BBC Radio 7 incidentally).
 
Or at least it would be, if it wasn’t for the bloody Archers. 
 
Foreigners might as well stop reading now as you are probably not going to understand a word of this, but it needs to be said.  I hate the Archers.  I hate the theme tune, I hate the tedious plot lines, and I hate the fact that all the women appear to be called Caroline and all the men called Brian.  But most of all I hate the smug middle classness of it all.
 
I hope I don’t offend anyone here, but if I hear one more person say “Oh I don’t like soap operas, I only listen to the Archers” I’m going to punch them on the nose.  Just as the Apprentice is Big Brother for snobs, the Archers is Emerdale for people who believe they are above the hoi palloi .
 
And it’s on every day. Twice. With an omnibus on Sundays.

There are other programs on the station that make me switch off: Any Answers, the majority of the afternoon plays, and the Today Program (is it me or are they more interested in creating the news than reporting it?). But the Archers has the power to bore me so badly that I am in danger of falling asleep at the wheel. They keep their plot lines going on for literally decades. The first episode broadcast was on the 29th of May 1950 and I think they are still blathering on about the same problem with the village gala that they were then. Everyday tale of country folk my arse.

But don’t just take my word for it, I’ve downloaded the latest episode to torture you with. Have a listen if you want, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.

 

 Standard Podcast [13:04m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download (208)

There are many things in this world that I am no good at. Remembering birthdays, resisting that second doughnut, tolerating old people in the supermarket, the list goes on and on.

But one thing I fail at in a truly magnificent fashion is computer games. It doesn’t matter what the genre: platform, beat-em-up, sports, first person shooter; I’m crap at the lot of them. If given a choice do tend to gravitate towards strategy games, but only because it takes me longer to lose.

Computer games are designed to provide regular small victories. Every time you solve a puzzle, beat a boss, or get a weapon upgrade your brain rewards you with a pleasant injection of endorphins. This spurs you on to the next challenge, and by such little episodes of task and reward you eventually complete the game.

Or that’s the theory anyway. The reality for me is that it takes me so long to achieve any sort of victory at all that instead of feeling euphoric when I finally beat Zurg the Mighty I just feel a sense of relief and a slight easing of my tension headache. Sometimes I can’t even get past the part where you enter your name without consulting online cheat guides.

It’s my belief that I’m just not designed for computer games. If my efforts aren’t sabotaged by my poor hand/eye co-ordination or my slow reactions then it’s by my short attention span and inability to think tactically. Even the game controllers somehow seem not to fit my big meaty paws properly. The fact that my kids regularly smear the controllers with jam and other noxious substances probably doesn’t help either.

But the sad thing is that despite my ineptitude I really like computer games.

My generation was the first to have home computers as a fixture in our childhood homes. Before us kids had to be content playing pong and space invaders in dark and dingy arcades, no wonder Jeff and Greg turned out so weird. I’ve even heard tell of a time in the dim and distant past when children didn’t even have access to computer games at all. Freaky.

With the advent of the ZX Spectrum and the Commodore 64 in the mid eighties children could suddenly play games in the comfort of their own homes ( but admittedly only after a seven or eight hour wait for the buggers to load). And play them we did. Jet Set Willy, Horace Goes Skiing, Chuckie Egg; classics each and every one of them. Even back then I was crap, but that didn’t stop me talking enthusiastically about them in with the other snotty nosed kids in the playground.

Now, twenty odd years later, all us ZX Spectrum users are now in our thirties with jobs and kids and mortgages. But along with those responsibilities we also have Playstations, Xboxs and PCs. We may have swapped the playground for the pub, but we’re still talking about the latest Grand Theft Auto release or about playing with our Wii (*snigger*). In my group of friends at least, computer games have joined sport and children’s TV of the 80’s as a universal solvent - a neutral topic of conversation on which everyone is able to become involved.

I’m not saying that’s all we talk about, far from it. In fact, like most males, ninety nine percent of our conversational output is dedicated to taking the piss out of one another. But when the insults and humiliation reach a natural lull all it takes is someone to say “I’ve been thinking about getting a third generation console, but can’t decide between a Xbox or a PS3″ and things start to pick up again. It may sound geeky, but trust me, it certainly beats talking about the Huddersfield Chives chances of beating the West Yorkshire Mustard Tubes in the big game next Saturday.

So while I’m rubbish at them, computer games still hold a fascination for me. And every now and then I take the plunge and re-immerse myself. With our recent purchase of a Wii (*snigger*) I’ve been dipping my toes in the water again, and so far I’ve found the experience pleasurable. At the moment I’m making my way through Lego Indiana Jones and Metroid Prime 3. And while my progress is slow (Greg recently told me he had got Metroid for fathers day and he’s got further through it in one week than I have in the three months) I am at least enjoying myself.

Now if you’ll excuse me I have some aliens to kill.