Y’know, I’m a bit allergic to travelling. The world is a scary place – it’s full of people and people are pretty awful. If 2016 is anything to go by, you’d be better served staying in your homely nuclear bunker surrounded by chocolate and ice-cream and video games. I like to live life like a true house cat, wrapped up in bed sheets and a warm drink. It sucks out there. People are scary. Luckily though video games are nicer than people.
When I was little, I often used to sneak away out of my home in deepest, darkest Woolwich to knock on my neighbours door and ask to play his copy of Street Fighter 2. He barely knew me. I barely knew him. But slightly confused, he would awkwardly concede and sit me in front of his shiny Sega Megadrive and watch me kick cars to bits, attempt to punch people to death and hurl giant orange fireballs at people as the games most recognisable leading man, Ryu. While I was distracted by the flashing neon visuals, gawking at the screen like a transfixed kitten who examines tasty birds in the sky, my bemused neighbour would slip away and get my mother, who’d drag me back to our home. When it came to video games, I was certainly an adventurous little thing.