A Jubilant Jubilee.

Ah the Queen. Her royal highness. Mizz Busy Lizzie. Breaker of chains. Owner of beagles. Mother of adulterers and (alleged) paedophiles. Yes, the monarch formally known as Princess has successfully presided as Britain’s head of state for over seven decade’s. Celebrating a reign with as many significant achievements as she has burdens, since her inauguration in 1952. Making history by becoming the first sovereign in over 200 year’s to accede while abroad. Enduring a veritable malaise of post war, pre war tragedy. The Queen has witnessed the appointment and subsequent failure of numerous Prime Ministers. The passing of her husband, our nations most venerated comedians, Philip, the duke of York. The inevitable decline of our economy. The tragic death of Princess Diana. Conflicts. Recessions. Mrs Brown’s Boys. Jim Davidson. So many atrocities.

During her tenure the Queen and the aristocracy in general has been the subject of much social scrutiny. Considered as a bygone institution, representative of exalted hereditary privilege. An imperialist regime, funded by the taxpayer, that provides negligible benefits for those who subsidised their lavish lifestyle. The Queen and her entitled family, aren’t elected official’s. Emblematic of our democracy and our society. Personally, I couldn’t be more ambivalent to the whole thing. Sure, to have an institution that is funded by the tax payers seems like a arcane distribution of wealth at the expense of the poor. But just think what it must be like to be Queen? Thrust into a life you didn’t choose.

Having your life dictated by a predetermined set of ancestral obligations, sounds almost Dickensian. Like genetic incarceration. Trapped in a life that affords immeasurable opulence, yet tempered by oppressive responsibility. Hardly slavery, but not exactly a life of independent frivolity either. Imagine having to make regular public appearances at gala’s, state opening of Parliament, garden parties, Chelsea flower show, entertaining foreign dignitaries. Having to make a concerted effort to indulge in a procession of self serving conceited diplomats and “Philanthropists”, discussing banal conceited subjects. Having your image commercialised. Emblazoned on gaudy commemorative ceramics, stamps, currency and even album covers. Yes, the rhapsody of Bohemian is as much of British iconography as double-decker buses, under-performing national football teams.

Personally, I couldn’t be less interested in a system of imitation autocracy. I regard the Queen in much the same way as Frank Drebin does in “The Naked Gun”. “For as silly an idea as having a Queen might seem to us, as Americans, we must be gracious and considerate hosts”. It’s a curiosity of British imperialism. A fallacious attainment of an antiquated system of governance, long since disbanded. But the Queen, bless her, is deserving of recognition. Now I’m not just saying this because this Jubilee entitles myself to a four day weekend. Nor that when she does permanently abdicate, that a week of mourning will commence, allowing us sufficient time to reconcile the outpouring of grief we will no doubt endure, while not going to work. No. But because any person that has had to host the likes of Boris Johnson, Donald Trump, Tony Blair and Rolf Harris, and remain as dignified as our majesty, has earned our esteem.

---

Congratulations your majesty. And thank you for the 2 days away from work.

Do PlayStation Trophies Enhance Your Games?

The acquisition of trophies, the symbolic achievements obtained from completing specific objectives in a game, not the contents of your grandfather’s souvenir cabinet, have become something of favoured activity since their formal introduction back in 2008. Though a belated reaction to Xbox “Achievements” initiative established 3 years prior, they have arguably become the preferable alternative. Committed trophy hunters dedicated to the procurement of these benign, seemingly fateous intrusions often participate in lengthy discussions about how best to negotiate a particularly challenging task. Joining communities to exchange solutions or suggestions so that others might apply them to their own endeavours. The pursuit of a Platinum can be a formidable task, one thwart with frustration and irritation. So to have such a convenient resource at your disposal eases the trepidation one might endure when confronted by an arduous task others have struggled with. Yet many don’t just ignore these ancillary components, but deride them. Expressing such a vitriolic contempt for what is an optional feature.

A few years ago I briefly worked alongside an individual whose hatred for “Trophies” bordered on the obstinate. Arguing that as a supplementary feature trophies/achievements actually compliments a games longevity, encouraging the exploration of a world that would otherwise be hampered by our own inhibited restraints. He still insisted that they were pointless, exemplified by his attitude to completely disable notifications of these invasive novelties. The game, or more accurately the experience should not be the primary motivation. No game should ever be consciously dismissed because of a particularly challenging Platinum. Nor should the mitigation of a condition be an incentive. Comprimising your experience, dictating player autonomy for these subsidiary trinkets is detrimental to a games intended objective. If you’re driven by fated stipulations you aren’t invested. They’re ancillary components that should never be the principal consideration. But rather enhance your experience.

There’s also the persistent argument that games employing predetermined quests in an attempt to ebb out there length trivilises the experience, which isn’t entirely unfounded. But oftentimes these provisions can inspire us to play in ways we may not have necessarily have tried. Perhaps traverse areas we would have otherwise ignored or attempted a difficulty setting that may have seemed unattainable. To challenge ourselves in ways we may not have expected. Providing an alternative method for immersion.

My personal collection now exceeds 60 Platinums. With each one presenting unique and challenging tasks that never felt like they diminished or undermined my encounter. There’s a subtle, yet critical distinction between dedication and addiction, and at times it can be difficult to discern one from the other. But if you’re not having fun, then you’re probably not playing it right! Passionate contingent, bordering on the rabid. Divided into categories Trivial merit A game is as long or short as it needs to be. Bade by the Exposure

How Gaming Has Encouraged Me To Succeed.

I can only apologise for the neglectful dereliction of duty on my supposed “gaming” blog at the moment. Life has become one Tetris like entity, as blocks of random and often I’ll fitting pieces continue to drop, stacking into an increasingly precarious tower. It just feels like there’s a flattening pressure rearing down on me like a train wearing lead high heels. Still, it’s structural rigidity is starting to diminish as the days go by and the burdening torture of pregnancy that cripples my girlfriend on a daily basis allows me to apply rigorous humility to my burgeoning problems, which by comparison are as important as nipples are on men. I can at least begin to loosen the bonds of encumbrance by finally preparing for my theory driving test, as I’ve finally martialed enough confidence as well as knowledge to take it. Well at least book an appointment for a few weeks time at least. Believe me I haven’t studied this hard since I was in school and if I’m honest I didn’t study then! Now I find my evenings are congested with complex hieroglyphics that are road signs, isolating potential hazards, conjectural scenarios and how to deal with specific instances. Battling randomly generated questions I’ve forgotten the answers too, the routine gesticulation and robust gestural signals you’re supposed know to indicate if you’re turning left, right or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, that defer all manner of meanings I can’t comprehend because my heads about to explode!

But I guess there is a loose gaming association when it comes to applying myself to learn. In a game I won’t give up; I’m determined, capable and exert an inexhaustible perseverance and belief that eventually I’ll succeed. Of course I swear a lot on my way to success but that’s merely a formality in the annals of victory. And I think we all have an inert capability to overcome any adversity, to challenge ourselves and earn those achievements/trophies. The gold trophies that I’ll hopefully receive for passing both the theory and practical tests, along with the various bronze and silver ones I’ve accumulated as I’ve progressed as a driver will all culminate in a beautiful, albeit figurative platinum. And I didn’t even lower the difficulty.

Waiting For Player 3 Is Terrifying!

Well it’s happened, I’ve become that guy! The one who’s besotted by every little mannerism or gestural nuance of their child. “Oh she gurgled. Oh he burped. Oh she plopped. Oh he projectile vomited in his mother’s mouth! So adorable. It’s these moments I cherish the most.” What’s worse is that my daughter hasn’t even been born yet. It’s evident that this obsession will only hasten as the baby begins to become a more realistic proposition. An infant whose preferred method of communication will likely be flatulence, that will no doubt endeavour to castigate any and all free moments to game with deliberate, infantile interventions. Yet I’m not put off, nor do I resent the lack of time that I’ll dedicate to gaming as much as I thought I would. Logistically I’ve been somewhat complacent too, dismissing the very existence of the steadily progressing growth that has bloated my girlfriends uterus. The spare room that has been acting as a storage facility for all our surplus bric-a-brac as well as my games room for almost 3 years is still stuck in a perpetual rift. It’s not decorated suitably, with one wall painted in a bright, rather aggressive hue of red. Nor is it equipped with adequate furnishings to accommodate the very singular specifications that a baby would need such as a cot. One minute everything is normal, then suddenly this innocuous bump has swelled to the point that ignorance is no longer an acceptable recourse. I don’t think I’ve been capable of processing that this is happening, that preparations for her arrival should be my immediate priority. Not the completion of Arkham Knight or waiting for the release of Uncharted 4, but this. A child! A matted culmination of my girlfriend and myself with diminutive proportions that will rely so heavily on the combined support of both her parents. It wasn’t until last Saturday that I finally understood the significance this tiny creature will have on our lives.

The pictures are a little difficult to see but I can confirm without bias, that she she will be perfect!

I’ve attended every routine scan since we found out about the pregnancy which has provided distorted images of our daughter. But without any clarifying features it still felt distant, like it was happening to someone else. The 4d scan has given a physicality to a previously formless entity, generating a palpable sense of clarity to something that had never felt real. With my mother in attendance, eyes glazed in tears, I got a clearer picture of our unborn daughter and how my mother will react every time she sees her. Apart from my girlfriends rather sordid comparison that described her as looking like the elephant man (the baby, not my mother), which now ruins the above pictures, I felt a tremendous sense of pride I’d never achieve from any platinum trophy, especially as she doesn’t appear to of inherited the terrifying snout that has cursed the bloodline of my family. Now I have this infatuation to mention her in every conversation regardless of context. “Oh you had pizza for dinner last night? Lovely. My girlfriend is baking a little pizza of her own!

Now with less than 3 months until her birth I’m feeling both terrified and excited. What carnage will ensue when this little poop suppository is born? Well I’m sure it will consist of feeding’s, butt wiping and sleep deprivation. And that’s just me! But if her mother is any indication of her potential stature, characteristics and personality then our daughter is going to grow into a capable, giving, bubbly and gorgeous young woman. Just like her mother.

A Weekend Of Gaming…..With Chicken Wings?

Can you hear that?…….That tranquil nebulous sound? The vacuous ambiance? The rasping whisper of serenity? I don’t really understand why my mind interprets serenity as a personification of an elderly man with respiratory failure, but it does damn it! What I’m trying to say is that for the first time in a number of months I have the entire household to myself. Just me, my PS4 and enough sugar to put me in a diabetic coma! Of course my Girlfriend asserted with admirable verve that of course my domestic duties weren’t completely negated by her absence and my extended convalescence. This concession was by no means ignored, as I did eventually scoop up a bit of fluff that had been securely stationed in the darkened crevice of my upholstery. *Sigh* What a great couple of days it was. A weekend of excessive indulgences, of nutritious concessions and of intolerable cruelty (I’ll get onto that in a minute.) Now some people are averse to the emancipation afforded through solitary isolation, but I love it. My earnest desire for solitude really stems from my lack of society aptitude and the colloquial monotony of everyday interactions. Besides gaming with impunity is only possible with the abdication of prying appraisals. This was my time to self indulge in gaming that I haven’t really done since I was about 15, and I took full advantage.

The bulk of my weekend was liberally dispersed between my rejuvenated lust for “Hotline Miami” and revoking the imposed limitations of alcoholic abstinence. Trust me, when you’re attempting to A+ every chapter in Hotline Miami you’d drink a ravine streaming with beer and JD! Unrestrained by the social etiquette of having to wear formal garments to conceal my natural nakedness around the house, with my girlfriend admonishing my congenial liberation from underpants because according to her it isn’t “appropriate” for me to stroll around our residence with my billiards hanging loose like swaying pendulum (I’ll just leave that image with you for a moment). I tried, oh did try to convert my ambition for A+ propagation into tangible success, but I was defeated more times than Newcastle United! Wraith was my consummate liaison, guiding me through each chapter with chortled belligerence. It was as though it had taken physical residence behind me, massaging my shoulders as I continually failed, urging me to relinquish my aggression and give in to the dark side, to which I complied by hurling cushions across the room with the resounding *poof* as they hit the floor. My convalescent peace was shattered by the barbed trolling I was experiencing from Hotline, as I moved from a reclined state of respite to being perched aggressively on the end of the sofa screeching with sniggering anguish. So I relied on a more affable contingency; food.

“This is what I was fighting for!”

With the discretionary consumption of food already available to me, I began foraging through the wilted remains of our preserves. Sifting amongst the jutted remains of frozen suppositories I felt it best to bolster our sensible repository with a favourable supply of fish, chicken and pizza. Hastened by repeated gaming discontent I ventured out periodically to acquire much-needed sustenance, with no calculable barometer for just how much nutrition was being extracted from chicken wings and other reformed poultry. But who cares, you’re not my mother! There was no one there to restrict my consumption of these detrimental substances. Moreover there is no better food than chicken when trying defeat a game as nefarious as Hotline Miami. After devouring the breaded flesh of numerous unspecified chickens, with their splayed carcasses garrisoning my plate, I persevered with my exertion to at least obtain 2 or 3 A+ rankings. I had determined that achieving individual trophies would yield diminished returns, so I instead decided to condense my arrears into one manageable sum. After hours of hollowing, swearing and a few cushion throws my voracious gaming appetite was finally sated at around 2am, with no paramour to chastise the lateness of my completion.

Its been a long time since I’ve been presented with such ancillary time to dedicate to a computer game. It was akin to when your parents left you at home for the first time believing you to be a responsible teen, before you seize the opportunity to play ball in the house. Just with less collateral damage generated to family portraits and ceramic owls. Of course any evidence of my listlessness was now concealed, with all of her speculative accusations directed at my perceived sloth now just oblique, circumstantial conjecture. What a lazy, forget the hindrance of underpants weekend it was. But I’ll admit that being afforded such abstinence from the monotony of routine is refreshing, but the seldom allures of such isolation does help me reflect on just how much I do the miss the company of others. Just a little bit.

What has been your most memorable gaming weekend? Let me know. Cheers.