Right; time to update you on my life. Sorry for the extended hiatus, but I’ve been busy/depressed/lazy. First off: I’m moving jobs. As of July 11th I’ll be Reviews Editor of The Official Xbox 360 Magazine. Woo!
Thoughts; I spent the majority of yesterday at Lionhead studios, where I saw Alpha code for The Movies, Black & White 2, and Fable: the lost chapters. All of which look fecking excellent, and I will be playing lots when they come out, assuming my computer can handle them by then. Considering the last time I played Black & White I spent a day thinking I was a orangutan, I’l try and ease down on that one. I spent most of my time, though, sat in chairs in various locations, discussing with people about our philosophies, our perception of the society we’re living in, and what we can do to change it. These people varied from Amanda, our photographer, to the lovely PR Cathy Campos, to Sir Peter Molyneux himself (if only there was a Von or De in the middle of his name).
I tried, subtley like, by getting Peter to talk about his problems with the governments support for the UK games industry and by mentioning that Jonathon Ross had stated that he’d only accepted his OBE so that he could give it back when he got annoyed, to get Mr Molyneux to agree to give it up in order to highlight the plight of UK games. But he was ahving none of it, just moaning “precious, my previous” to himself. (N.B. All statements attributed to persons living or dead are fictitious and should be taken as such – H.P. Squithin pp Pumrole of the Bailey.)
Looking at my diary (my memory is seriously shot these days) I spent the weekend in the park, playing Vampire: the Masquerade – Bloodlines (yes, I am addicted. But, mmm, sweet ghoul blood), reading Umberto Eco’s The Name of The Rose, Iain Banks’ The Algebraist and John Wyndham’s The Trouble with Lichen, listening to Radio Four and watching dumbass film. Batman Begins was alright, couldn’t be more painting by numbers if Tony Hart and Neil Buchanan’s bastard love-child had daubed it, Once Upon A Time In The West was fan-dabbie-doozie, though I always get Charles Bronson confused with Charles Manson and think that he killed Roman Polanski, and the original Litle Shop of Horrors from 1960. To be fair, the latter has aged worse than its sequel and its by turns grotesque and bumbling, but is worth picking up for some of the individual performances – Dick Miller (the old guy from Gremlins) is great as a flower-eating nutjob, Jack Nicholson’s cameo is passable and the two incidental cops have wonderfully hard-boiled dialogue.
Det. Sgt .Joe Fink: How’s the wife, Frank?
Det. Frank Stoolie: Not bad, Joe.
Det. Sgt .Joe Fink: Glad to hear it. The kids?
Det. Frank Stoolie: Lost one yesterday.
Det. Sgt .Joe Fink: Lost one, huh? How’d that happen?
Det. Frank Stoolie: Playing with matches
Det. Sgt .Joe Fink: Well, those’re the breaks
Det. Frank Stoolie: I guess so.
When I can remember what else I’ve been up to, I’ll get back to you.