Last night I popped into my loft, which a feat worthy of a mention because until recently I have been too fat to get through the trapdoor. So for many months I believed the boxes to be lost to me and thought that they would only be discovered by future generations. It would be the find of the century, like the tomb of Tutankhamen or Luke Skywalker’s dad.
The reason I found myself delving into the dry rat-poo infested recesses of my cottage was because of a creeping nostalgia. At the end of this month I’m buying a PlayStation 4 games console. My old Xbox 360 died last year and I have managed to scrape enough money together to buy a new machine. Yes, I did think about buying an Xbox One but the hardware specs are inferior and it looks like an old VCR full of bums.
Because of this, I began pining for the old PlayStation (1) in my loft. That’s why I was in the loft…not in the cellar…I don’t have a cellar. Why are you talking about cellars? You cellar idiot.
After a few minutes of searching through boxes of CDs (remember those), vinyl records (remember those) and memories (remember those). I found a cardboard box containing the grey lifeless corpse of my old PlayStation. It looked like the 1990s and smelling of dust. I love the look of the 1990s and smell of dust in the evening, it looks like the 1990s and smells of dust.
After carefully and clumsily dropping the box through the trap door, I gave the contents a wipe over with Martin Sheen and made it go up my telly. Then I popped in a game disc and pressed the reset button. The machine restarted and the splash screens appeared with a beeooom fring da da da noise and I was instantly transported to my bedroom in the 1990s. I could almost smell the Febreze and hot motor of the fan I used to keep me cool in the sultry summer of 1995, when all my friend were out in the fresh air and I remained indoors making a large breasted woman jump and climb walls.
The game loaded and I was presented with a title screen, it said ‘Tomb Raider III’ and there were two options New Game or Load Game. Out of curiosity I selected Load Game and after a few seconds it displayed a list of check points stored on one of the two the 1Mb memory cards poking out of the machine’s front end. I selected the last one and after a brief loading screen I was into a game which, according to my calculations, began in 1998. The last time I had set eyes on the pixely dungeon containing Lara Croft’s enormous boobs I was a skinny 28 year old. Now I was a middle aged man resting the controller on his paunch and discovering that even 16 years later Tomb Raider III is a brilliant game. I played it for three hours before staggering into bed. In your face Call of Duty.
Now I’m looking forward to getting my old man thumbs around this: