Are videogames good for your kids, or are they playing with fire?
Posted: June 23, 2011 Filed under: Games, Society, Technology | Tags: addiction, game addiction, Grand Theft Auto, parenting, videogame violence, videogames, violence 1 Comment »Hello loves! I ran out of time to write something from scratch this week, so instead I offer this: a piece I put together in August 2010 for the marvellous iN Magazine. The brief was to come up with an article aimed at parents, explaining videogame addiction and how parents can deal with it, so it differs quite a lot to the style I use here at the Bucket. Back in August, the World Cup was still big news – which is why Robbie Green keeps popping up – and looking over it again I wish I’d found a less trite and contrived line to to wrap up the article. Nevertheless, it was good fun to write – and iN really is a very lovely magazine – so I hope you enjoy it.
Incidentally, one thing I’ve learnt from reformatting this for the web is that writing online can be a lot more complex than print, because you have to explicitly link to all your sources. Or, in this case, scramble around the net trying to find them all again.
Anyway, here’s the thing!
———————————————
You almost have to feel sorry for videogames: they’ve taken the fall for just about everything. In the past decade, they’ve been blamed for rickets, vandalism, obesity, cancer, the destruction of Swedish pot plants and even England’s failure to get anywhere in Euro 2008. Seriously: Robert Green, the goalkeeper whose fists of margarine now live forever in World Cup infamy, bizarrely suggested that other countries performed better because they were too poor to buy Playstations and had to settle for plain old footballs instead. Maybe if we’d paid him less, he would have actually stopped a few more goals during the group stage?
With all this silliness, it’s difficult to know whether games deserve their reputation or not. They’ve long been seen as the enemy of the caring parent, nasty little boxes of tricks that turn your child into a violent maniac, an addicted slave or possibly both. Do games deserve their reputation, and how can parents keep their children safe? The argument over videogame violence is an important and difficult one, with no easy answers. We’ve all heard the horror stories of teenagers supposedly going on the rampage after a bout of Grand Theft Auto, or the American boy who shot his parents after an argument about Halo. However, if you look behind the shock of these headlines, things aren’t always what they seem: the kids in these cases had a history of underlying social problems that confound the issue. The science, too, is unclear: for every research study that says one thing, there’ll be another claiming the exact opposite – so while an experiment from Iowa State University suggests that violent games significantly increase aggression, one from Essex finds that they actually reduce it. Since the folks in white coats can’t seem to make their mind up, what exactly are we parents supposed to do? If your child spends hours daily executing Arabs in Call of Duty, should you stand back and let it happen or try to take the game out of their hands, knowing that they might react aggressively?
The industry’s position on this is clear: kids should not be allowed, under any circumstances, to buy or play adult-rated games. Have a look, for example, at the box for the latest big- money blockbuster – saddles ‘n’ stetsons cowboy simulator, Red Dead Redemption. A phenomenally grizzled outlaw sneers at you over the business end of a shotgun: follow his eyes downwards, and you’re immediately drawn to the huge 18 certificate which glowers like a fat wart from the corner of the box. As with all games, the age rating logo is significantly bigger than those on mere films. Everything about the whole image practically screams, “Parents beware! The man on this cover is NOT a role model for your kids.” He hasn’t even had a shave.
Back in the eighties, when life was all Pong, Space Invaders and Tetris, nobody would have ever considered that games would be anything other than bright and bleepy playthings for timewasters of all ages. Yet as technology has developed and suddenly the bleeps have become swelling orchestral scores while the vivid colours have morphed into swarthy cowboys, games are starting to become capable of telling more complex stories. Stories that you might not want your kids to hear, but are nonetheless a lot more interesting for us grown-ups. Lazlow Jones, of the infamous Rockstar Games (makers of Grand Theft Auto and Red Dead Redemption) puts it bluntly: “Our games are not designed for young people. If you’re a parent and buy one of our games for your child you’re a terrible parent. We design games for adults because we’re adults.”
If only it were so simple. Children are pesky creatures, as cunning as a fox and with the annoyance power of ten Go Compare commercials. And they know to strike when you’re at your weakest: when you’re rushing the midweek supermarket run after a gruelling day at work, it’s difficult to object (or even to notice) when the devious devils slip a violent game into the trolley, sandwiched innocently between two DVDs and a jumbo bag of Haribo. So, if your children have managed to get their sneaky hands on the latest violent title, should you be worried? Maybe, but don’t panic. A quarter of all children aged 11-16 identify an eighteen-rated title as being among their favourites, meaning that you’re hardly the only parent in this situation. Most of those kids will grow up to have respectable careers as bank managers, doctors and magazine journalists – only a tiny minority will actually end up showing the violent and antisocial behaviour that games supposedly cause. Indeed, those studies which show that gaming can lead to violence point out that it only occurs when several other risk factors are also present. Social problems, family trouble, depression, low discipline: a child needs to experience several of these in conjunction with violent media before feeling any serious effects. If your children are otherwise happy and successful, they probably won’t suffer any long-lasting consequences from violent games so long as you keep a careful eye on what they’re playing.
The same could arguably be said for addiction, the other – and perhaps more sinister – side of the gaming coin. Addiction is a potentially overused term: a quick trawl of the internet will show you people who claim to be addicted to everything from body piercing and dirt-eating to unicycling and facebook, though sadly not all four at once. If you ever come across a bloke with more studs than skin cells who can balance on a single wheel, leaving one hand free to update his status and the other to stuff his face with delicious soil, let me know: I’d love to see the pictures. Despite all that, it’s perhaps surprising to see that neither videogames nor any of the ‘addictions’ mentioned above are listed in the DSM, the medical manual used across the world to diagnose mental disorders. There are pages on kleptomania and compulsive gambling, but nothing related to gaming. That’s not to say that videogame addiction doesn’t exist: just that there isn’t enough reliable data available yet to make a proper medical decision. Until that happens, it’s up to us as parents to try and decide whether or not our children have a problem. The tricky part is figuring out where to draw the line between harmless play and a troublingly compulsive habit. When your child spends almost a whole day gawping blankly at a screen, it’s natural to be concerned. But it might not be so bad – let’s be honest, most of us have at some point spent six hours straight (maybe more) reading a book, or watching the Hollyoaks omnibus all the way through. Your child might spend the same amount of time with a videogame: that doesn’t mean they’ve got a disorder. They’re just throwing themselves into a new hobby with the sort of energetic gusto that only children can achieve.
So where can we find reliable information on game addiction? Again, not in the newspapers, which are often full of terrifying reports that don’t quite ring true: one story in Lancashire quoted an “expert” as saying that two hours of gaming produces the equivalent high to a line of coke, which might come as a bit of a surprise to those of us who enjoy a spot of Sudoku Master on the DS. With claims like these flying around, it’s a good idea to delve into the science itself and see what’s really going on. First, the bad news: studies of brain chemistry by Dr. Norman Doidge suggest that game playing – violent or not – can indeed be harmful. Whenever you’re enjoying something, your brain releases dopamine: “the fun chemical”. Dopamine doesn’t just make you feel like you’re having a good time, though, it also reinforces the mental pathways involved. In other words, the more time you spend playing games, the more your brain will rewire itself to become better at playing them and even start to expect it. In very young children, whose brains are still developing, this could spell trouble: games, with their fantastical colours and sounds, are highly stimulating and the instant rewards they give the player can lead the brain to expect rapid dopamine hits and become easily restless. However, this can also work the other way: studies by the Mind Research Network suggest that games can improve motor skills and spatial reasoning – turning gamers into expert problem solvers. Meanwhile, communication-based games can develop teamworking abilities and diplomacy. While some studies have found a link between excessive videogame playing and low social skills, a research team from Nottingham Trent University are keen to point out we might have it all the wrong way round. They argue that games are used as a means of escapism by troubled teens: their excessive playing is not the cause, but rather a symptom of their underlying mental problems.
The conclusion, then, is that games – even the violent ones – aren’t necessarily bad for your kids, so long as you take an active approach to parenting. They might even do a little bit of good. In their book Grand Theft Childhood, Drs. Cheryl Olson and Lawrence Kutner explain that the best way to ensure your child’s safety is to get involved and take an interest. Talk to them about the games they like to play and why they find them so much fun, while encouraging them to look critically at how violent the characters actually need to be. Keep the TV and console in a public room so that you can see what they’re playing, and if you’re feeling adventurous, you could join in and play with them – you might even enjoy it, given that the average gamer is thirty-two years old. The key issue is engagement: by talking about games, you’re not only taking an interest in your child’s hobbies but also getting a glimpse of what goes on in their head while they play.
If you don’t like what you see, or your child refuses to talk and you think they might have a problem, don’t react angrily or try to ban games outright: this will just encourage them to retreat further. Try to see if they’re having any other problems, at school or with their friends, which could be leading to this behaviour and encourage them to open up about how they feel. If you think things are really out of hand, if your child can’t walk away from the game and seems to be getting aggressive, if they’re not sleeping or eating properly for days on end, then consider seeking help. Organisations like Broadway Lodge can help you find the right treatment programme to get your child back on track. However, for most kids, this won’t be necessary. So long as you keep games out of really tiny hands while taking an interest in your older children’s gaming, you can make sure that the hobby doesn’t become a habit and find new ways to connect with your children. As with TV and films, games are just another thing that we have to watch closely to make sure that our kids enjoy them in moderation. Otherwise, you risk ending up like England’s slippy-fingered keeper: trying to blame it all on the computer games, instead of keeping your eye on the ball.
You can’t hide in a fortress of lesbians
Posted: June 16, 2011 Filed under: Technology | Tags: anonymity, identity, internet, lesbians, LulzSec, Paula Brooks, profiling, Tom MacMaster Leave a comment »Sometimes, like a baby owl chucking up its first pellet, the internet mulches together a big ball of skeletons from deep within its guts before violently throwing it up right in our faces – and like squeamish ornithologists, we’re both fascinated and disgusted by this rotten lump of icky, long-hidden secrets.
This week the net hocked up a big one, with the revelation that lesbians on the internet aren’t all they’re made out to be. Of course, we all knew that anyway: dig below the web’s thin layer of plausibility and into the sticky, mucky mass of its three-thousand-dollars-per-second porn industry, and you’ll find a world founded on the fabulous lie that lesbians account for 89% of all women, and have evolved to the point where they can only survive if they stick their tongues down each others’ throats every forty-six seconds.
This time, though, it’s a little different. First came the news that the popular “A Gay Girl in Damascus” blog contained nothing but the fantasies of Tom McMaster, a married middle-aged man. Then, it turned out that Paula Brooks, editor of the “Lez Get Real” gay news site, was also rather more manly and rather more married than she may have previously let on. At this rate, it’ll have been revealed by the end of the week that there are actually only three real lesbians in the world, and the rest exist solely in the fevered imaginings of those with an XY chromosome and a compulsion to tell saucy lies.
When asked to explain why they built themselves such elaborate glass houses from which to catapult stones at lesbians worldwide, the two were bizarrely adamant that their cause was noble. “The purpose of the website is to try to be a champion, to do something good,” wailed Bill Graber, the man who would be Paula Brooks. “I wanted to try to give some people who didn’t have anything, everything.” MacMaster, meanwhile, furiously maintained that he was battling “the often superficial coverage of the Middle East and the pervasiveness of new forms of liberal orientalism.” Right. And I suppose that the Black and White Minstrel show was meant to heal the nation’s racial tensions?
This weak dribble of mouth-effluent can’t submerge the overwhelming global consensus that these men were narcissistic idiots. The responses had a few predictable and completely correct themes: the pair were hurting lesbians across the globe, they didn’t have a clue about lesbotics in the first place, they’ve given ammunition to an already hateful regime. A few writers, though, have chosen to use this as an example of how easy it is to fake your authenticity online.
At this point, I’m going to have to jump off the boat and paddle against the tide by saying the opposite: if anything, it’s only ever going to get more difficult. These two examples both show that the net’s vast echoing chamber of tweets and links can turn a tiny lie into a worldwide phenomenon, forcing the original pushers of filthy falsehoods to become ever more ingenious and creative, stacking huge whopping lies on top of the original until the whole bloated, sordid mess collapses in on itself like a wrong soufflé. These two men may have been crying for attention, but once they actually got it in serious amounts then their stories quickly came unstuck. That’s one way the modern web makes things harder: compared to just ten years ago, it’s now a lot easier for people to quickly shine a spotlight on anything suspicious. There’s also the fact that, compared to the wide-eyed optimism of the nineties, we’re now well used to seeing the internet as a shabby establishment filled with cranks, trolls, and peddlers of sadly ineffective sexual performance enhancers – less of a Utopia and more like Mos Eisley, or Blackpool. We’ve come to expect everything to be a scam of some sort.
Nevertheless, those two arguments are relatively minor palate-cleansers compared to the main dish: that there is a strong financial incentive for people to track who you are and what you’re doing online, and the ongoing giddy rise in connectivity and computer power is only going to help them. The net-traipsing public are squirting out more data than ever before, and it all has to go somewhere: from Myspace profiles to server logs, everything you do online leaves a trace of some kind. As I wrote last week, tech behemoths like Facebook and Google can’t wait to capture as much of this as possible and make a big profile of everything you do. Your ISP, as well, might be looking more closely at your connection to check for naughty behaviour, or even holding secret trials of new software that allows them to follow your every move online and sell that data on. After this, throw in the amazing amount of personal information held by credit referencing agencies and you’ve got trouble.
The web still feels like an anonymous playground, but unless you’re really good at covering your tracks, then the data is all out there just waiting for someone to join the dots. Businesses such as Wonga.com are already beginning to capitalise on this, but in the meantime there are still plenty of folk about who’ll turf up your secrets just for the fun of it. Step forward LulzSec, the hacky-go-lucky team of japesters who forcefully demonstrated the point this week when they broke into a porn site, stole all its users’ login details, and stuck them online – reddening the faces of more than a few military and government officials who’d signed up with their workplace email addresses.
For anyone who thinks they can still hide safely in a fortress of assumed identities (lesbian or otherwise) and terrorise the web’s marginal communities, this all adds up to a sobering warning: your indigestible truths can’t stay hidden in the internet’s gizzards forever. It’ll throw them up, probably at the most inopportune moments, and it’ll be up to you to deal with the smell.
How the internet turned us into a species of short-tempered eyeballs
Posted: June 10, 2011 Filed under: Society, Technology | Tags: advertising, eyeballs, internet, last.fm, Prince Charles, web marketing 2 Comments »Prince Charles is, to put it mildly, an unorthodox fellow. He looks like he’s starting to melt, for one thing, and has said some very silly things about grey goo bringing about the end of mankind – as if all the world’s wallpaper paste could rise up into one wobbly mass and overthrow its cruel human masters, leaving them flailing helplessly beneath a smothering blanket of hitherto properly-hung chintz and fetching floral prints.
Nevertheless, for all his well-meaning but slightly misguided bluster, sometimes he does make a point, albeit in a very accidental sort of way. Look at this outburst about how kids need to read more ‘good’ books and play less ‘evil’ computer games: “None of us can underestimate the importance of books in an age dominated by the computer screen and the constant wish for immediate gratification.” Books are nice and all, Charlie, but there’s a problem with your logic which I’ll explain here to avoid clutter.
Still, he might have been onto something with the “instant gratification” bit. That’s definitely a technology thing – I’ll happily wait half an hour for my soufflé to rise (read: pizza delivery) but the sight of a spinning hourglass on my laptop screen becomes unbearable torture after about three seconds. The have-it-all-faster-bigger-better dream of technology means that the second an ordinarily well-balanced adult steps into the oblong light of a computer monitor, they transform into a knicker-twisting and horrendously spoilt toddler, banging their rattle against the keyboard and bawling “WANT THING NOW!”
One of the worst examples of this is the furore over music service last.fm changing its mobile policy. Last.fm is a lovely idea: it automatically keeps track of the songs you like listening to on your computer, then uses this info to build a customised “mix radio” of songs that you haven’t heard before but it thinks you might enjoy. You listen to this personal radio station through their website – it’s free, with its costs covered by the advertising placed around the site and inbetween the songs themselves. If you want, you can subscribe for three pounds a month – less than a sandwich, or a tube ticket – and the ads go away. All very nice indeed.
However, since showing ads on smartphones can be as fiddly (and as unprofitable) as building a combustion engine entirely from matchsticks, the people behind last.fm made the reasonable decision to restrict their phone apps so that they’d only play personalised radio to subscribers. This unleashed a flood of snotty whinging which continues unabated on the Android Market and elsewhere:
“money grabbers. I would wish you luck but that will probably cost me as well.”
“I loved this app… Used to be free WTF. Greedy much?
deleted”
“Sucks now. No point in having it when you can’t listen to music unless you pay”
Bloody hell. You’d think that there was a UN declaration that everybody has the unassailable right to unlimited quantities of free, personalised music.
Where does this all come from, this madness? In part, it might be down to the way the internet changed our relationship with advertising. This happened in two ways:
First, it gave businesses far more power to monitor their audience: you can track exactly how many people click your ads, how long they spend on the site, what sort of things they usually search for (and pay for), and so on. Previously, audiences and advertisers were like coy Georgian lovebirds, exchanging love letters at a distance. Now, they’re rolling around on the sofa with their hands down each other’s pants. Huge companies like Facebook and Google are locked in an arms race to grab more and more info, to track you and profile you in ever greater detail, so that they can offer marketers the best chance of having their ads seen by the right people.
This mad rush ties in directly with the second change: now we’ve got the unlimited pages of the internet, marketers can’t just arrogantly slap a commercial on ITV and expect the whole country to pay attention. As far as the internet goes, whatever ads they put out are just farts in a snowstorm – this sudden anxiety over relevance has led to web advertisers becoming obsessed with “eyeballs.” You have to get high up the search rankings, to grab those eyeballs! Make your banner image really exciting, to grab those eyeballs! Break into people’s houses and smash their stupid, fickle faces into the screen if you have to, just so long as you get THEIR DAMN EYEBALLS ON YOUR STUFF. This newfound desperation has been pretty good for the industry in some ways, and abysmal in others. The good: cool agencies make their own funny videos, release flash games, or get involved with your friendly free radio service. The bad: shitty agencies shoehorn references to Charlie Sheen, Paris Hilton and donkey-fisting into everything because, hey, that’s what people search for, and you have to – say it with me – grab! those! eyeballs!
It’s a fittingly reductive bit of terminology from an industry that revolves around degrading human beings into shapeless demographics and target markets.
What does all this do to us, then, the consumers? It gives us a newfound power over the advertisers: our data and attention are suddenly precious gifts that we control, like tubby sultans perched on piles of gold. Some people have found clever things to do with this power, like fight poverty and cancer. Most of us let it go to our heads – drunk on a dizzy cocktail of self-importance, we DEMAND free stuff. Let the marketers pay all the actual cash for things online! And if they do, then maybe we shall deem them worthy of having our eyeballs pointed at their hoardings. For we are not just people, but sentient commodities – and we are as kings to you!
Except that often, it doesn’t work. Sure, you can make a lot of money out of ads, but only if you pull in seriously large numbers of eyeballs. And this is the quandary for last.fm: to get those numbers, it needs to increase its userbase. But users cost money: every song they play incurs a licensing fee for the publisher. And it follows that subscribers make more money for the site than free users, otherwise there’d be no need for subscribers in the first place, so this means that non-subscribed users must bring in less than three quid a month in ad revenue. That sub-three-hundred-pennies has to cover licensing, staff, rent, equipment…it’s a difficult balancing act. So when they need to make a minor change to this delicate economy of scale – like making mobile radio a premium feature – how do we respond? Do we sympathise with the fact that, in the bizarre eyeball-based economy of the internet, it’s difficult to hit on the perfect business model right away?
Of course not. As the web’s spoiled sultans, we stamp our feet, and ball our fists, screaming and crying and crying and screaming until there’s snot all over our turbans and we’ve been sick on the rug. How DARE those GREEDY SWINE take away OUR MUSIC! Don’t they know who we are? Don’t they know that we make the world a better place just by signing up for user accounts and looking at things? Those BASTARDS!
And that, right there, is our future: the whole human race reduced to bundles of enthralled eyeballs, quivering with righteous fury at the latest perceived slight to their overblown sense of entitlement, until finally, mercifully, everything sinks into a puddle of hungry grey goo.
MINIBUCKET: When bad trees die, they get turned into Tom Clancy novels
Posted: June 10, 2011 Filed under: Literature | Tags: bad sex, Bear and The Dragon, Red Storm Rising, sex, terrible books, Tom Clancy Leave a comment »
This man has seen things. Terrible things - horrendous fusions of man and machine. And I'm not talking about The Terminator.
Two words which destroy forever the argument that books are better for you than movies, or videogames, or throwing cheesegraters at a henhouse: Tom Clancy.
Tom Clancy has had thirteen titles hit #1 on the New York Times best-seller list. He’s also the best argument imaginable for the annihilation of the printed word. His books are all jingoistic war-wank fantasies of US troops stomping down the commies in ever more bizarre ways – my favourite is The Bear and The Dragon, a weird little romp in which the US and Russia team up to invade China, a country whose people are referred to constantly as “Klingons” and “barbarians,” and ultimately quail before the superior economic might of the USA (ha!). It’s the sex scenes, though, which really put a brown cherry on top of this turd pudding. Here’s an excerpt:
“He unbuttoned his own cuffs, and she forced his shirt off, down his back, then lifted his T-shirt over his head or tried to, for her arms were too short to make it quite all the way— and then he hugged her tighter, feeling the silklike artificial fibers of her new bra rub on his hairless chest. It was then that his hug became harder, more insistent, and his kiss harder on her mouth, and he took her face in his hands and looked hard into her dark, suddenly deep eyes, and what he saw was woman.
Her hands moved and unfastened his belt and slacks, which fell to his ankles…”
And so on, until your genitals shrivel with shame and crawl off to die under the doormat. If the Dubai authorities were really serious about preventing improvised displays of beachside passion, they’d set up a series of loudhailers playing the audiobook in an endless, lust-smothering loop, barking forever into the sea the immortal line: “and what he saw was woman.”
With all those weirdly impersonal nouns and a strange focus on describing clothing rather than, say, emotions, you might think that Clancy just isn’t that into the whole business. You might think that his sexual preferences lie…elsewhere. Perhaps this clipping from Red Storm Rising can shed some light:
“Lockheed called her the Ghostrider. The pilots called her the Frisbee, the F-19A, the secretly developed Stealth attack fighter. She had no corners, no box shapes to allow radar signals to bounce cleanly off her. Her high-bypass turbofans were designed to emit a blurry infrared signature at most. From above, her wings appeared to mimic the shape of a cathedral bell. From in front, they curved oddly toward the ground, earning her the affectionate nickname of Frisbee. Though she was a masterpiece of electronic technology inside, she usually didn’t use her active systems…”
See? Books can be horrible sometimes.
How I learned to stop worrying and love De Blob
Posted: June 3, 2011 Filed under: Games | Tags: colour, De Blob, escapism, games, music, videogame, Wii Leave a comment »
Look at that cheeky smile! Don't give him a hug though, unless you enjoy being doused in three litres of Dulux's finest.
Whatever your age or situation, chances are that at some point you’ve been confined inside a regimented system – school, the workplace, maybe even prison if you’re the naughty sort – and gazed out of a window, dreaming of freedom, of casting away the shackles of organised homogeneity and running around in the sunshine rejoicing in the colours and noises of the world. This is why people go to music festivals – it’s also why De Blob is the greatest summer videogame of the last five years.
Chroma City was once a vibrant, cheerful place abounding in joyful hues – but then along came Comrade Black, head of the nefarious INKT Corporation, who sucked the colour energy out of the buildings and turning this once-unique city into a dull vista of identical grey skyscrapers. Not only that, but its cheerful Raydian inhabitants were locked into prison suits and forced to labour as accountants and clerks. Boo! Fortunately, the titular Blob is exactly the right hero for the situation: as a sentient ball of paint able to instantly coat any object it touches in a thick layer of vivid emulsion, you’re on a one-blob mission to restore the city’s lost colour and free the Raydians from their drudgery. Yay!
The basic mechanic – hoover up some Dulux and hurl De Blob at everything in sight – could easily become repetitive but is handled with such skill that it never feels like a chore. Every building you repaint is instantly transformed from a dirty grey, Soviet-style faceless slab into a gorgeous, flamboyantly decorated work of architectural art. Paint an entire city block, and the trapped Raydians will spill out into the street: one touch from De Blob is all it takes to burst them out of their prison garb, changing depressed office drones back into happy-go-lucky spirits who jump for joy at their freedom. As you progress through the city, transforming INKT’s propaganda towers and polluting factories back into jazz cafés and football fields, the world comes to life in response: the clouds clear, the sun shines, and the fantastic soundtrack swells gradually from a few isolated drumbeats into a full-blown funk explosion that sweeps you up in its irrepressible energy.
This what gives De Blob its cult appeal and stands it apart from the Modern Warfares and Grand Theft Autos of the world: it offers the sheer, warming satisfaction of actively spreading joy throughout a downtrodden populace. It’s not the best designed game – individual levels can take several hours to finish properly, with no chance to save your progress while you’re at it – but what it does have is real heart and a knack for raising a smile. Who cares if the economy’s recovering with the speed and stability of a ginned-up unicyclist traversing a valley of jelly? Budget cuts, the price of petrol, global warming…De Blob urges us to forget them all and just celebrate the brilliance of life in itself – to escape the drab for the dazzling, reclaim civic spaces from corporate hands and bust out of our suits to have some fun.
When the inevitable British drizzle puts a damper on your holiday plans, break out De Blob: it’s the very spirit of summer, distilled into a videogame and delivered with humour and affection. There was a sequel released this year which flopped like a soggy origami halibut, meaning that the series is likely finished, but you can still pick up the 2008 original for pennies online. I can’t recommend it highly enough.





