Matt seemed pre-occupied with the desire for food so I sat on a bench to think for myself and question authority, when suddenly the Captain burst out of the toilets with the rather over-enthusiastic cry of,

Eventually the phone rang and just like in the Secret of Mana, another player would soon be joining our adventurous party; CC's mate was on his way, and we didn't even need a multitap! After Matt ate, we realised that Rohan would soon arrive back in Warwick and there was no way we would make it back in time (or at least find our way there), so we told him to find his own method of transport, and soon he arrived in Kenilworth on the local district bus line and after many directional phone calls we met him at Sainsburys. A rather gruff looking Canadian, Rohan seemed friendly enough, but also had an air about him that suggested he would kill you, skin you alive, and hang you on his wall. Maybe it was just me. Nice lad though, despite being Canadian, and totally unable to do an English accent.

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The last resort was to ask the local petrol station, or at least the people who work in it. Sadly the response of said-staff employed from the local area who have motorists from all across the country traveling through for supplies and way-finding on a daily basis was hardly what we expected - "Er, I dunno, try the other petrol station down the road". According to the AA guide we'd seen on the net two days prior (that now sat folded in the Captain's bag back in Warwick), the local cricket ground took up approximately a quarter of the entire town, however like some conceptual void of nothingness, no one seemingly knew it existed. Eventually a spark of genius hit us, and we decided to ignore the instructions, and by process of elimination travel along the only road we hadn’t been down, and we found it straight away. We had arrived, it was now 3.30 in the afternoon and I was just pleased to get out of the mobile Dutch oven.

The cricket club was finally within reach, and apprehensively we walked through the entrance and noticed a dark room through a doorway with a faint whiff of beer and sweat and the sort of explosive beeping noises that are aural Viagra for any retro-head. We walked in, the event in front of us and beheld the sort of sight we were hoping for, loads of computers on folding tables, all with masses of leads trailing about, televisions that dated back to the industrial revolution and the volume turned up to 11. And no one even demanded the proposed two quid off us at the door! At the back of the main hall were four (not very retro, but still amazing) Xbox 360’s hooked up for multiplayer ‘Call of Duty 2’, and a very sleek looking MAME cabinet at the front. Through in the bar area we were greeted by an abundance of beer and wicker furniture and I spied retro-celebrity Philip Oliver, now of Blitz games, but better known for his work with his twin Andrew on the classic adventure series following the escapades of the original boxing glove wearing egg, Dizzy. To see a guy I have admired since before I was ten was a very surreal feeling, but one that was dealt with by a trip to the bar where I stood for a while, taking in the mood of the day.

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It was cool, nothing too orderly, just people wandering around, playing games, necking beer and chatting about the past. Soon I met the organiser of the event, ‘Boyo’. A taller than expected guy he chatted to me briefly before dashing off to sort out something else, and I didn’t get a chance to speak to him again, which was unfortunate, but events need to be managed. Before we could get to the games we got word that Archer Maclean had arrived. Archer, to all retro fans will be best known for ‘IK+’, ‘Jimmy White’s Whirlwind Snooker’ and ‘Dropzone’, and more recently for the rather good ‘Mercury’. Soon a question and answer session was underway, with the promise of a retro quiz once the ‘pens arrived’, but with two retro gaming legends to question, pens seemed a small issue. Questions flew at them both resulting in laughter, silence and more laughter and in response to Mr. Maclean's pedantic comments that Breakout was never actually programmed, resulted the most quotable heckle of the day: “Archer you anal bastard!”

Throughout the Q&A session the sweaty baby-blue and pink-clad Top Man-shopping footballers from the field out front invaded the bar, walking obnoxiously in front of the cyber-celebs and drowning out Archer's soft voice as we anxiously tried to find out when Jimmy White's Snooker 3 would hit next-gen consoles. For a brief moment flash-backs to school breaktime no doubt filled the collective consciousness of the room as the tough-lads stared and smirked at all the nerds listening to their lecture. It was touch and go for a while, there were some very dirty scowls aimed at our Ibiza-infatuated invaders but thankfully violence never broke out.

Philip Oliver gave a very interesting insight into programming games for the Nintendo Wii, explaining that Blitz games had produced a SpongeBob Squarepants title that utilises the motion remote in a variety of ways, and the most shocking moment of the night was spying my arch nemesis, ‘The Burger King’ in a bumper car game. Amongst the pre-release demo videos on display, Captain Commodore was subsequently not impressed that the bane of existence for all gamers, an ‘intro movie’ animation was being used to reflect the quality of one game, specifically that of a bored-looking medieval bloke on a snowy hill moving ever so slightly and looking at random nothings for around 20 minutes. No one paid attention to its name, but the Oliver was clearly proud of his work. Looked great fun...

The retro quiz was now go, as the pens had arrived. We don’t know what sped their arrival, but my money is on Anneka Rice in a blue jump suit arriving by helicopter. We looked at the sheet in front of us, and shuddered. Being kids of the late 80’s, the slew of pre-’89 gaming images had us beat, but we got to work, and admirably so. We got eight out of eighteen (amongst audaciously-written deliberate wrong answers), which was enough to win a prize, but we figured out our total wrong, and missed out. Boo! We successfully identified an Atari 2600, Centipede and Breakout among others, so we felt proud that we knew ‘enough’ though I must admit I shamefully failed to identify Dizzy even as its creator stood before me and the very game's box, inclusive of the featured screenshot, sat in my satchel by my side. Had it have been mostly 16-bit stuff we would have aced it though.

After the quiz, we headed onto the gaming floor and I managed to get goes on Sega Rally for the Saturn, Super Mario Kart on the SNES, The Blues Brothers on the Amiga and others. The meet was just so chilled, so relaxed that there was no need to feel pressured to do anything, or not do anything.. so the Captain set about his duty of video-interviewing everyone in room, or at least those who didn't look like psychopaths. I joined Matt on a very full-on Dreamcast shmup involving giant robots and enough bullets to take out China. We did well, completed the game and walked away proud. 

From that I found an Amstrad, and my limited knowledge of Amstrads left me no alternative than to write the following, and yes, this did make me feel like an 11 yr old boy again...

10 PRINT "nob"
20 GOTO 10
RUN

Needless to say, shortly thereafter a stream of 'nob's were onscreen, and whilst I initially felt half a pang of guilt, that soon passed when someone commented on my actions. I was 11, and I was the rebel BBC Micro user all over again. Rock star style. From my childish attack on Alan Sugar's money machine I hit the C64 after being told that Paperboy was hard as rock. I laughed it off, and delivered one paper in 7 lives.

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I didn’t get to play COD2, but I didn’t have to. The 360’s were all hooked up to some kickass sound, which pumped through the room like high-voltage Tesla coils, snaking through the hall and striking everyone within a 50 foot range like a cobra to the chest. Every bullet and cannon fire surged through the room like a tidal wave. To put it bluntly it FU**ING ROCKED! Rohan proceeded to publicly suck at games he actually owns at home, but then again, Canada isn't renowned for its videogaming talents. Look at EA.

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I sat and read my new Sonic the Hedgehog book, whilst everyone else bent over and took a foot long in the arse. From here we parked up at the guesthouse and headed to the Lord Nelson pub over the road, and played some pool, leered at some cleavage, most amazingly played Marvel Superheroes & Villains Top Trumps while watching the Fifth Element on TV, and criticising the advert for Gillette Fusion, that had great potential as a Stargate style film, but spoilt it by just being a razor ad.

• “Do you trust people who’s second toe is larger than their big toe?”
• “If you had to have sex with an animal, what would it be?"
• “If no-one had to know, would you shag a hot cousin?”
• “If your hand could be made out of anything, what would you choose?”
• "How exactly do you wipe your arse?"
• And perhaps most importantly, "Can you cook raw meat in a kettle?"

Soon I decided I had been in my clothes long enough, and went for a wash and change. On my return I found the room in total darkness and a deeply unsettling vibe in the room. I knew ‘something’ was up, just not quite what. I sat on the edge of my bed, grabbed my alarm clock/thermometer and pressed the magic button that made the light come on. Not just normal light either, 'Playstation-blue' light… Suddenly I realised there was someone in my bed. Rohan, the pervy Canadian git had crept in. The sudden impending male rape, however jovial the intent, scared me into mumbling incoherently whilst rocking back and forth and concentrating on the light trying to find a happy place, until the threat subsided… maybe more that just the threat, but you will have to ask Rohan that. He was promptly sent to his room.

Soon we drifted off, and our day was over. CC was up and down all night, until finally his innards had clearly had enough of the two-day old Chinese that had been rotting in his gut and decided to activate his stomach's emergency exit straight into the toilet bowl. Clearly the special fried rice and stray Labrador had been a bit off. And on that note we all ‘sort-of’ awoke by seven. We had ordered breakfast, so we ‘had’ to get up, but CC was rough as a badger again, nigh on dying perhaps, so we did what was right, and left him to it, and went down to breakfast. It was here that the prospect of free toast excited me. When I was younger my family would always go half-board at Butlins, and we would get toast, as much as we wanted. I once got through at least 70 racks of toast in a sitting, I am a toast-eating machine, and yet in light of CC’s illness I kept it down to a restricted 3 slices. Good Bouncy…

As CC and Rohan descended the stairs to the station (or practically collapsed down them in the Captain's case) we drove off watching as they missed their train by mere seconds and geared up for their hour-and-a-quarter long-wait under the canopy in a post-chunder-ridden haze to reportedly discuss the important issues at hand such as scatological fetishes and whether those guys from the internet had drugged them in the night. Meanwhile we decided to get some souvenirs from a Sundayed-town that was thoroughly closed, and pulled up in a car park that was clearly designed by M.C. Escher. We got caught in the thunderstorm of the century and were soaked to such a degree that we had to change in the car park, much to the delight of the (probably middle-class) lady in the car opposite. A fun day then.

Eventually we ended up back at my house, and I saw the Mrs. and kids and realised that for such a short time we had managed a lot of misadventure, and that is the best kind of adventure to have. Life would be boring if everything went right.