Memoirs of a Misspent Childhood

Part 1: Through the void......

It started much like any other day, I awoke from my dreamless slumber and settled in for a day of eating and kicking whilst listening to the occasional voices from outside urging me to come out to see them. Why should I go out to see them I thought, sure aren't I having a lovely time in here? Food on tap, nice, cosy environment and no one other than myself to answer to, I was the master of my domain and I didn't see any reason for it to be otherwise.

But after gorging myself on a quite sublime breakfast I felt a growing sense of unease which I couldn't quite place, ordinarily I'd have a wee snooze after brekkie but instead of being overcome with drowsiness I was instead instilled with an uncontrollable urge to go places. How could this be I thought, I'd been quite happy in this abode for the best part of nine months now and was even considering signing a new lease, but now of all sudden I felt like I'd outgrown my surroundings and an immediate change was required. With all this running through my mind I did what I always did when something was bothering was me and proceeded to give the landlord, who went by the name of 'Mum', an extra hard kicking in the hope that she could arrange for someone to come get me out of here.

I must have grown weary of kicking and lapsed into a fitful sleep because for a time all I could recollect was a series of new voices, all very frantic, and some jostling which I in all honesty found very unnecessary and somewhat disconcerting, what the hell was going on out there? Had she called the bailiffs? If that was how she was going to play it then I was more than ready for whomever came a calling and vowed to go down fighting at the very least. It was clear that they had already begun proceedings as the poking and prodding from the roof was so intense that I expected them to break through at any minute, in true fighting spirit I gave as good as I got and at one point I could have sworn I heard one of the wannabe intruders recoil in pain from a carefully placed roundhouse kick.

This was quickly developing into something of a Mexican stand off (just what is so standoffish about the Mexican's anyway?) and with my options becoming increasingly limited I began searching for ulterior modes of escape. The long tunnel beneath me which I had attempted to breach on more than one occasion was now looking increasingly inviting, but wait what was this? If I squinted hard enough I thought I could see a thin shard of light at the end of this vestibule and almost in an instant I vowed to make this my ultimate destination. As I bid a tearful farewell to my bachelor pad and positioned myself for a seamless exit I was forced to retreat in sheer terror as peering through the murky depths right at me was an unblinking eye. The eye just sat there, right at the point of my planned exit, looking intently at me without a hint of shame, the gall of this heathen forced me to totally reassess my plans and after some thought I made a pledge to remain right where I was until forcibly removed.

As I lay there silently fuming at the brazenness and sheer impudence of some people it became apparent that the odds were stacked against me and however determined I was to stay put it seemed like a losing battle was being fought. Despite this I bunkered down and readied myself for the inevitable skirmishes ahead ensuring myself that if I at least mortally wounded one of my foes it would have been worthwhile, however as visions of a glorious death swam round my head I heard a plaintive plea from a familiar voice, “Please Si just come out, PLEASE”. I knew I was Si, this much had been established a long time ago and I recognised the voice as my landlord who was clearly quite distressed. It was obvious to me that these thugs had turned their attention to her and although we'd had our differences during our time together there was no way I was going to stand for this.

But then it struck me that this could be some carefully concocted ruse taking advantage of my chivalrous nature and in the process making a complete and utter fool of me. Pushing those thoughts to one side a wave of guilt came over me as I thought of all the turbulent times I'd put this Mum character through, the late night parties, eating all of her food and of course the kicking. Now here she was pleading for my help! I was still unsure as to why she needed my assistance but in the interests of gallantry I surged towards the light with all my might to aid this damsel in distress. I burst through the void and into a whole new world but rather than being enveloped in euphoria like I'd expected I was instead manhandled by what I could only assume were the bailiffs as I screamed protestation and vehemently claimed innocence against whatever charges they were putting on me.

It's Just Not Cricket

 A chance for global success which cannot be ignored any longer...

As the Cricket World Cup looms ever closer, and the Irish as a nation pay it no heed whatsoever, ways of improving our chances of victory at a sport that the English so cherish must surely be at the forefront of many a mind. After a better than expected showing at the previous World Cup this years Irish team will no longer be viewed as a potential whipping boy and instead may hope to take on the mantle of 'dark horse', a title usually reserved for Eastern European teams in a World Cup of a very different nature. A quick glance through the squad listing reveals a smattering of South Africans, Australians and New Zealanders but also surprisingly shows a core base of seemingly home grown players with many playing county cricket across the water. For someone as completely uninitiated such as myself this comes as something as a revelation as I had hitherto believed the Irish team be a cricketing replica of Jack Charlton's famous footballing side from the late 80's/early 90's with most of the players being English born albeit with a tenuous connection to the Emerald Isle. Further investigation in fact reveals that some members of this Irish squad actually played for England in the last World Cup and that the star of Ireland's last campaign is now one of the shining lights of this year's competing English side! However the arcane intricacies of international cricket selection is of no concern to me, my only concern is ways of improving the chances of this Irish side and to me there seems to be a very simple solution to this admittedly seldom pondered conundrum.

We as a nation are rightly proud of our national sport and almost take a perverse pleasure in the fact that it is a sport that is rarely played outside of our shores, unless of course you count the endless scratch games played by homesick Irishmen on the beaches of Australia and the boroughs of America. I am of course talking about hurling, the self proclaimed 'fastest ballgame in the world', a sport with skills levels, physical bravery and levels of athleticism rarely seen in any other sport regardless of it's popularity. That hurling has never transcended to a level where worldwide participation could have been a realistic possibility owes more to it's utter 'Irishness' than any faults or flaws within the sport itself, I'm sure many a foreigner upon witnessing the game in all it's glory would have been moved to mutter something along the lines of 'crazy Irishmen' and vowed never to be coerced into actually picking up a hurley even to only engage in a gentle knockabout. Perhaps it's down to European sensibilities and a reluctance to partake in a game where many might view the hurl as not an instrument capable of producing moments of beauty but more so a weapon to be brandished at will should your fires be stoked, in fact if you were to find comparison in worldwide sport the closest thing to hurling would probably be ice hockey, a sport favoured by Scandinavians, Canadians and other nations where men continue to be men and don't take kindly to being told otherwise. Seeing as it looks unlikely that hurling, and it's skilled participants, will ever receive the audience they deserve through playing the game they love perhaps there's another way of letting the world know all about Henry Shefflin, Lar Corbett and all the other doyens of the game. 

I realise that to automatically assume that converting from one stick wielding, ball catching sport to another should be as seamless as a worn cricket ball is the practise of the foolhardy but I can't help wondering if, given the opportunity and correct training, our hurlers could make the transition and in the process lead the Irish side to global success in that most un Irish of games. Perhaps this year's World Cup has come too soon and even the most intense of accelerated crash courses in cricket couldn't ready the hurlers for facing the best Australia, India and the West Indies have to offer, but if we start now and put the wheels in motion for the Cricket World Cup in 2015 then victory on a global scale could easily be ours. There is the small matter of the ever covetous GAA intervening and preventing the hurlers from carousing off to foreign climes for what they would see as nothing more than a jamboree, but until they dig deep in their pockets and re numerate their players for their efforts they can have no grounds for complaint. I'm sure the various bosses and foremen of our the hurlers would have no qualms about letting their staff head off to do their country proud and anyway such would be the groundswell of support from an increasingly enthusiastic cricketing fraternity they would have no choice but to let them go for fear of being lynched.

As I said earlier I am aware of how foolhardy this idea is, even more so seeing as I've never even played hurling never mind cricket, but surely even the most casual of observers can see that so many elements that go into making a great hurler could be equally utilised in the more sedate game of cricket. A batsman in cricket takes to the field wearing enough padding and protection to survive a nuclear war as he faces up to the prospect of having an admittedly rock hard ball flung at him continually for potentially hours on end, obviously a huge amount of concentration and cojoneshurleys attempting to rearrange his features. With batsmen and fielding roles all fulfilled there is obviously one glaring problem with my argument, namely who would bowl? Although many handpasses can seem like throws to the naked eye hurling is a sport where although sleight of hand is encouraged throwing the ball is not, so how do we acquire bowlers for this new revolutionary Irish side? Well the answer lies within. 

Over the last ten years or so the populace of Ireland has changed in a manner which none of us saw coming, whereas at one time an English voice would have been considered exotic we're now in a situation where seeing an Irish face on your local high street is something of a novelty. But what of these new immigrants, how can they help us in the way we've undoubtedly helped them? I'm sure there's many ways they can help us ( yes I'm talking about you Polish women ) but in the context of this argument then the finger is quite squarely pointed at our new brethren from the lands of India, Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, all of these nations have a quite strong cricketing pedigree and I'm sure amidst the many folk that have made Ireland their home there's surely at least a few hundred who brought some cricketing expertise along with them. I'm not suggesting an army style draft where we send menacing posters proclaiming 'Your Country Needs You' to their houses, but it's possible that these people quite miss playing their national game and would relish the opportunity to be part of a new potential cricketing revolution in their new home. Whether they wish to take on the role of coach, player, sporting director or merely advisor is purely up to them but if our new team is to learn the finer points of throwing a googly and other such peculiarities then we're going to need such expert assistance.

So now all that remains is to convince a few hundred people of the inspired nature of this idea and how it is our destiny to become the finest cricketing nation on earth. There will most likely be plenty of opposition to the idea from hurling fans worried by the prospect of losing some of our players to professional cricketing contracts but come on now, our hurlers have been reared on the thrust and counter thrust of the national game and any sortie into another sport will merely be an entertaining diversion, albeit a highly successful one, until the Championship begins again the next summer. In fact the chances are that the exposure given to the players during the Cricket World Cup will get people talking and wondering where these fine and supremely talented young men have come from. Day trippers from Japan will suddenly become commonplace at Kilkenny games and much in the same way as Manchester United fans have become disillusioned with their diluted support so the same will happen to the black and amber brigade, thankfully the fact that it's still all about who you know and not how much money you have when it comes to getting tickets for the big games will ensure that they find their ways into the right hands when it really matters. But it won't stop at daytripping fans either, in time some of the cricketers having seen the hi jinks that their Irish compatriots get up to during the summer months will pen letters of resignation to their local boards and arrive in their county of choice citing whatever ancestry it takes to get them into the panel for Sunday's big game. Now wouldn't that be the ultimate irony, Englishmen abandoning the most English of sports to play in a game so marred by their countrymen in times past.

HEALTH HAZARDS IN THE HOME

This is a woman's world, this is a woman's world, but it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without Philip Schofield or some other grey haired buffoon....

 As a rule I am loath to mention the recession/credit crunch/downturn in the economy or whatever other miserable monicker our current state of affairs is receiving, but now that we are mired in this wholly depressing state of affairs I feel it only necessary that the real issues with the recession be addressed. A by-product of this downturn in fortunes is that the traditional family dynamic of the man going out to work whilst the woman stays at home to mind the children has been completely blown apart, (although in truth this is a fairly prehistoric way of viewing things but I felt it necessary to use it to illustrate my point, so bear with me!) nowadays the idea of a 'house husband' is not the cause for derision that it once was, and the amount of men dutifully bringing their children to school or pushing a buggy round the local park is a testament to this. Along with these brave souls, who are doing everything in their power to keep their fragile family unit in working order, there are countless other fit and able men of all ages and with various unutilised abilities, who are finding it difficult to fill the hours in the day on an all too regular basis. Now I for one, do in no way condone spending your life wasting away in front of the television, *adopts the tone of a gnarled old war veteran* “ When you should be out there earning a living for yourself”, but it's simply impossible to spend every waking minute in the fruitless pursuit of the slightest tendril of a job opportunity. So on occasion that leaves even the most assiduous of fellows finding comfort in the familiar weight of the remote control and his favourite easy chair, but for any man to enter the quite frankly hostile environs of daytime tv is to risk not only losing his entire afternoon but quite possibly his sanity aswell.

Of course there was a time way back in the advent of television when programming began at six o clock with the evening news, and the thought of anyone even pausing from their daily grind to sit down and stare at the goggle box was fanciful at best. But as times became less austere and the previous generation allowed themselves to get down off the cross for a few minutes during the day, so broadcasters plucked up the courage to fill those dead hours between the children heading off for school and the long suffering husband getting home from work, with shows aimed at sating the inquisitive nature of the stay at home mum. These shows initially concerned themselves with the pressing concerns of the day such as cooking, fashion, child care and health, but as time went by day time television began to morph into a living, breathing entity full with it's own unique character, dubious charm and all too depressing boundaries which are all too strictly adhered to. From Derek Davis, Oprah Winfrey and Carol Vorderman right through to their modern day counterparts, daytime television has spawned countless careers which in all honesty it had no right to, and it is now seen as a gateway to better things by the various pondlife that blight our lives on a daily basis.

To the uninitiated, daytime television can seem like a scary place, one second you've got the ample charms of Holly Willoughby to soothe your bleary eyes but in the next instance you're faced with an Eamonn Holmes sized dilemma, as the increasingly rotund Northern Irish windbag waddles his sorry way onto the screen and threatens to ruin your day even before it's started. This is a typical problem with these early morning shows as you carefully try to negotiate your way through them without having to spend too much time looking at whomever the resident 'silver fox' is, all the while hoping against hope that Mylene Klass may choose today to have a particularly revealing wardrobe malfunction. The content of these early morning shows is at best mildly distracting but at it's worst it can display a level of morbidity and full on misery rarely seen outside of your local A&E. Various light hearted segments discussing the latest news in the soap operas are all well and good, but once they've lulled you into a false sense of security you'll suddenly be confronted with a grim faced lady of indistinguishable age who's been to hell and back with various physical ailments and has no problem whatsoever in sharing her macabre tales with the nation, as such it's important to learn the tell tale signs that things are about to get serious. As the camera pans back to the studio having just been full of the outdoor reporter (usually someone deemed wacky by someone who wishes they were wacky, FYI: being wacky = being a tosser) and their 'alternative' story we are solemnly informed by the now all too serious hosts that the guest seated across from them was once a happy, young thing in the.............QUICK CHANGE CHANNELS!! IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT TO, JUST SWITCH IT, FAST!!!!! Thankfully even amidst this well of emotional outpourings there is the safehaven of Sky Sports News with it's warm, loving embrace and repeated punchlines hour after hour, and you can breathe a sigh of relief safe in the knowledge that that's one less disease you ever have to worry about getting. On a lucky day you may even be fortunate enough to stumble across the majestic, wondrous televisual experience that is Aerobics Oz Style, but diamonds in the rough like this are all to rare and as the day progresses things only get worse.

No, what's needed in any society is a viable alternative to the thing which has for so long brainwashed the masses, rather than force people to do something just give them a choice instead, such is the way the best revolutions begin. This alternative will come in the face of a new, male orientated daytime tv show entitled 'Blokey Blokes'. The Blokey Blokes will take up residence from 12pm (the time that in all honesty most of it's viewers will rise from their slumber) and be in situ until 4pm, or until such time that they feel they've spoken to their audience sufficiently and dealt with whatever issues have arisen, they're blokes you see so they don't need to adhere to schedules. The presenters of BB (I've just realised that Blokey Blokes shares an acronym with Big Brother but seeing as that's just ended I am entitled to use it as I wish) will come from all walks of life with not all of them being necessarily famous, rather than have the token people who do all in their power to portray themselves as 'one of the lads' on a nauseatingly regular basis, we shall scour the world for suitable candidates, here are a few of the blokes who I believe may just be up to the task. Kriss Akabusi, enthusiastic nutjob would enliven things when the conversation inevitably begins to falter, Sean Ryder, they say every face tells a story, if that's the case then Sean needn't open his mouth as his mug says it all, Mel Gibson, say what you like about Mel but you cannot deny that the man is a riveting combination of genius and lunatic, Michael Carroll, made famous for winning the lotto and blowing the lot on sports cars and drugs, Carroll would be marvellous entertainment and probably really needs a steady income right now, and Sean Lock, having two Seans on the show may become a problem, particularly given the frazzled state of Ryder's brain, but Lock deserves a wider audience and speaks to the grumpy old man in us all. Every show needs at least one relatively straight man to keep thing ticking over and that honourable position would go to the legend that is Bill Murray, he would at once both egg on the more deranged of guests while at the same time plead for a modicum of peace, all the while smirking mischievously at the camera as things went postal all around him. Other guests would pop in and out as they felt like it and local tramps, vagrants and winos would be invited in for a dram of whiskey and chided into telling a tale or two about their exploits whilst they warmed their feet by the fire. There would be no strict itinerary as such, although obviously guidelines would need to be adhered to to prevent things descending into anarchy, phonelines would be open all day as would the bar, and callers brave enough to speak to the presenters would run the risk of ridicule, any risk would be more than worth it though given the wealth of real life experience available to the rapt audience. The best thing about BB would be it's organic nature, no man has any need for a sterilised, by the numbers form of entertainment anymore, which is typified by arguably the most popular male orientated show on television, Soccer Saturday, which is basically a load of blokes sitting in a room watching football and shouting their heads off, BB would be like that but instead of limiting itself to football it would encompass all the things that we as men love and cherish above all else, just imagine Mel Gibson sitting down watching hardcore pornography and telling you the viewer about it's merits or lack of as the case may be, the possibilities are endless.

All this may seem a bit churlish and unrealistic, but as more and more men find themselves at home and at a loose end on a daily basis it's only going to be a matter of time before someone snaps and says enough is enough, women constantly like to harp on about equal opportunities across all sectors so let's see how they like it when men invade their last bastion and claim it for themselves. Let it be known that this is not a tirade aimed at inflaming a battle of the sexes, more an observation regarding the lopsided nature of daytime television and the need for change, we live in an age which will be reflected upon as the most startling in terms of the progression made by mankind, so when you see Blokey Blokes appear on your TV guide please don't get all haughty and pen a strongly worded letter to the powers that be, instead just console yourself with the fact that we will no longer be privy to all your most intimate secrets via the medium of the Loose Women, as we will instead be rolling in the aisles as a one eyed drunkard from Wales regales us with tale after tale of his debauched and decadent life.

GOOD NEWS, BAD NEWS

A revoultionary way of presenting news that will most likely never happen...

At a time when suicide rates are on the increase and more and more people are succumbing to the stresses and strains of modern day life, it's surely about time that we looked at how we receive news from the various media forms available to us now.

Regardless of whether we keep up to date via newspapers, websites, radio or TV the headlines invariably consist of abject misery and despair, with a unhealthy mix of scandal and corruption thrown in for good measure. Why do we allow ourselves to be subjected to this trauma on a daily basis? We already know that unemployment levels are at an all time high, we're fully aware of the fact that babies are dying of starvation and illness in Third World countries, we've heard so many tales about the extra curricular activites of Catholic priests in this country that it's almost impossible to be outraged anymore, granted the latest natural disasters occurring throughout the world do offer a limited macabre shock value, and the sordid exploits of whomever has been caught with their hand in their own peculiar brand of cookie jar do titillate somewhat, but surely we deseve better from the people charged with informing us of events worldwide on an daily, nay hourly basis.

At the end of any hourly news bulletin, or sometimes shoehorned into the 24 hours stations, is what the newsreaders like to tell us is the 'feel good' story of the day. This righteous tale usually documents the plucky antics of a local hero who's come good against all odds, or perhaps a miracle birth from a species considered on it's last legs, with requisite shots of the miracle ball of fluff for extra aaahh factor, or even a humourous parable involving a botched crime replete with youtube video and sheepish perpetrator. But why should this all too brief nugget of joy be something that's only added as an afterthought, in an attempt to make us forgot about the 52 minutes of misery that came beforehand and leave us chuckling softly into our mug of tea, why can't we have that warm feeling resident in our bellies for the duration of the news? It's the same when you open a newspaper, with hard hitting headlines coming at you a dizzying pace until you reach the dark recesses of page 27, and there all of a sudden lies a story of a cat that weighs almost as much as it's owner, tee hee. The way internet users access their news is so diverse across all levels that it's almost unfair to criticise how it's presented to us on that particular outlet, but a quick scan of any of the major news corporation websites tells you that the trend continues unabated online.

Of course for some people, and maybe in fact most people, the way the news is delivered to us is pitch tone perfect and they quite frankly wouldn't have it any other way. These are the kind of people who talk exclusively about the aforementioned misery and despair, whether it's happening to poor Mrs Maguire down the road of thousands of helpless children in Pakistan, and have no interest in hearing about anything that may in any way lighten their mood, as that could lead to them being cheerful for a second ot two which would be anathema to their way of living. These people can be left to their own devices and are welcome to swim in a pit of negativity for the rest of their days so long as they keep it to themselves. But what about the rest of us, those of us who turn on the news, get thirty seconds in and think 'Ah fuck this, not more talk about the recession' and swiftly change over to The Simpsons, or those of us who open a newspaper and think ' I don't care who Rooney's rattling, for Christ sakes', what are we to do?

Already news is broken down into segments, I'll have the sports section please, with your Sunday newspaper resembling an intricate puzzle game where the challenge is to find something, anything which may be of interest, Business sections, Culture sections (are the film reviews in that? I dunno, sure check it and see), Media sections (surely the reviews will be in this bit then), World news sections, Property sections (who plans on buying a house on a Sunday?!?) and various other needless, superflous sections which are discarded within seconds of discovery. Woe betide anyone who turns on the news looking for details on a specific story, said story will appear in the headlines and you'll sit there patiently waiting to be informed by the nice lady whom you'd give anything to see away from her desk, as you suspect the posterior she sits upon to be pertness personified. Ten minutes in and still no sign of her attempting to enlighten you, but she's just promised you that as soon as you endure four minutes of adverts you've seen umpteen times she'll tell you all you need to know, we return from the break and it's not even her talking, it's her smarmy smug faced sidekick with his tie that matches her dress, telling you more about the story that they bored you with ten minutes ago! So if the newsgroups are willing to compartmentalise every titbit of info into the most tenuous of categories, why can't they do us a favour and break it down into two solitary types, the good news and the bad news?

How it would work is thus, you turn on the six o clock news and are faced with the customary stern faced newsreaders who announce with deathly intonations 'And here's todays bad news', at which point they inform all the bloodthirsty, doom mongers of the stories which will form the basis of all their conversations until whatever time they feel their despair lightening and come back for more. Once all the trauma and horror has been dished out in a manner similar to that of a public flogging, it's time for us more upbeat folk to tune in as it's time for the good news! The good news is immediately differentiated from it's morose predecessor, due to the funky intro music and the sight of it's two presenters casually draped over a couch, dressed in whatever clothes they found on the floor of their bedroom that morning. They announce the feel good stories of the day with an air of people who know they're amongst friends, and the symbiance between presenter and viewer is palpable throughout. This style of reporting could even be applied to staple sections like the sports news and the weather, if your team lost or your star striker has slapped in a transfer request then bah you don't need to hear about it, but if your parasitic owners have finally admitted defeat and are selling up then bring it on baby! Similarly for the weather, if it's due to rain all week then there will be a short announcement at the end of the good news, simply stating 'Unfortunately there will be no weather this week, have a nice day', ignorance would indeed be bliss. Even a trip to your local newsagents would be a different experience as you browse the newstands, guiltily tempted to read all about the escaped prisoner with a penchant for eating mutilated body parts, but instead plumping for the daily edition of your good newspaper of choice, swayed by the front cover consisting of a smiling baby and a remarkably cheerful looking orangutan.

We can all accept that there's terrible atrocities being commited all day long, every day of the year, as it's always been thus, but personally I don't feel the need to be forcefed pictures of terrified people enduring what is effectively hell on earth, and similarly I care not for tales of woe concerning some 'tortured soul' who's only sin was to be human, spare me the details I don't want to hear about it. How often in your daily routine do you hear something that genuinely lightens your mood and makes you marvel at the magnificence of man, a life affirming moment if you will, I'd wager that it's not half enough so just think how marvellous it would be if you could sit down to a solid half an hour of stories of that very nature on a daily basis. Scoff all you like, but personally I shan't be watching the news again until I'm guaranteed something that will lighten the load and restore my faith in humanity.

20 of gaming's biggest cliches

20 Gaming Cliches

Oil Barrels

Surely the most obvious gaming cliche of them all, but with good reason as even in this day and age developers resort to the old tried and trusted explodable oil barrels to help the gamer negotiate their way through a particularly enemy laden area. What's in these barrels is anybodies guess but I can only assume it's oil, and given the price of that these days it really is setting a bad example to any future entrepeneur by treating such a valuable commodity with this level of disdain.

Air Vents

I can honestly say that I don't know one person that has ever attempted something as downright reckless as travelling through a building via it's air ventilation system, and I know some fairly shady characters by the way. Surely if it's such an easy way to get to your destination undetected and unhindered then companies should be looking at making them narrower so that humans can no longer fit in them and thus render the likes of Solid Snake, and various others, useless.

JRPG casts

Moody lead with a dark secret, check. Wisecracking sidekick with a penchant for the ladies, check. Wistful female lead with a heart of gold, check. Sassy female with heaving bosoms and tattoos aplenty, check. Gentle giant more loyal than a labrador, check. Whiny, annoying, nauseating, teeth clenchingly irritating kid that you hope and pray gets killed off but never does, check.

Short term memory loss

You've commited a crime, quick run for the hills, steal a car, hide behind a bush...just do whatever it takes to get the law enforcement officers off your back and do it fast. Phew, panic over I seem to have lost them, oh no there's one over there! But wait, despite the fact that I just ran over a granny and toppled a school bus over a bridge killing all in sundry, this friendly policeman doesn't seem to be paying me any attention whatsoever, sure I may aswell steal this car from the parking lot and go on another rampage.

Buxom Babes

Let's face it lads, we all like to leer at the awesome cleavage and ever so tight buns of the female forms represented in games today and we've always been that way. Anyway that says otherwise is a liar simple as that. Yes we all know they're not real, and that we're incredibly sad for even admiring what is essentially a few pixallated images, but nontheless when Lara Croft is shimmying her way across a dangerous ravine, or Chun Li is pulling off yet another perfect Lightning Kick, we can't help but sit and stare and wish real women were like this.

He's dead.......oh wait

So you've battled your way through score of enemies and traversed terrain in various inclement weathers to face the big bad boss and the pinnacle of the game. But just two minutes later he's face down on the floor and you're left thinking 'Is this it? Surely this ca....' Don't be so stupid!!! Now the real battle commences and the slight tinge of disappointment you felt in ending the game so easily is replaced by sheer terror as you realise just how unprepared you are for the terror about to be reigned upon you. This style of ending works well first time around but when you're attempting it for the umpteenth time the effect tends to be lessened somewhat.

Back of the grid

Maybe more of a bug bear than a cliche but why must we always start at the back of the grid in every racing title ever?!? Are we to automatically assume that because the AI of the other drivers is so poor we'll have no problem charging through the field anyway and therefore that will be the only enjoyment we will garner from the race? As far as I'm concerned pre race qualifying should be introduced for all but the most arcadey of racers so that I don't have to suffer the indignity of viewing nothing but other car's exhaust pipes at the start of every race.

Main characters with crap names

If the world was ending today and someone told you that a fellow by the name of Gordon Freeman was coming to save the day would you be sufficiently placated? Obviously seeing as we're gamers we would rest easy as we know that Gordon Freeman is amazing and would get us out of any pickle but what of the rest of humanity? It's hardly a name that conjures up images of an alpha male riding in on horseback with an army of tanks behind him is it, the same goes for Marcus Fenix or Isaac Clarke or even Chris Redfield for that matter. Now Sam Fisher on the other hand, that's a president's name in my opinion.

Unquestioning grunts

In a world where freedom of choice is everything and the anti war machine is in full swing on a constant basis is it not odd that there hasn't been at least one occasion during a big budger shooter where some of the enemy soldiers have just paused for a second and thought 'Y'know what lads, what are we actually doing here? I ain't got no quarrel with no US of A', and with that just down tools, leaving you with a free and easy route to the next level. This needs to happen to maintain a level of authenticity in gaming.

Guns never weigh you down

Now I'm no military expert, but I do know enough about weaponry to know that's it not light and that coupled with extensive armour, not to mention rations and ammo, it's gonna be quite heavy and weigh down even the most war hardened soldier. These rules don't apply in the gaming world however as guns are exchanged and equipped without a care in the world and even rocket launchers have been known to pop out of pockets, decimating a enemy stronghold before being placed carefully into a lunchbox for later use.

Weak points in boss fights

When you've finally gotten over the shock of the boss reviving from the dead and becoming more powerful than you could ever have imagined it's time to figure out how to take him down. Hmmm perhaps I should aim for that shiny yellow part which is protuding from his undercarriage, ah yes that seems to be doing the job, how nice of him to earmark it in such a fashion for me. If real people were to be built like this then we'd all have our genitalia permanently on display with a big red marker proclaiming 'Hit Me' daubed across that general area.

Levers

I have never, ever, ever........ever pulled a lever in my whole life. And if I did do so I doubt very much that a drawbridge would lower itself down when I did so.

Everyone can swim/drive/pilot

Before being considered for a role as the lead character in an action adventure type game do all potential candidates go on a crash course wherby they learn how to drive cars, lorries, tanks, speedboats and fire engines and then how to pilot helicopters and aeroplanes before being tasked with swimming the Hudson River in approximately 20 minutes? Some of they may claim to have a background in the Navy/Army/Marines or whatever but what of the average Joe Smoke who becomes thrust into the role of unlikely hero? They must all be ex Krypten Factor Champions or something.

Crates

Okay so I've worked in a few factories in my time and I have seen crates in various store rooms, but I've never attempted to try and manouevre one around the room with my bare hands because that'd be just silly. Sure there's a pallet truck right over there isn't there.

Friendly npc's are never ever anything other than a hindrance

After you. Ok I'll go first. I'll just squeeze through here. Sorry don't mind me. Now I'm starting to get a teeny bit annoyed. Get out of my way......Get out of my f**kin way. What is your problem you stupid w****r can you not understand that when I hold RT and press B it means that you go on ahead, are you f**kin retarded? Ok now I'm just gonna shoot ya............Grrrr I can't even kill you..........My name is Simon Bourke and I hate friendly NPC's.

God's animals have just been put on this earth as target practice for you

Aw will you look at the deer isn't he lovely. BANG. Nice bit of deer meat that'll come in handy later. Whether it's rats in sewers or strangely aggressive birds it appears that each and everyone of God's creatures is fair game in the gaming world, this maybe isn't so much of a cliche given man's total lack of regard for the animal kingdom but just once in my life I'd like to play a game where I get to befriend a bear and no, Kung Fu Panda doesn't count.

Fumbling keepers

One of the first things any aspiring goalkeeper will be taught is to make sure that when parrying the ball, he gets it as far away from his goal area as possible to prevent any onrushing strikers from capatilising on his error. This is not applicable to football simulators however as even the most solid and experienced keepers will happily shovel the most tame of shots right into the path of the greedy strikers allowing them to gobble up the chance and you to cry bitter tears of frustration.

*Please note that this observation is one obtained from playing PES and only PES as I refuse to countenance the possibility of ever playing a FIFA game.*

Well behaved football audiences

I know in the sanitised age of Premier League football that football hooliganism has almost become obselete but you'd still expect the odd chant of 'Does she take it up the a**e' or failing that a drunken interloper bravely venturing onto the pitch to tell Ashley Cole exactly what he thinks about him. But no, they all just file quietly into their seats perhaps stopping to buy a hot dog, before singing a few tired old songs completely out of tune and cheering at the most inopportune of times.

Movie tie ins are dreadful

They just are and they probably always will be. The developers can't be completely blamed when they're usually not given nearly enough time to create these abhorrent monstrosities so all we can do is try and warn children about the dangers of these games. The fact that your child may start to cause a scene in your local games store because he wants the new Toy Story game and not Mass Effect 2 which you've been heartily recommending to him for the last half an hour is besides the point, the kids are just gonna have to learn and we've got to be the ones to teach them.

Everyone speaks English but in a foreign accent

Wouldn't it be great if you went on your holidays to Russia or France or Egypt or Mexico or anywhere for that matter and everyone spoke fluent English. But not only that, they all spoke it in the most generic local accent possible, you'd point and laugh at them as they struggled with words such as insouciant or salubrious before politely tapping them on the shoulder and asking them where the nearest bar was. Ahh bliss.