Internet culture is a fascinating, terrifying, distorted reflection of human behaviour. Social media is a House of Mirrors which warps context, subverts emphasis and provokes opinion.

I’ve learned from experience that emotionally investing in online interactions is a hazardous pastime which can lead to dark places.

It can also be incredibly rewarding.

In the past, I’ve had some success with a blog focused on video games and another blog discussing healthcare. Both topics are passions of mine; the former a hobby, the latter my profession. Writing both led to other opportunities for which I am grateful.

Sadly, for various reasons, my writing output declined in more recent years. Mostly, this was due to other responsibilities taking precedence; having a young family, unwell relatives, and a career.

But also, I developed a growing unease with the kind of interactions I was witness to and sometimes participating in. Facebook exchanges with former colleagues and friends became combative. Twitter was increasingly comprised of aggressive, hypercritical hashtag-led trends requiring a binary stance.

Everyone had an opinion and they weren’t afraid to share it, whether or not it was well-informed (which, ironically, is also subject to opinion).

So, for my own sanity, as well as the aforementioned lack of time and emotional resources, I stepped back and became an observer. Of course, I still had opinions on some things, but I already knew what they were. Instead, I spent much of my time online trying to understand the opinions of others. I’m not sure I’ve made much progress – there’s a lot of noise out there and it’s hard to cut through and separate fact from opinion. But I suppose, if nothing else, I’ve become better at trying to keep an open mind.

Why then, am I now planning to once again contribute to the noise? Doesn’t that make me a hypocrite?

Maybe. But I feel that the connectivity that internet culture provides is an important factor in the intellectual and emotional evolution of our species. If to err is human, the internet is amplifying our ability to err (and react) on a massive scale. We need to learn how to navigate our way through these stormy waters and to ensure our children can too, and I certainly can’t do that with silence.

I recognise that as a middle-aged, middle-class, white, heterosexual, cis-gender, English male, I tick all sorts of privilege boxes which require me to listen rather than speak, but I hope that my recent life experiences and my ongoing attempts to understand our world give me the credibility to share and discuss a thought or opinion from time to time.

To be honest, a lot of the future content might end up being a lot more random and lighthearted than this warm-up post suggests. I’ve got a backlog of deep and/or inane thoughts I need to put somewhere, and there’s also some important discussion to be had relating to a podcast and a documentary that I’ve been involved in. But equally someone needs to hear my rants about timeshares, school-runs, and office toilet etiquette.

People don’t have to read it all.

But I hope you will.

I’d like to think that I’m not a coward, but the school run fills me with dread.

Perhaps I’m overstating my reaction, sometimes it’s just mild trepidation with a smattering of frustration. Or general indifference with a dash of bemusement. I think it’s a matter of timing, and perhaps also literally dependent on which way the wind blows. 

You see, for the most part, it’s running the gauntlet of appropriate social etiquette that leaves me sweaty-palmed. Inclement weather (like the aforementioned high winds) solves a lot of those problems.

In any case, it’s always a relief when it’s over, be it getting out of bad weather or dodging a gang of mean mums hanging around at the school gate. 

For context, I live in a fairly typical English village with my wife and two daughters of junior school age. The walk from our side of the village along the main road to the small academy is not unpleasant or long, and our fellow villagers and parents are all very nice people.

The irony is not lost on me that this idyllic-sounding setup was one of the reasons we moved to the countryside in the first place. For our young children, traversing the village has been infinitely preferable to the austere, miserable alleyways and pavements of the town we left behind when they were infants.

But, if I’m honest, I quite liked the undemanding social simplicity of walking along suburban streets. The rules were simple: keep walking and don’t make eye contact. Pretend no one else exists. No one cares, no one will take offence, and you’re unlikely to see them again anyway (unless it’s one of your immediate neighbours, then Standard Neighbour Protocols apply).

But none of that works in villages. The social etiquette for walking around outside is a consequence-riddled nightmare, and nowhere is this more evident than on the school run.

The problem is that when you encounter a fellow villager, not only is it the norm to politely acknowledge their existence, but also to engage in a meaningful, if insipid, exchange of pleasantries. Sometimes this might even result in a cessation of walking in favour of continued conversation. 

This is all well and good if you’re a slow-moving pensioner with nowhere else to be and a craving for human contact, but I have to deal with other humans all day at work as well as cohabitate with some at home. When my brain registers that I’m out walking, it expects solitude and time to ruminate. Other humans are a complication.

Of course, I’m not a monster. I’ve adapted to my new environment and am more than capable of a nod and a smile and the occasional quip. I have a perfectly acceptable passing relationship with an elderly couple I often see around the village. They are also a feature on the school run and are such a reliably punctual presence that the point at which we pass each other is a good indicator of how late I’m running.

Other parents travelling in the same direction aren’t a problem either – they’re either behind me and I can’t see them, or in front of me and they can’t see me. And I can change my pace to keep it that way. It’s also worth noting that this formation flying early on in the journey is often quite Dad-heavy. I suspect this isn’t an accident.

As previously mentioned, we’re often cutting it close before the school gate is closed. As much as I’d like to blame this poor timekeeping on the cute engine of chaos that is my 5-year-old daughter, it’s also a tactical choice; get to the school before the classrooms are open and I’ll be doomed to loiter in the playground among the gaggles of chattering mums who are far, far better at this than I am.

So, in order to avoid that particular hell, tactical tardiness is the key for a perfectly-timed drive-by drop-off.

The problem that this creates is that all the mums have already delivered their little darlings and are heading out of the gate and down the street en-masse like a horde of TIE-fighters scrambled to intercept the inbound Dad squadron of X-Wings (point of order: I’m probably more of a Y-Wing to be honest, but I feel I’m losing my audience with this kind of detail).

The pavement is narrow, the approaching mum army is countless. There is no choice but to press on. Do I make eye contact? Which ones should I greet? Just those who acknowledge me? What about the odd Dad who’s tragically mistimed drop-off has probably left him traumatised by the playground wait? It’s a thirty second horror show of countless social faux pas which leaves me feeling offended, guilty, ashamed and relieved all at once.

And it’s not close to over.

A curt acknowledgement to that waiting headmistress and/or subordinate staff overseeing the deployment of children to their appropriate entrances, a quick kiss and hug with the offspring, then engage exit strategy.

But the Mums walk. Really. Slowly. 

Inevitably I’ll find myself at the back of the queue forming to exit the school gate which is an inexplicably narrow pedestrian bottleneck made worse by the unspoken agreement to give priority to the infuriating incoming late arrivals (which was me two minutes earlier; my hypocrisy knows no bounds). Fortunately, the narrow passageway works to my advantage, meaning that all exiting parents stand single file and conversation is easily avoided.

But what really makes my blood boil is the blockade of parents who decide that this already poorly designed thoroughfare would be the ideal place for stopping to conduct a post-drop-off chinwag (see early rules for passing villager etiquette). In my opinion, this is just selfish and impractical, but I am acutely aware I’ve probably already been pushing my luck with my strategic scowling and any further negative vibes would probably get me arrested, or worse, torn to shreds by a verbal assault from an indignant Mumsnet massive.

Eventually, I break free of the TIE-mum swarm and try to suppress the urge to run. I cross the road to the side where the pedestrian traffic is minimal and make good my escape. If I’m lucky, the walk home will be somewhat closer to the tranquil countryside stroll I’d been naively expecting. I try not to think about the fact I will see all these people again on the next school run.

On reflection, I accept that I’ve probably over-analysed these encounters a tad, and that my social anxieties are tempered by the knowledge that the majority of the parent-villagers I encounter have given this a lot less thought than I have.

I have nothing to fear. 

Well, aside from the risk of becoming one of those gaunt-eyed Dads who have experienced playground purgatory too many times and have been reduced to shambling, zombie-like, alongside their wife-carer as they collect their younglings together.

Or even worse, there is the possibility of becoming socially accepted like some kind of well-rounded, chameleonic Dad-woman, entirely capable of normal social responses and comfortably in touch with their feminine side while living in a rural utopia. Shudder.

But probably not if any of them read this.

When my nephew died last year, a few weeks after his fifteenth birthday, the resulting emotional storm of torment, frustration and regret was impossible to process.  Oddly, like a storm, there was a strange peace to be found at the centre of it all. 

For me, it was having purpose that created this peace. Just as there was a kind of serenity of purpose in the time I spent with him in life, there was a solace in doing something in his memory after he had passed.

At first, these purposeful duties were obvious; supporting family, preparing for the funeral, writing eulogies and so on. All activities that are part of society’s well-trodden grieving process, and which have evolved to help all participants make peace with death. 

But when the life lost is one barely lived, nothing seems like enough.

So, with Michael in mind, I resolved to do more. I wrote a short story about the beginning of Michael’s adventures after death, which made me feel like he still exists in some respect every time I read it (I plan to write more). I’ve also taken every opportunity to speak openly about my time with Michael, for reasons that I hope make sense.

I’ve reflected endlessly on the nature of his journey in this life, what can be learned from it, how Michael can be remembered, and especially the sheer, overwhelming humanity that I witnessed from all quarters during this time.

Of course,the greatest recognition must go to the day-to-day heroism of the nurses, doctors and therapists whose job it is to build relationships with dying children and are then expected to continue to work – and to care – after their patients have gone. I work in healthcare, those are my people. I know what is expected of them, of us.

But what has surprised me is the outpouring of altruism and kindness from other quarters. People from different walks of life who have leveraged their talents and time to create and capture moments of happiness and to shed light on those moments. I’ve come to realise how important that is and how it contributes to the sharing of the burden of grief.

Not a Game

It was that surprise and realisation that led me to write my Open Letter to Frontier and Friends last year, which became a Guardian article, ‘How a video game community filled my nephew’s final days with joy‘. From there, the story spread and drew the attention of Jose Gomez, a Spanish director who was working on a documentary project which focused on the profound impact video games have on society, childhood development and health. His London-based production team, Villa Lunera, approached me about including Michael’s story in their film and I agreed.

I’ve seen the almost finished version of this 90 minute opus, and I am very proud to have contributed to what is a broad, powerful, upsetting, and honest look at the risks and the value of video games. I am excited and anxious to take part in the conversations I hope it will spark on its release in the coming weeks.

Watch the trailer here:

Not a Game Documentary – Trailer from Villa Lunera Films on Vimeo.

This Game Changed My Life

Almost concurrently, Nathan Jones, a producer for BBC Sounds, approached me about participating in a pilot podcast called This Game Changed My Life. 

We recorded the episode in September 2019 and it transpired to be an incredibly therapeutic experience which, with the help of the wonderfully irreverent and understanding presenters Julia Hardy and Aoife Wilson, helped me focus on the joyful times Michael and I shared. 

The pilot led to a series being commissioned and is also due for imminent release (late Feb/March 2020). I look forward to you hearing the episode about Michael’s and my adventures in Elite Dangerous (apologies in advance for the terrible piloting tutorial), as well as the other episodes which sound like they will be an absolutely riveting listen.

Healthy Debate

In the coming weeks, I intend to write more on the topics raised in both of these projects, discussing the myriad issues that will be raised by the many stories of how video games are woven into the fabric of our lives for good or for ill.

I accept that some aspects will be divisive and emotive, but I think the coming together of the above projects may herald an opportunity to examine the potential merits of video games and the communities around them as well as safeguard against the potential pitfalls.

For me, despite Michael’s death, the experience of engaging with video game producers and the media has been inspiring and empowering. There’s a cynical view that I accept some people might hold that there may be a degree of exploitation or opportunism taking place here. I would disagree: if organisations that have time and resources for human problems were always the ones that thrived, then the world will be a better place for it. Opportunism and the opportunity to do something good are not the same thing.

I think that the more life beats us down, the greater the urge to withdraw, to become cynical and bitter; to expect little of others; to be defeated by our own existence. But altruism, openness and empathy from unexpected quarters have been the antidotes to my malaise and I continue to be grateful to all those who have engaged with the difficult subject matter and given life and positivity to Michael’s memory. The world needs more of this and video game communities could be a conduit.

It’s clear that video games have the power to do great harm or great good and there are so many stories out there to learn from. I would love to shed more light on these life-changing experiences, I’d really like to hear how video games have affected your life. 

Share your story below if you feel comfortable to, or if you prefer, use your own platform and send me a link.

Alternatively get in touch by email at mat westhorpe.net, or on Twitter @freebooted, and let’s have the conversation.

Michael was my nephew. He was 15 when he died last year after six years of illness, treatment, and isolation. So when it comes to coping strategies for medical incarceration, he was a pro. Even before he was ill, we always enjoyed playing games together.

I wish he was here to see the events unfolding around the world at the moment. I’m sure he’d respond with an amused shrug and a dismissive comment before going back to whatever he was doing. He might even offer some advice for us isolation rookies. Although, as a fan of the zombie genre, I’d imagine he’d soon be making plans for a secret underground base where he could stockpile his toilet roll.

Sadly, whatever wisdom he accrued in his various extended hospital stays is lost to us. The best I can do is list some of the most enjoyable non-digital games that we played together. I cannot overstate how valuable all these games were in whiling away many hours and giving him some time away from the videogame screen that kept him company for much of his waking day.

Here are some of the best unplugged gaming experiences we shared, and a couple I wish we’d had.

Collectible Card Games like Magic: The Gathering

The collectible card game that inspired thousands of variants when it first sprang forth from the mind of Richard Garfield in 1993 somehow passed me by in my youth. Fortunately, it thrives to this day.

So when Michael was diagnosed with leukaemia at the age of nine in 2013, I bought a starter pack on my way to see him at one of his first hospital stays and we never looked back. 

The stunning fantasy artwork and ingenious game design made a young boy (and his somewhat less young uncle) feel like mystical ‘planeswalkers’ summoning beasts and magicks in a battle of wits and strategy.

The intricacies of the rules took us a while to master – each player has their own deck and each card has its own unique rules – but when you’re stuck in a room with nothing but time, you can’t beat the infinite variety of M:TG. Each game tells a story and no two are ever alike.

I have many fond memories playing against Michael and his younger brother Nathan during hospital visits and family gatherings alike. I can definitely recommend it for any older children (it’s rated 13+), but some of the artwork is a bit harrowing for younger eyes (which I discovered too late – and in hindsight, this may be where Michael’s fascination with zombies came from).

It’s worth noting that there are many similar collectible card games more suitable for a younger audience, Pokemon being the most popular, I believe, but I can’t offer any further insight. It probably doesn’t have zombies though.

Roleplaying Games Like Dungeons & Dragons

A brand that needs little introduction but is impossible to do justice to in an ‘elevator pitch’, Dungeons & Dragons was a road that regrettably Michael and I did not travel far along.

Part drama rehearsal, part writer’s workshop, part tactical combat game, Dungeons & Dragons (D&D) is a roleplaying game (RPG) in which players participate in epic stories played out in ‘the theatre of the mind’. Each player takes the role of a principal character of their own vision while the world, its events and incidental characters are described by the narrating Dungeonmaster. Commonly, a game session comprises between four and six players, one Dungeonmaster and several hours, but the format is very flexible and the content and concepts can be tailored for almost any age group.

Michael and I enjoyed a ‘session zero’ where we browsed the rich source material for ideas to build his first character. He created Jebeddo the Beholder, a gnome necromancer who had aspirations to industrialise a zombie workforce to give them purpose. I created a zombie sidekick for Jebeddo and we had plans to play some solo sessions, but alas it never came to pass. 

Like Magic: the Gathering, D&D was the first of its kind but has since seen countless variant RPGs, each bringing a different style and flavour. During my youth I also enjoyed Warhammer Fantasy Roleplay (grimdark fantasy), Cyberpunk 2020 (near future dystopia – a bit redundant now), Call of the Cthulhu (19th century psychological horror) and various other systems.

You can download the basic rules for D&D for free here.

Board Games Like Carcassone

An odd little game I was recommended by the lovely folks at Excelsior! Comics during Michael’s extended stay in isolation at Bristol Royal Infirmary in 2018. By that time, we had built up extensive collections of M:TG cards, but due to the strict isolation rules, they were deemed an infection risk and were not permitted, so I popped into this impressive games emporium for some factory fresh MTG boxes and other entertainment options.

Carcassone, named for the French fort town of the same name, is essentially an interactive jigsaw puzzle, where the players take turns laying pieces of a map and attempting to claim territory (farms, towns, roads and abbeys) to accrue points. 

It is simple, gentle, and quite addictive. There are a number of expansions which presumably add more depth and complexity, but sadly we never got to try them out.

Carcassone is definitely more family friendly and accessible than M:TG. I plan to try it out with my own children (5 & 6 y/o) in the near future. There are definitely no zombies in this one, or even any real conflict.

Tabletop Games Like Warmaster

I’m exercising a little creative licence with this particular entry, as Michael only played this once, but it qualifies for reasons I’ll explain as I go.

Warmaster is a tabletop wargame which involves collecting and painting hundreds of fantasy genre miniatures then following a set of rules to play out intricate and involved military engagements on a table. There is no board, but plenty of dice, and a dizzying amount of miniatures.

A small battle can take a couple of hours, but a larger one can take a day or more. Perfect for a rainy day with a fellow collector or a couple of like-minded people in isolation. I’ve yet to convince my wife to take part in a battle and my kids are too young, but at least I can paint.

Warmaster in particular is another holdover from my youth, but one which gave me a lot of succour in the months after Michael died when I locked myself away from the world and painted many, many miniatures.

I reckon Warmaster would have been the next big thing for Michael, he enjoyed his one experience; a battle of Bretonnian Knights versus Dwarves with his younger brother, Nathan, a few Summers ago.

Michael loved strategy games on his PC and among the many fantastical armies available, there are a number of zombie options. Failing that, his love of tanks would have been well catered for with one of the rules systems aimed at more modern warfare, like Bolt Action or Flames of War.

Wrapping Up

All over the world families and neighbours are finding themselves in challenging domestic circumstances, but there is opportunity to find new hobbies, to discover interesting new ways to spend time together and open doors into worlds you may never had thought to visit before. Despite the abundance of technology, not everything has to be on a screen. These are just a few examples of the plethora of stunning games and hobbies out there.

I’d like to think Michael’s experiences might somehow help to make other peoples lives a little better while we await the zombie apocalypse.

Let me know what you discover.

P.S. I’m sure that Michael would have liked me to remind you that, should you encounter a zombie, don’t let it bite you, and aim for the head.

Since you’re still here:

As a relevant but shameless punt for a friend who was very kind and supportive during Michael’s final weeks, Dan Grubb of Fantastic Books Gaming has launched a Kickstarter for a board game that I dearly hope to have the opportunity to play one day. If the kind of games I’ve described above sound intriguing, but perhaps you need to ease yourself into something a little less elaborate, Gorgon’s Loch sits very much in that sweet spot. Please go back it on Kickstarter.

When my nephew Michael died last year, a little over a month after his 15th birthday, the greatest part of the tragedy was the future his fate had stolen from him.

In the weeks after his death, I wrote a short story about what I like to think happened to him after he died, giving him a future of sorts, mostly to make myself and those who knew him feel a little better.

Today would have been Michael’s 16th birthday and the story is one of the happiest thoughts I can conjure of him, so I thought I’d share it.

I’m not sure how much sense this will make to folk given that all the other characters are also family and friends who have passed away, but I hope is some solace and joy to be found in the idea that those lost to us are still within the reach of our imaginations.

Not Norfolk

Michael woke on sandy ground. He was lost, confused. 

Anxiety gurgled up from his stomach, was converted to rage in his chest, and took flight as a full-blooded roar.

It was like he’d got rid of something he didn’t need, and it felt good. 

He took a deep lungful of air and felt a sweet, warm ocean breeze invigorate his insides. Something was different – everything was different. He felt strong as he rose up from the ground and peered at his surroundings.

Hillocks of golden sand and sharp grass undulated away from him on all sides, fading into a warm haze. The uneven terrain prevented him from catching sight of the sea, but he knew it was nearby. The shimmering opal sky teased from beyond the encircling white shroud. The warmth of an unseen sun energised him and beckoned him to walk.

‘Was that you shouting?’

The question floated over from the nearest dune crest and as Michael turned to investigate, he saw a quizzical youth’s head appear from over the rise. As the figure made his way down the sandy slope toward him, Michael guessed the newcomer was perhaps a little older than himself, although he’d never been very good at working out people’s ages.

‘I wasn’t shouting!’ Michael began indignantly, ‘I was just…’

‘Not to worry,’ the stranger smiled, ‘there’s no one around to tell you off. That’s the beauty of it here. I often come up here to talk to myself, or shout. And sometimes to sing,’ he added with a self-conscious chuckle. Michael’s growing frown suggested his attempt at levity had landed wide of the mark. He tried to explain, ‘haha, because I’m not a very good singer… so I stay away from…’ but seeing he wasn’t making an impact, the youth changed tack and held out one of the blue ice-cream cones he was holding, ‘this is for you.’

Michael shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. He hesitantly took the offered cone, studying the creamy whorls with bemusement and suspicion. This was all a bit strange. It did look tasty though – and he was quite hungry.

‘You’re a bit lost, aren’t you?’ the stranger continued. ‘I think I saw your family down near the water. I’ll show you when you’re ready.’

‘Okay, thanks,’ Michael managed, then fell in to walking through the dunes alongside the older boy as they both enjoyed their ice creams. Things still weren’t making sense to him. His head felt as foggy as the horizon. He stumbled slightly as they meandered up the next rise, but a steadying hand from his new-found friend prevented any loss of balance or sugary snack.

‘You’re probably still feeling a bit discombobulated, aren’t you?’ the ice-cream bearer said with a chuckle. ‘Give it time, you’ll soon get your bearings.’

‘Discombobu-whatever? Is that like lag? I feel laggy,’ Michael complained.

‘Laggy? Hah, yes that’s a good word for it. Like jet lag.’

‘No, like when your internet is too slow and your ping rate goes really high.’

‘Ah, I’m not so familiar with all that. But you have been on a long journey, so…’

‘Have I? I can’t remember it,’ Michael interrupted before taking a thoughtful lick of his ice cream. The older youth gave him a sage look and was about to say something, but stalled as Michael’s attention was drawn away by the view before them which expanded to reveal a glorious, sunlit palm beach beyond the dunes. A lustrous, verdant coastline curved below them and beyond into the distant haze. Sporadic clusters of white buildings were dotted among the foliage, facing toward the calm, glittering sea. There was a hint of fields and mountains inland.

‘Oh cool, is that a race track?’ Michael indicated to a distant, open area nestled between the treeline and the dunes.

‘I’m not sure, quite possibly,’ Michael’s companion said hesitantly as he led the way along a descending path, ‘is that what you’re into?’

‘Yeah, I just got the new Forza on my XBox,’ Michael grinned enthusiastically, ‘you can come round to my house and play it if you want? Just as soon as I get back from hosp…’ his voice tailed off as he tried to wrestle with an uncomfortable inconsistency in his current situation, but then pushed it to the back of his mind. ‘I’d have to ask my Mum. Where did you say you saw her?’

‘I’m more of a strategy game guy, but yeah, okay. I’d like that,’ the other boy answered selectively, ‘what do you like to race?’

‘My favourite at the moment is a Murcielago, but I like anything that goes fast really. We could play Company of Heroes after, that’s a good strategy game.’

‘Cool. So that’s a car? The Murcielago. A Ferrari?’ the youth ventured as he repeated the word slowly.

‘No! It’s a Lamborghini!’ Michael gave his guide a frustrated glance, ‘Is this the way to where my Mum is?’

The youth pursed his lips and his brow furrowed. He ran his fingers through his centre-parted blond hair and rubbed the back of his head as he tried to physically grapple with something on his mind. 

‘Some of your family are there,’ he replied ambiguously, as he pointed ahead along the path which led down toward a compound of pristine single-storey buildings hewn from white stone. A low wall demarcated the boundary and within was a cornucopia of well-tended, colourful plants. Several cats basked in the shade. A wide lawn overlooked a pool fed by a small fountain which babbled gently. An elderly man reclined on a striped deckchair, his unkempt, thinning grey hair dancing in the breeze as he slept in the sun.

A short, older woman in a floral dress appeared briefly from inside the nearest building, delivered a cup of tea to a table beside the recumbent man, then scurried back toward the building. As she did so, she saw the two boys and gave them a friendly wave, followed by a series of clumsy but charmingly effective hand gestures that illustrated that she felt it was too hot to be outside.

‘I don’t know who they are,’ said Michael, ‘I thought you said my family were here.’

‘I did. And they are,’ said the youth, ‘but let’s try down on the beach.’

Michael peered curiously at the scenery as they followed the path which skirted the perimeter of the villa, through some cool, leafy foliage and out toward a secluded section of seafront.

‘This reminds me a bit of Rhodes,’ Michael speculated. ‘It’s definitely not Norfolk.’

‘Haha, yes, you’re right there – it’s definitely not Norfolk,’ Michael’s friend agreed.

They arrived at a perfect sunbathing spot at the centre of a secluded bay nestled between the dunes and lined with palm trees. Out on the sand were two sun-loungers, each beneath a parasol made of dried grass and bamboo. Upon one was a blonde woman in a bikini who appeared to have fallen asleep reading a book. The other sun-lounger was empty, but a short distance along the beach was a dainty beach hut. A dark-haired woman wearing oversized sunglasses, a bikini top and a long skirt watched them from the shade of the veranda as she sipped a colourful cocktail. She smiled as she looked over, then put her drink down and began to walk across the sand toward them.

‘Does everyone around here just sleep all day?’ Michael pondered as his friend led him toward the approaching woman.

Michael’s companion smiled, ‘If that’s what they want to do, yep. You can pretty much do what you like.’

‘Boring.’

‘Heh. If you like. Or peaceful.’

‘Boring,’ Michael reasserted.

As they grew closer to the woman, the fog in Michael’s head began to clear. He felt an odd sensation rising in his chest as her hand rose to her face. She removed her sunglasses, revealing the smiling, tearful, love-filled eyes of someone impossible.

Nanny.

She dashed the last few yards, threw her arms around him and gave him the warmest, loveliest of hugs. Banishing his bemusement, he hugged her back with a heartfelt squeeze.

‘Ooof!’ she made a melodramatic noise as if his hug had forced the air from her lungs, then laughed effervescently, ‘you’ve got so big and so strong.’ She leant back to take a good look at him and beamed, ‘and handsome too.’ Then, as she read deeply into his eyes, a look of soulful sorrow came over her face. ‘ I’m so, so very sorry for everything you’ve been through, Michael. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you. Or Nathan and your Mum and Dad.’ 

She pulled him in for another hug. Michael couldn’t stop grinning. He felt so happy and safe. Everything was right again; he felt well, they were all on holiday, Nanny was here. Somehow. He couldn’t wait to tell his Mum and Nathan and everyone else.

‘Where’s Mum? Does she know you’re here? How come you’re not… dead?’

Nanny tried to cast aside a pained look, then gave Michael’s friend an empathetic glance.

‘Thank you for bringing him, Paul. If you’ve got time, could you be a love and just pop up to the villa and ask Doris to make Michael’s bed up while he and I have a bit of catch up? Thank you, dear.’

‘No problem, it was a pleasure,’ Paul smiled, ‘I’ll come check back with you at sunset. Then we can talk about…’

‘Yes!’ Nanny blurted with an alarmed smile. ‘Absolutely. There’s no rush. We can talk about everything then.’

Paul gave Michael a hearty pat on the shoulder, took his hand and shook it, grinning. ‘Nice to meet you. I look forward to that game of Xbox. See you later.’

‘You can’t play a game of Xbox, you play on the…’ Michael tried to advise, but Nanny was already linking arms with him and leading him back toward her beach hut, while Paul was jogging back up the beach toward the villa nestled in the dunes.

‘We have got so much to talk about,’ she said excitedly as she beamed up at him, ‘but first I’m going to have to get used to you being taller than me.’ Then, more mischievously, ‘do you feel old enough to drink a cocktail?’

‘I think I’ll just have juice.’

Nanny guided him to sit on one of a pair of dark wood rocking chairs which seemed oddly out of place on the sun-bleached veranda, then with one final squeeze she disappeared inside to get him a drink, returning so quickly Michael didn’t have time to gather his turbulent thoughts.

Passing him a glass of brightly coloured liquid as she sat down brandishing her own beverage, she cocked her head slightly as if trying to see inside his skull.

‘You’ve got a lot on your mind, I bet.’

Michael grunted in acknowledgement as he looked around.

‘I think I’m meant to be in hospital,’ he said quietly as he glanced at his surroundings with suspicion.

Nanny bit her lip and beamed at him compassionately, ‘you don’t need to go there anymore.’

‘I’m better?’

‘Not just better. Best. You are your best self,’ she said with earnest.

‘Thanks, but how did I get better? I can’t remember. I thought I was getting worse. I…’ a dark expression wrinkled his face as the pit of his stomach began to twist again.

‘Drink your juice,’ she placated, reaching over and rubbing his arm affectionately. ‘It’ll settle your stomach and…’

‘Let me guess. Did I die?’, he said abruptly as he looked directly at Nanny with a new realisation. ‘I died. I don’t really remember it, but that’s what happened isn’t it? That’s why you’re here.’

Nanny was caught off guard by Michael’s epiphany and moved as if to reassure her grandson before realising he was not emotionally escalating as she anticipated. To her surprise, he instead seemed calm, even pleased.

‘That’s… true, yes…’

‘Thought so,’ he took a triumphant sip of his juice and grinned, ‘didn’t you think I’d work it out?’

Nanny blinked as she adjusted to Michael’s unexpectedly positive demeanour. ‘I did think you might need more help to realise it. It’s a big change.’

‘I needed a change. My body was giving up. So is this heaven? Where is God?’, he glanced around with comical alarm, as if he might be ambushed by a mischievous deity hiding nearby.

Nanny smiled as she adjusted to Michael’s thought rhythm. He could change direction so abruptly. She took a breath and tried to explain,

‘It’s a lot to take in. This is… your existence reshaped. You are perceived differently now and whether you are in heaven or in the spirit world or something else is a matter of opinion.’

‘Who’s opinion?’

‘Good question. Any moment, any thought, any feeling someone has about you is what defines your existence. Every time someone talks about you, looks at a picture of you, or reads about you, their minds and imaginations feed your perpetual presence.’

‘What? Are you saying I’m imaginary!’

‘Who’s to say imagination isn’t where God lives? But of course you’re not imaginary. And don’t worry, neither am I, or anyone else here. We just don’t exist in quite the same way that we used to. It’s about collective perception, it takes some getting used to but it’s nice. You’ll like it once you get used to it.’

‘Okay,’ he said, flatly. ‘Is grandad Clive here?’

‘Er, yes. Somewhere,’ Nanny changed direction in line with Michael’s erratic conversation flow. ‘He has a workshop down the coast. You’d like it. Lots of cars,’ then with a disapproving look, ‘most of them in pieces.’

‘Oh cool, when can I go see him? Can I drive some?’

Nanny laughed, ‘Maybe later, we’ve got to get you settled in first. Do you have any questions about what we were talking about?’

‘Not right now. I’ll let you know,’ he dismissed due to another, more exciting thought barging its way into his awareness as he looked out at the twinkling, pure ocean surf. ‘I can go swimming! I can, can’t I? Oh yes, I am going! You can’t stop me!’

Nanny laughed as Michael sprinted off across the sand with all the energy of a healthy soul, his noisy passage disturbing the sunbathing woman who cast him a confused look as she sat up. Brushing away the sand Michael had kicked over her bronzed legs, she made her way over to where Nanny sat beaming at her cavorting grandson as he waded into the crystal waves with joyous abandon.

‘That went well then,’ she said as she sat on the rocking chair Michael had vacated.

‘He’ll never not surprise me,’ Nanny said.

‘Then why the face?’

‘What face?’

‘Diane, I know you. You’re worrying.’

She puffed out a sigh, ‘Oh, it’s not Michael, not exactly. I’m glad he’s here.’

‘So what’s the worry?’

‘You know me. It’s everyone else, Pauline.’

Pauline smiled comfortingly, ‘they’ll be alright, you did your job well. I’ll make us a cuppa then we can tune in and see how they’re doing.’

‘No, not just my mob. I mean everyone.’

‘Okay, you need to tell me what you’re thinking,’ she said with concern. ‘But I’m still putting the kettle on first.’

In these solitary times, podcasts are mana from heaven. 

Done well, they are engaging and informative entertainment for the long commute, a quiet walk, or as all of those things are currently somewhat restricted, when you’re stuck at home longing for good company. The right podcast is like having some friends over or being at a good dinner party.

And This Game Changed My Life is podcasting done well. 

With its two effervescent hosts, Julia Hardy and Aoife Wilson, bringing wit and empathy in equal measure, TGCML tackles some challenging, emotive and amazing subject matter. 

So far, BBC Sounds has released five episodes of producer Nathan Jones’s debut project and it’s been an astounding, powerful journey into some breathtaking life stories all of which have been influenced in some way by video games.

Episode 1 – Arsenio: Rocketships and Wiimotes

Arsenio’s journey from Kerbal Space Program player to NASA engineer was a inspiring, optimistic opening to the series. It compelled me to download the game and try to get my daughters to play it in the hope it might have the same effect.

Check back in twenty years for an update.

Episode 2 – Abdullah: Escape in an Oil Barrel

The second tale, Abdullah Karam’s account of his terrifying odyssey from war-torn Syria as a refugee was a sobering change of tone. His story is one of triumph over adversity as well as evidence of some of the best that humanity has to offer, and he went on to tell it through a video game called Path Out.

Episode 3 – Charlie Brooker: My Life in Video Games

It seems like a logical inevitability that the dark scion of video game commentary, Charlie Brooker, would get involved in the TGCML project at some stage, and he very much takes ownership of episode three in characteristically scattershot and mildly offensive ways. As a fan of his bonkers column at the rear end of gaming mag PC Zone back in the day, I got what I expected and was happily bemused by the experience.

Episode 4 – Fatima Al Qadiri: Gulf War Vampires

Fatima Al Qadiri, the Kuwaiti musician inspired by video game music’s impact on her Gulf War experience is an impressive, beguiling person to listen to. Her story about is powerful and compellingly told, highlighting how emotive even early games like Castlevania and Desert Strike could be. If she chose to take up politics instead of music, I’d vote for her.

Episode 5 – Ryan Hart: Champion of the World

The story of Ryan Hart, homeless Londoner who takes on the world and wins is a movie waiting to happen. Somewhere between Ready Player One and Karate Kid 1 & 2 (he even goes to Japan and… well listen to it). A great episode for those with fond memories of crowding around arcade cabinets to play classic beat ’em ups like Street Fighter and Tekken.

Episode 6: The Pilot

The reason I’m so unapologetically effusive about This Game Changed My Life, aside from the fact it is a fascinating rollercoaster of entertainment and journalism, is that I am proud to have played a part in its inception.

I was approached by BBC producer Nathan Jones last year after he’d read my article in the Guardian and felt that the story of my 15-year-old nephew and I playing video games together as he died would make a touching pilot episode for a podcast he was planning. And so, a short chat and a subsequent trip to the BBC studio in London last Autumn and the pilot of This Game Changed My Life was born.

It was a was a bittersweet experience that I plan to write more about tomorrow, and I hope that it has resulted in a podcast episode that will give some solace and closure to members of the video game community who invested much when they didn’t need to.

For the record, the game that changed my life was Elite, because it helped me as a troubled teenager in the 80s, and its successor Elite: Dangerous helped my 15-year-old nephew face death.

It’ll be out at 5am UK time (in about 5 hours at time of writing).

I hope you’ll listen to it.

Mat Westhorpe (@Freebooted)

The day I visited BBC Broadcasting House to record the pilot episode of This Game Changed My Life was a surreal experience. 

Trips into Central London always make me feel like a yokel, so as a paramedic it was oddly reassuring to see an ambulance parked outside as I arrived. I appreciate that’s not the standard reaction to seeing the emergency services parked outside your destination. However, rumours that Claudia Winkleman and Graham Norton had kicked off over the last spotted dick in the staff canteen are completely unfounded.

I’d arrived a little early so I had time to look around. Outside, nestled within the striking horseshoe-shaped building, I found the forecourt tiles oddly fascinating, with names of significant world locations engraved on the tiles seemingly at random. I puzzled over the arrangement, like it was some Indiana Jones-esque mystery which would unlock a hidden entrance. In reality, I probably just looked like a celebrity stalker waiting to ambush my favourite newsreader. So I didn’t loiter for long.

I texted Nathan Jones, the producer, to let him know I’d arrived and made my way into the foyer. It was a vast, austere space of glass and stone with a high ceiling. It didn’t seem all that friendly, with the most distinguishing features being various security measures, a series of revolving doors flanked by suited security guards at one end and a broad but minimally staffed reception desk at the other. In between was an area with some seating and a security x-ray conveyor belt device normally found at airports. They’ve really gone all out to make sure Jeremy Clarkson can’t get back in, I thought.

I hovered in the middle of this space, not really knowing what to do with myself while I tried not to get nervous. I was there to talk about my nephew’s death, which was quite sobering and so it didn’t feel entirely right to be excited. I was certainly a little anxious about meeting the podcast hosts, Aoife Wilson and Julia Hardy. I’d made the mistake of doing a bit of research into their previous work. 

Aoife was a successful video games journalist and interviewer, I’d seen YouTube clips of her interviewing Jeff Goldblum and Dara O’Briain, and that had given me some reassurance that she would be safe and approachable.

But I’d wound myself up a bit about Julia. I’d watched some of her YouTube material and her TED talk on sexism and convinced myself that she was a bigot-baiting female Russell Kane who had the wit and the values to eviscerate anyone who strayed into her righteous crosshairs. Maybe, just maybe, if I could stay in touch with my feminine side, I could get through unscathed.

It was at about this point that Nathan Jones appeared and homed in on me across the foyer, introducing himself as he guided me toward the reception desk to get signed in. It was at that moment that he seemed to summon both Aoife and Julia to his side like some kind of broadcasting wizard. In fact, Aoife had been stealthily perched among the sofas and Julia had strode in through the main doors at the perfect time.

The receptionist issued our visitor passes as we exchanged polite greetings, when Julia surprised me by taking me to one side and completely shifting my view of her in a moment. She’d read one of my blogposts about loss and coping with tragedy and told me she could relate. She told me a bit about her father’s ill health and the challenges it presents her. She was thoughtful, measured and sensitive; entirely the opposite of the razor-whip firebrand I’d expected (although I learned later that this is very much in her arsenal too).

Then it was Aoife’s turn to upend my expectations as her bag passed through the security x-ray to reveal she was armed and dangerous! A brief Matrix foyer moment was upon us. Disappointingly, Aoife didn’t leap into Neo-like acrobatics, but the fact that she got rumbled for carrying a knife (of legal length, I should clarify) gave us all a bit of a chuckle and some common ground to banter about. She no doubt has valid reasons. But I daren’t ask.

Nathan then led us past security and the revolving doors, through a warren of corridors, open-plan offices, and stairs to the recording studio. And then it got fun. 

Despite the underlying darkness of the story I was there to tell, Nathan, Julia, Aoife, even Giles the sound guy (he brought biscuits!) and I all got along really well and the mood was surprisingly upbeat. It goes without saying that they are professionals and it’s in their job description to help the guest relax and feel welcome, but they can only do that authentically by being genuine people; good listeners, empathetic, responsive, and accommodating. You can’t fake that.

Despite the final podcast episode only being 34 minutes long, and much of that audio was recorded by Aoife and Julia later, we talked for a good couple of hours, getting quite in depth about a number of topics, not all of which were relevant to the podcast. They gave a lot of themselves, which was quite disarming.

I think that comes across in the interview and their subsequent reflective interludes.

There are some things I do regret, but they’re silly, technical things. For someone claiming to be a veteran player, I did a terrible job of showcasing Elite: Dangerous and I should have been more prepared. In my defence, at that time feelings were still quite raw, and I’d not been able to bring myself to play the game in a while. Nathan assures me that the ill-prepared comedic chaos that ensued was probably a better listen anyway.

I was grateful for the opportunity to have a say in the development of the episode. I was given some editorial oversight and several versions were edited and re-edited. As a grieving relative, I was a little uncomfortable with the initial sensationalist hook, but as a writer I appreciate the need to engage the audience quickly. I’ve made my peace with the format as I think that overall, the story told is warm-hearted, respectful, and sensitively handled.

Furthermore, I’m proud that on the strength of that episode, a full series was commissioned which I am enjoying immensely (read my overview of the other episodes here). I can take some solace from the idea that Michael’s death was the seed that has given a worldwide audience the opportunity to hear some powerful, life-affirming stories in a rare fusion of humanising international journalism and a positive video game discussion.

Congratulations to all and special thanks to Nathan Jones, Aoife Wilson, Julia Hardy, and Giles the sound guy (sorry I didn’t eat the biscuits) for a job well done.

Thanks for the opportunity.

My nephew disappeared in the Pencil Sector a little over a year ago. A garbled comms transmission shortly before launch was the last we heard of him. Local authorities have been supportive and helpful, but it’s still unclear what happened.

When the official investigation was concluded and it was clear nothing more could be done, everyone returned to their usual business. In an isolated, cooperatively run frontier outpost like New Growth, populated almost entirely by hardy terraforming technicians and grim-faced miners, it’s understandable that their limited resources needed to stay focused on the maintenance of their partially constructed asteroid home.

I too returned home, to the unremarkable Amber system near the heart of the Alliance, some 480 light-years away. Until today.

I have returned to the EL-Y D5 system, one of the most far flung human settled systems, mainly as a pilgrimage to remember my nephew, but also to find some of the spirit of adventure that caused him to lead me here in the first place.

He’d made grand plans for us – now unfulfilled promises drifting like space debris – but one tangible memento was the Asp Explorer he designed for me. It’s so stripped down, it’s little more than a frame shift drive with a fuel scoop and a seat. The lack of shields and weapons is unnerving, and the inability automate anything or even to boost makes flying it a chore.

But it seemed a fitting vehicle for the journey.

The Holyland Express certainly made short work of the ~500 light year trip – skipping across the core systems and beyond in 21 jumps.

On arrival, I took time to reflect and remember. It was comforting to know that somewhere in the fabric of this place was my nephew’s last known contact point.

Settling in New Growth

Then, I considered my options. There was little reason to fly back to the Core. Perhaps I could nurture the seed of adventure that my nephew planted out here in the Pencil Sector. But other than being a base camp for exploration further into uncharted galaxy, what DID New Growth have to offer?

The pickings were slim. Two local factions: both independent and therefore unaligned to any of the superpowers. The controlling organisation is the Seven Stages Movement, a benign cooperative who seemed to be largely doing their job of keeping everything in order, and the ominous sounding The Shunned who, apart from being documented as a group of anarchists, seem perfectly happy and neutral despite having almost no influence.

Only the Seven Stages Movement were offering any real mission work. The Shunned’s representative only mumbling something about reducing their rival’s influence by bounty hunting. Both factions seemed to run a thriving travel business.

I set my initial goal to do work for the Seven Stages Movement to raise my standing with them and perhaps positively influence the local system in some small way.

Debt and Recovery

I used my modest funds to purchase some cheap alternative vessels to the Holyland Express, attempting to outfit a nimble Eagle for bounty hunting. Sadly, the available equipment options this far from any military supply chains was evidently sparse. A few test flights soon proved that, without support from local enforcement, I’d be in trouble. Perhaps the bigger, more versatile Cobra mk. III might prove to be a better platform for the substandard kit available. I filed that thought for another day.

I did notice a few distress signals as a explored the system and, on investigation, twice encountered ships stranded without fuel. The perfect role for my Eagle became apparent. My nephew’s fondness for the Eagle was matched by his eagerness to try search and rescue, so I refitted my failed combat Eagle with a fuel limpet controller and it became a rapid response recovery ship. My nephew would have approved.

Thus far, none of my attempted pursuits had been particularly lucrative or successful. I considered mining, assuming that the available equipment would be more plentiful. Then I realised I knew very little about mining, and setting up the complex arrangement of tools seemed impenetrable. After reading an assortment of guides, it was apparent that the best locally available ship for the job that was the Krait mk. II.

Shortcut to Nowhere

Then I remembered I had one of those back in Amber. I quickly checked in the Shipyard interface and was relieved to see that it was already outfitted and optimised for mining. I could get it shipped over to save the expense and labour of buying and outfitting from scratch.

6,912,073 CREDITS!

That was how much it was going to cost for the ~3 hour delivery of my Krait. But it would be good to go out of the box.

I begrudgingly took the financial hit, imagining my nephew’s disapproval at my laziness and waiting for the delivery.

Now I’m a frontier miner, ekeing out an existence of the outskirts of human existence, it’s going to take a while just to break even.

But it’s peaceful out here. Plenty of time to reflect on the indifferent majesty of the universe.

Fly safe. Fly forever.

This blogpost was written very much with Michael’s Story by Drew Wagar in mind.

My pilgrimage to New Growth in the back end of nowhere had led to my peaceful acceptance of the indifference of the universe. Choosing to settle in the region of space that was on the doorstep of my nephew’s last wish for us was melancholic, but meaningful.

The frontier nature of the isolated system meant that the career options were very much at the dirty, unglamorous end of the occupational spectrum. I spent some time mining in my Krait mark II that I’d had shipped over at great expense.

Fortunately, my discovery of deposits of high value minerals like alexandrite and void opals meant that it wasn’t too long before I was back in credit.

But as I drifted through the silent asteroid fields searching for the next motherlode, it wasn’t long before wanderlust started to creep back into my thoughts.

I decided that fitting a passenger cabin and taking some random dignitaries to their dream locations would be a good way to see the galaxy. It was also one of the only other viable career options in New Growth.

One problem. Despite an abundance of would-be passengers queueing up in the passenger lounge, the run-down asteroid facility did not stock passenger cabin modules of any kind. I scrutinised the galaxy map and determined that the closest potential stockist was not, as I’d expected, all the way back in the human ‘bubble’, but across the Synuefe region to another remote, but populated system; Synuefe EN-H d11-96.

So I parked up the Krait and jumped back into the Holyland Express to set off further into the black.

As fate would have it, I soon discovered the reason for a settlement to have sprung up out in the Synuefe region.

Guardians.

I’d passed through a few years before and I’d been unaware at the time of any established human settlements. But that had been very early days in the discovery of ancient ruins. It made perfect sense that the resultant gold rush would give cause for humans to put down roots out here.

It seemed that Michael’s quest for guardian artefacts had found me.

And so, rather than purchasing a passenger cabin from The Prospect orbital facility, the discovery of a technology broker on board who promised the very same exotic technologies that Michael had wanted to seek out inspired a poorly researched and ill-fated expedition down to the surface of the planet to investigate a mysterious guardian structure.

I shouldn’t complain, because it was the kind of unexpected, emergent adventure that I suppose I’d hoped for. The unearthly sights and sounds at the guardian site were ominous and otherworldly. I’m sure Michael would have chuckled at my hypocrisy as I started reading the kind of guides I said took all the fun out of solving the mystery.

But honestly, how anyone had originally figured out the bizarre, abstract and utterly impenetrable sequences that unlocked the items that the Prospect technology broker wanted in exchange for the alien tech, I have no idea. Much respect to people with far more brains, patience and time than I had.

After several hours of exploring the austere Guardian Structure (I wasn’t going to go as far as following a map, I wanted some of the discovery to feel like mine), I eventually located and activated the six pylons that were required while doing battle with the sinister, lurking sentinels.

When I realised the only reason I’d survived their onslaughts was because the ship, designed by my late nephew, included a roof-mounted anti-missile system which had been cheerfully shooting down the sentinels’ ordnance that had been heading in my direction. It was a bittersweet moment and I inwardly thanked him for his foresight.

The activation of the six pylons revealed a receptor pad by the main structure which apparently required an ancient relic or key to unlock the terminal.

I made many fruitless attempts at jettisoning the required item onto the pad before reluctantly going back to the documentation of previous explorers and discovering to my frustration that this particular site required a different item.

An ancient key which could only be obtained from an orbital beacon in some distant system.

Realising that all my efforts to this point had been in vain and would need to be repeated once I’d obtained this ancient key was more than a little frustrating.

Disheartened but determined to see the quest out, I drove my battered Scarab buggy back to the Holyland Express and launched into orbit and onward to obtain this ancient key from the mysterious guardian beacon.

My spirits were finally dampened enough to retire when I arrived at the admittedly impressive alien structure only to find that in order to interact with it I need weapons to shoot it with. Weapons that Michael had stripped from my ship to improve the jump range.

I impotently floated around the structure attempting to scan things in the vain hope that the previous, more competent xeno-archaeologists had missed something, before admitting defeat and limping back to The Prospect to refit and retire.

Two years ago almost to the day I dabbled with livestreaming videogames on Twitch with my late nephew, Michael. Livestreaming was one of his ambitions that we were desperately attempting to fulfil in the time he had available. It was a brief, bittersweet streaming experiment which might have been fun in different circumstances.

Since then, and until very recently, my Twitch account has been purely the window through which I’ve been watching the ongoing evolution of my favourite games, particularly Elite Dangerous. 

In the past, I was always a little bewildered by the livestreaming phenomenon – why watch someone play a game rather than take part yourself? 

However, I am now very much a convert, especially in the last few months as I’ve struggled with long covid symptoms which often make actively playing a game quite unpleasant. Watching a knowledgeable, entertaining and personable streamer has become the next best thing.

For me, the charm of joining one of these content creators on their mission/adventure/folly evokes the early days of 8 and 16-bit computing when hot-seating with childhood friends to beat our favourite games was the height of our teenage social lives.

It’s noteworthy that the shoestring budget bedroom gamer aesthetic that is prevalent among many streamers (if we disregard the recent hot-tub meta found in some weirder corners of the Twitch-verse) can conceal a craft very much worthy of respect. In my limited experience, just playing a videogame – especially one like Elite Dangerous – takes most of my cerebral horsepower. To simultaneously hold court for your viewing audience with entertaining and engaging banter AND manage the technical aspects of the livestream production is quite the one-man-band feat.

In the Elite Dangerous streaming space alone there are so many talented streamers to cater for a breadth of viewing tastes. I’ve yet to discover them all, but I seem to be collecting them like Pokemon on my Twitch account.

It is with some trepidation then that I’ve decided to attempt to emulate this vaunted pantheon of content creators on my Freebooted Twitch channel. I have yet to pin down a regular schedule or a style and I doubt I’ll be as charming, witty or talented as the current luminaries, but I’ll do my best to learn from them.

I’m considering soft launching my Elite Dangerous: Odyssey content tomorrow afternoon (22nd May 2021) with a commemorative expedition from the Amber system to the Pencil Sector, as it’s the second anniversary of Michael’s death (don’t panic, I’ll keep it light, mostly). I’ll tweet details on @Freebooted once I’ve negotiated with the missus.

Please do pop in and say hi, offer advice, or heckle. I’m fairly certain I won’t know what I’m doing and will be grateful for the feedback, or at least your reinforcement of the illusion that I’m not talking to myself.

I’d love to approach this topic with an unbiased attitude of journalistic indifference, but I’m too invested and quite conflicted, for many reasons that will become clear. So allow me to poke the bear and indulge in some hypocrisy as I examine Frontier’s Elite Dangerous: Odyssey release fallout with the intent of pushing back against the overwhelming negativity. Come on in, the water’s salty.

As a brief explainer in case someone wandered in from a non-gaming part of the internet, videogame developer Frontier Developments PLC, whose flagship product Elite Dangerous enjoys a loyal and articulate fanbase stretching as far back as the 1980s, has recently found itself being publicly criticised for the botched release of the highly anticipated Odyssey expansion to their online sci-fi universe.

This modern version of Elite, released in 2014 was embraced by fans of the original game series from the 80s and 90s and prior to commercial release enjoyed a successful Kickstarter campaign and a premium beta, both of which were schemes which allowed eager fans to pay sums often greater than the standard cost of a videogame.

As a consumer, I’ve long been wary of this approach to game development when it comes to established game studios, although I accept such crowdfunding mechanisms may well be lifeblood for indie developers. In any case, it can be argued that the last decade of gaming has seen an erosion of release quality in studio-delivered games as public beta by stealth has been normalised. On the Steam delivery platform many games are released as ‘early access’ as a means of monetising an incomplete product. 

Despite my principles, and in the spirit of full disclosure, I also backed Elite Dangerous prior to release in 2014, which has since given me access to all subsequent premium releases (Horizons, Odyssey Alpha, Odyssey ‘release’) without further investment. I accept the charge of hypocrisy, m’lud.

Since its release in 2014, Elite Dangerous has been all about the spaceships and exploring a beautifully rendered 1:1 scale rendition of the Milky Way galaxy. With it came a wealth of lore in the form of a series of novels and in-game information (most of which required patiently piecing together). This was very much in keeping with the legacy of Elite, whose original iteration in 1984 was groundbreakingly released with a novella by the late Robert Holdstock, entitled The Dark Wheel. In contrast to the narrative depth this created, the procedurally generated gameplay was criticised by some as being ‘a mile wide and one inch deep’.

Throughout the game’s lifecycle so far, Frontier have expanded and developed the gameplay and the universe, with numerous features being introduced, both as free updates to the existing game and as a premium ‘season’ in the form of Horizons which allowed planetary landings and exploration in surface reconnaissance vehicles (SRVs). Many of these elements added breadth and depth to the core gameplay, however it has been suggested that some of these features warrant further iteration. Your mileage may vary, but it’s certainly kept me and many others entertained for more than half a decade.

And so the ambitious attempt to further enrich the ED universe comes around in the form of Odyssey. Where Horizons gave us vehicular planetary exploration, now Odyssey would allow us to disembark and explore numerous environments on foot. I’m not a developer, but I don’t think anyone needs to be to recognise the sheer scale of this task – to provide the freedom of countless planets and man-made environments with varied and interesting gameplay bolted onto an existing mind-bogglingly vast game seems like lunacy. 

But they’ve done it! Odyssey provides a myriad of opportunities for unscripted depth, atmospheric gameplay, and a narrative canvas to play out untold personal stories. In theory. 

Unfortunately, the product is incomplete. Many users are reporting problems with framerates and disconnects, as well as an assortment of other issues which are impacting – or entirely preventing – gameplay.

A lot of these issues were evident in the premium ‘alpha’ a few weeks prior to release. Frontier offered reassurances that concurrent development on a newer build would remedy many of those problems and introduce more content that was held back from the alpha.

The fundamental clue here wasn’t so much the evidence of work still to be done, but in the branding of these periods as an alpha phase. It’s important to note that in game development terms an alpha phase is always followed by a beta phase. 

Source: Wikipedia

According to Wikipedia, ‘Alpha is the stage when key gameplay functionality is implemented, and assets are partially finished. A game in alpha is feature complete, that is, game is playable and contains all the major features. These features may be further revised based on testing and feedback.’

Whereas a beta phase is ‘feature and asset complete version of the game, when only bugs are being fixed. This version contains no bugs that prevent the game from being shippable. No changes are made to the game features, assets, or code. Beta occurs two to three months before code release.’

So how was it that the player base had access to a preview version branded as an ‘alpha’ in April 2021, mere weeks before the 19th May release?

The truth must surely be that what has been released is the beta version, not the final ‘release code’. This fact is further emphasised by the announcement that Odyssey development will continue concurrently to but separate from the PC and consoles running the Horizons versions. There will be a re-unification later in the year when the console version of Odyssey is released.

It seems quite clear that we have now entered a PC-only ongoing public beta, which is neither without precedent (it was how the original Elite Dangerous rolled out, as mentioned earlier) nor unusual in modern game development. In fact, it has become the industry standard. Is this practice unethical or misleading? I’m conflicted about that. It depends on the messaging. It can be done ethically, but I suspect pressure from boardroom and shareholder imposed deadlines can erode those ethics. Certainly Frontier may have done well to pitch the development plan with more candour, perhaps selling this current phase of PC-only Odyssey development as a premium beta.

However, the advent of constant internet connectivity has ensured that the days of ‘going gold’ with a finalised hard copy are long gone. This a double-edged sword, and although we’re repeatedly seeing the negatives of ‘early access culture’ writ large, consumers do benefit from constantly renewed and revised content and a much more immediate relationship with the developers of their favourite games. 

I feel that the acrimony we often see in videogame communities is in part due to this ‘always on’ communication conduit. There’s no filter; consumer rage is unbridled, development is endlessly iterative, players demand quality, development requires funding. These factors conflict.

As players, we are customers, and of course we expect – and are entitled – to get what we paid for. But I think it’s selective naivety and predictable over-entitlement to be angry that a game that was in alpha in April would be finished in May. We’re smarter than that. Especially in the iterative development culture that we have all encouraged.

I am disappointed I cannot yet unreservedly recommend Elite Dangerous: Odyssey to my friends, but I’m very much on Team Frontier when it comes to continuing along the journey to see Elite continue to evolve. Horizons is polished to a standard we can expect Odyssey to meet with time. What has been achieved by the development team while working from home through covid-19 lockdown is still remarkable and, but for some miscommunication, might even have been acceptable.

I wish Frontier had checked their corporate entitlement and openly sold us the May release as a PC-only beta or an exclusive PC preview, which would have made any post-release issues easier to stomach. But I believe we can remain confident that Frontier will continue to address the performance issues and bugs as they have in the past.

Meanwhile, we players should perhaps exercise a little patience and perhaps reflect upon the fact that Odyssey is a product of its time, produced under economic and pandemic duress. Also consider that at least a mote of responsibility lies with us, insofar as our consumer choices have enabled the kind of development cycle that permits unfinished games.

Despite Frontier’s highly anticipated perambulation simulation, Odyssey, starting with a bit of a limp, some of the issues hint at the potential richness of gameplay that Odyssey can provide.

For example, my personal odyssey had taken me 500 light-years away from the densely populated human bubble and out into the (ahem) frontier, where I sought an experience akin to the austere bleakness of The Expanse series with a dash of 2001’s I-War 2: Edge of Chaos videogame. What I’ve actually experienced has been entertaining and frustrating in equal measure, but has the hallmarks of a fantastic sci-fi canvas for a billion unique stories.

New Growth Asteroid Base

In the remote Pencil Sector region, human settlements are rare (a fact that I will later be frustrated by) and my chosen destination, New Growth station in Pencil Sector EL-Y d5, was the only major port in the only populated system for 200 light-years.

I began my frontier experience by setting about the business of exploring the local planetary bodies and doing a bit of opportunistic scavenging. I soon stumbled across a point of interest on one of the local planetary bodies. On investigation, I triggered a trespass warning and a number of ‘wanted’ skimmers associated with the controlling system faction, Seven Stages Movement, deployed and became aggressive. I destroyed them, but my delay in the trespass zone resulted in a price being put on my head.

On my return to New Growth station, as expected my inadvertently acquired criminal status meant that I couldn’t access many of the services. It was a colourful and engaging turn of events which put me at an ethical crossroads; should I embrace my new shady status or come clean?

I wasn’t quite ready to go rogue at this point, largely due to the fact that I would be unable to use any of the station services and there were no alternatives for hundreds of light-years. To clear my record, I had to face the brutal justice system and turn myself in, which I did from one of the many convenient terminals scattered around the concourse. 

This turned out to be a mistake, but one that could so very nearly have led to an incredible unscripted gameplay experience.

Pilgrim’s Ruin: 5 stars on Trip Advisor

I was immediately transported to an isolation cell in Pilgrim’s Ruin, an orbital penitentiary in the HR 3005 system some 200 light-years away in the Synuefe region. My cell door was unlocked and the guard in the corridor seemed indifferent to my emancipation proclivities, so I made for the nearest exit. I triumphantly arrived at the lift to the hangar expecting to escape back into the space scavenger ecosystem. But the lift refused to comply, and a helpful dialogue box pointed out there was no available ship. My Cobra had been left behind!

Fortunately, the one available facility in the discharge concourse was Apex Interstellar Transport. I could get a space taxi to freedom. However, it soon became clear that destination options were limited. The HR 3005 system I was in comprised only two stars and the spaceborne Pilgrim’s Ruin facility. Nary a planetary body or space rock to be seen.

‘Sorry mate, I’m clocking off in an hour.’

Looking further afield, Apex Transport, like fussy inner city cabbies, apparently have a limit to how far they’ll take a passenger. The 200LY route back to the Pencil Sector system and my nearest ship was about twice as far as they’d take me. Out here in the galactic wilderness, the only reachable system was quite nearby, a mere 17 light-years to the snappily named Synuefe EN-H D11-96 system which encouragingly contained plenty of planets, a couple of stations, and a fair few player-owned fleet carriers.

I quickly concocted a plan to book an Apex to one of the stations, swallow the cost of getting my ship transported over, and spend the time that would take to check out the local flavour. This was actually turning out to be an unexpected, but quite welcome adventure.

Until reality hit.

Emptier than it looks

On arrival at The Prospect, one of two orbital outposts in the system, I quickly discovered the flaw in my plan. Unlike the major Coriolis and Orbis starports, minor Outposts do not have an Inter Astra ship vendor which is required for on-foot access to shipyard facilities including ship transfers.

I suddenly felt very small, and the galaxy very large and far away. I was marooned.

I consoled myself with the thought that at least I had one system I could explore and do on-foot missions in. Alas, a quick check on the station terminal revealed that there were no missions available. This explained why there were only two viable Apex destinations in the system – there were no planetary settlements.

Realising that my gameplay was now reduced to exploring the identikit social zones of two outposts with variety provided by the occasional taxi ride was disappointing and a game experience opportunity missed. I’d gone from an ex-con going rogue in an unsuspecting system to Tom Hanks in The Terminal. 

There were only two solutions left open to me. I could log out of the Odyssey version of Elite Dangerous and log into Horizons, which I believe would automagically force me out of the station and into my last ship, but this felt defeatist and an option which will be unavailable come the Great Reunification later this year.

So my remaining option would be to once again turn to the Elite Dangerous community for help. I’ll document the ensuing hilarity in an upcoming post. Suffice to say thanks to Commanders Camel Number 1 and Gerald Burger, the challenges of early Odyssey were met and overcome, only for Odyssey to have the last laugh.

I’ll also be putting together a highlight reel of my predicament and subsequent rescue over on my Freebooted stream. You can already view the raw footage here, (skip to here for the (first) rescue or here for the final twist).

In summary, I hope this anecdote is taken in the spirit intended. It was an amusing sequence of events caused by Odyssey’s idiosyncrasies, and I think serves to emphasise the sheer potential of the gameplay experiences which are almost within reach.

In this particular case, I can see a number of ways to resolve the problems I encountered.

1. Increase the range of Apex Interstellar Transport (the boring option, please don’t.)
2. Ensure remote systems like Syneufe EN-H D11-96 have an Odyssey accessible shipyard facility, to enable ship purchase and transfer, which would be supported by…
3. A minimal mission ecosystem in all populated systems to enable content and means to profit.

Personally, I’d like to see 2 and 3 to give that surviving-on-the-isolated-frontier feel. But let me know if you can think of any other ways to resolve this problem.

In any case, I’m looking forward to more emergent and unscripted entertainment as Odyssey evolves to allow its gameplay to equal its technical achievements.

Yesterday, Laura Holyland gave brave testimony in Great Yarmouth Magistrates’ Court in the case against her former husband, Karl, who was found guilty of coercive and controlling behaviour during their marriage and harassment in the subsequent months.

It was the bitter end of a tragic and deeply painful saga which has left many deep wounds and emotional scars.

Following the verdict, rapid coverage from the EDP made it clear that the case might garner some press interest, partly due to a potential landmark ruling using the relatively recent laws from Section 76 of the Serious Crime Act 2015 – Controlling or Coercive Behaviour in an Intimate or Family Relationship.

The case has been passed to Crown Court for sentencing.

Laura made it clear in her testimony that her only wish is to be able to move on with her life and find some semblance of normality after a succession of family tragedies including the death of her teenage son, Michael, and now finally escaping a traumatic and toxic relationship.

She has been through a long and traumatic process which continues to have an adverse impact on her life.

In an effort to minimise that impact and allow her to rebuild her life she is not taking any direct press contact at this time.

Laura has asked that her privacy be respected and that any further enquiries be directed to her brother, Mathew Westhorpe (mat@westhorpe.net).

It’s been nearly six months since I tested positive to COVID-19. I am still ill.

I’ve grown increasingly frustrated with my inability to shake it off, and equally with the understandable misconceptions many people have about the condition, so I have written this account both as a personal record and to shed some light on what is often an invisible illness.

I contracted COVID-19 in January 2021, most likely through my work in healthcare. My initial lateral flow test was negative despite my suspicions, however a PCR test 24 hours later proved positive and this was confirmed by a subsequent LFT.

2020: Where is my chianti, Clarice?

I was one of the luckier ones and only had mild symptoms. By mild, I mean I was brought low with a fever and a cough for a few days but for the most part I was able to work through it (from home). It still felt pretty awful at the time, but my breathing was never impacted hugely. As I self-isolated through the worst of it, I was never active enough to exercise and test my respiratory system at its most diseased and I’ve still yet to do anything particularly strenuous.

I recovered from the acute infection within a fortnight, but it was only then that the more insidious symptoms became apparent. I would become exhausted, often for little or no reason. Episodes would often be preceded by a tingling in my hands and feet. I discovered headaches the likes of which I’ve never experienced before; aggressive and debilitating. My ability to concentrate would ebb away, with entire trains of thought evaporating mid-articulation. I started to worry I was a stroke risk.

When I was able, I would try to follow the ever-changing understanding of what was officially labelled post-acute COVID-19 syndrome, but is more commonly referred to as ‘long covid’. The science seems far from settled but there were some encouraging hypotheses that certainly rang true for my case.

Two key underlying causes seemed to be gaining traction: microcirculation issues and autoimmune reactions. The microcirculation possibility didn’t make me feel any better about the stroke risk angle, but my GP had already advised me to stop self-medicating with aspirin and I hadn’t deteriorated or had any FAST-positive symptoms, so I was happy to put that one to one side for my own sanity.

The idea that aberrant autoimmune behaviour was behind my symptoms made a lot of sense to me. Studies had indicated a higher prevalence of long covid in people with pre-existing autoimmune conditions like hayfever, asthma, and eczema. I have suffered from all of those when I was younger and still suffer from a stupidly aggressive immune response to some kind of pollen.

Weeks passed and there seemed to be little change to my symptoms. They wouldn’t be present all the time, but they were frequent enough to render me relatively ineffective. I remained sick from work and was of limited effectiveness around the home. I learned to manage my ‘energy envelope’ in a way I’d witnessed my late mother do with her lifelong struggle with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME).

2018: Healthy and active

This enforced inactivity comes with its own problems. Over recent years, I have faced metabolic syndrome, high cholesterol, non-alcoholic fatty liver syndrome and a host of potential inherited conditions. Both my parents died in their 60s so I had gone to great lengths to address any potential health issues through diet, activity and healthy living. I had managed to reduce my weight from 17st 4lbs (110kg) in 2017 to under 15st (95kg) in 2018, where I had remained within an acceptable BMI range until contracting covid. My improved health had had a positive impact on all of the previously mentioned health concerns.

Further, my good health had empowered me to be able to manage a host of challenges through a difficult period in my life. I had been able to maintain my healthcare career while supporting my wife who had herself been suffering from a debilitating and career-affecting vestibular disease, and I was able to provide palliative support to my dying nephew.

But now my long covid symptoms have undone all that effort and removed that capability. My weight has increased to over 16st (102kg), the tests required for referral to the long covid clinic have indicated that my fatty liver syndrome has returned, and my persistent long covid symptoms makes any return to good health all the more challenging. Unless I can overcome this, moving forward I accept that my physical and mental symptoms may be attributable to causes beyond a wayward immune response. But it’s worth remembering that it was covid that sabotaged my carefully curated homeostasis.

2021: Post-covid unhealthiness

To be clear, not every moment of every day is a haze of fatigue and headaches. I have relatively asymptomatic periods of hours, sometimes days, during which I can be productive. When well (or only mildly wiped out), I still walk the dog and take the kids to school. I’ve cut the grass once this year. But the symptoms always return and I am still not clear if activity triggers symptoms. However, I have reached the point where avoiding activity for fear of a relapse has greater risks to my health than doing what I can when the opportunity allows.

One ray of hope for me lies in the vaccine. In mid-April I had my first dose of the Oxford-AstraZeneca vaccine and in contrast to most people’s experiences, it made me feel much better. For about a week, the brain-fog cleared, the fatigue stayed at bay and I felt well enough to return to work, so I started to make plans along those lines. Frustratingly the symptoms returned soon after and have remained my constant companion since. My second vaccine dose is tomorrow, I am hoping for a similar, but more permanent effect.

In conclusion, I am absolutely committed to overcoming the long covid challenge, and would ask that those who have not experienced it at least recognise its existence and its impact. This isn’t something that can be ‘walked off’. Nor is this a hoax or a conspiracy. A great number of my healthcare colleagues have also suffered similar symptoms or worse. Some have died. This remains a very real and persistent health concern for everyone, and it’s absolutely not ‘just the flu’.

Thanks for reading and take care of yourselves. I’ll update how things go with my second jab and beyond when I can.

Mallory watched as the man died.

He wasn’t as old as his haggard face looked, but his 37-year-old body had been broken by the ravages of their forsaken existence. Each gurgling breath was weaker, less perceptible than the last. His misshapen chest rose unevenly, fell, and then paused. She waited for the next wheeze. It didn’t come.

She didn’t need to look at her patient’s record to recall his story, he’d been in her care for long enough for her to know him well. He’d been born into poverty in a fringe system far from the affluent heart of civilisation, and like many had been seduced by the overtures of the frontier corporations offering a ‘better way of life’.

The brochures and holovid commercials had promised the chance to be part of a new chapter in mankind’s history, to be the Founding Fathers of a brave new frontier society, free of interference from oppressive superpowers. The then nascent cooperative movement had laid out a seductive seven stage plan to achieve their utopia in the stars.

In the late 33rd century, with great fanfare, the Seven Stages Movement had established a foothold in the Pencil Sector over 800 light-years from the cradle of human civilisation. They proclaimed a hollowed-out asteroid base to be the first of many glorious achievements, the First Stage, a seed of new growth and plenty. They’d even called it that: New Growth, a clarion call to welcome and inspire grafters, pioneers, and entrepreneurs.

The project had been a success – for those who could endure.

But over the passing years, an underclass of those suffering industrial injuries, disfigurements and disease grew. They were quietly pushed aside, an embarrassing and expensive inconvenience to the utopian dream. They were hidden from visitors, or passed off as troublemakers. They became known as the Shunned.

As new settlements were established on the harsh, remote local planetoids, the Shunned were shipped there and expected to work in conditions in which the strong would struggle. Effectively, they were left to fend for themselves, to find a way to contribute to the Seven Stages regime, or to wither in the dark on the far side of the system.

As she prepared the body for processing, Mallory waited for her emotions to catch up with the moment. Expecting, hoping to feel something.

But she had long since become numb to the tragedies. The man’s passing was just another reminder of the hardships of their reality which came too frequently to warrant emotional investment. She had spent all her sorrow and rage long ago. Those reactions were for others now, she had other patients to attend.

This is my personal review of Elite Dangerous Odyssey, and I make no apologies that it is unambiguously positive.

For me, Elite Dangerous has been revitalised and revolutionised by the addition of first-person gameplay to what was previously a vehicle-only experience, and I’ve had an absolute blast for the last few weeks since launch.

I’ve played Elite Dangerous since 2014 and have always enjoyed the austere sci-fi grittiness of its outrageously vast explorable universe, but I accept that some might find the experience somewhat remote. After all, ‘space’, as Douglas Adams accurately pointed out, ‘is big’, and viewing everything the Milky Way has to offer while eternally encased in your spaceship or amped-up moon buggy is something of a ‘goldfish bowl’ claustrophobic feel to it.

But, thanks to Odyssey, no longer.

The sheer relief and joy of being able to bounce across alien landscapes in search of weird plants and salvageable junk, or wander around isolated mining colonies and science facilities is something I continue to find quite breath-taking.

However, what really kicked my gameplay experience into a higher gear was how the pedestrian aspects of the immersive experience stitched together the previously disparate vehicular episodes. Suddenly I felt like I had a starring role in a sweeping space epic.

Let me tell you how I accidentally became a revolutionary.

A Changing Frontier

Although for the last couple of years I’d become something of a lapsed player, I’d occasionally log on to be reminded that I had moved many of my assets out to a remote, sparsely populated star system that was far from the established human ’bubble’ of civilisation. To move back would take a lot of time and in-game currency, neither of which I could justify.

This limited my gameplay options, but in theory I quite liked the idea of eking out an existence as part of a remote asteroid colony on the frontier. However, pre-Odyssey the actual gameplay experience to do so was not terribly engaging.

I suspect the location itself was just intended as a sort of waystation between The Bubble and the region that contained mysterious alien ruins and artefacts which was another few hundred light years further out.

The system, Pencil Sector EL-Y d5, was quite uncomplicated. It was a binary system with a half-a-dozen planets orbiting each star. There was a single orbital station – a wonderfully low-tech mined-out asteroid called New Growth – which was run by the Seven Stages Movement controlling faction. They apparently held all the power without real opposition, as indicated by their entirely stable and unchanging 99% system influence statistic.

There was only one other faction in the system, an unfortunately titled group called The Shunned. They were a non-entity; there was no way to really interact with them – their New Growth mission agent never had any missions and there were no other places to visit where they might engage in diplomacy. They were pretty much just targets to shoot in space among the landable but unremarkable planets.

An Experience Revolutionised

Then came Odyssey and suddenly the ‘Ellie Dee-five’ system came alive. As well as a number of tenuous atmosphere planets, twenty-five new planetary settlements were revealed, largely supporting the extraction and refinery industry, along with a few poly-tunnel agricultural settlements . All but a handful of these were governed by the controlling faction, but in the farthest reaches of the outer planets of the secondary binary star, The Shunned had established a foothold.

On visiting these new Shunned-controlled settlements, I soon discovered that interacting with their computer terminals gave access to missions exclusive to their faction. Odyssey had given character and voice to a faction that was previously a system footnote. I inwardly pledged to support The Shunned and so began to undertake missions exclusively for them.

The first few missions I chose were fairly innocuous. I avoided anything too shady, just recovering materials from crash sites and collecting consignments from other settlements. Even then it was a joy, it felt as if I was a delivery man playing a small part in a functioning community. Lovely little touches like comments from passing civilians and overzealous security personnel gave texture to the local society, bringing it to life.

My efforts were soon rewarded with a small rise in The Shunned’s influence percentage. The whole experience made it easy to imagine an underlying narrative – that The Shunned weren’t (just) an anarchic pirate gang, but perhaps more of a desperate underclass of citizens discarded by the indifferent ‘Stager’ government.

Then unexpected events occurred which further fuelled my head-canon.

The Saga of The Shunned

Suddenly, all three of The Shunned’s settlements were offline. On investigation, I saw that their faction status indicated that they were now the target of terrorist attacks. Given the duality of the political landscape, there was only one real suspect: the Seven Stages Movement. This was compounded by the fact that Stager population’s happiness despicably changed from ‘happy’ to ‘elated’ at the exact same time – all while their neighbours suffered and burned!

It was time to escalate, to stand up for the oppressed and to strike back at the brutal state. I started to take on riskier, more ethically grey missions. I avoided murder, but wasn’t averse to some theft. Unfortunately, the Stager security had no such moral boundaries and my every act against the state was met with lethal response, critical injury and incarceration.

Crime and punishment in the 34th century, it transpires, redefines the concept of ‘the long arm of the law’. When apprehended, I was immediately transported to the nearest detention centre which, unsurprisingly given the barren emptiness of the region, was almost 200 light-years away. Frustratingly, even when released, I found myself unable to return to Ellie-Deefive as my ship had been effectively impounded at the scene.

The lack of facilities in the vicinity of the Pilgrim’s Ruin prison ship meant there was no way to arrange transport of my ship and the sheer distances involved meant that the Apex Interstellar taxi service just shrugged with disinterest at my requests.

Fortunately, Elite Dangerous is a multiplayer game, and as well as broadcasting my plight to the Frontier support team, I managed to flag down a lift from the generous CMDRs Tomasson (aka Burger) and CamelNumberOne. The rescue wasn’t entirely straightforward, and the peculiarities of witchspace travel (read: network issues) meant that the first attempt using CamelNumberOne’s massive fleet carrier left me stranded at point of origin while both by rescuers reached the destination without me. Fortunately, they had a backup plan.

On my eventual return to Pencil Sector EL-Y d5, my resolve stiffened and over the following weeks, my missioning activity became bolder and more illegal. I would occasionally be apprehended and require further rescue from the state-sponsored marooning (the Frontier support team were always quick and helpful), but I became a wanted felon whose bounty grew as The Shunned’s influence did.

Most Wanted

It quickly became clear that my actions could make a real difference in this system. After some further reading and advice from stream viewers and the Elite Dangerous Twitterati, I came to understand that if the influence gap was equalised, it would trigger a civil war and The Shunned could seize control of New Growth asteroid station. I was inspired – up the revolution, brother!

It also became apparent that more violent actions seemed to be having a greater impact on narrowing the influence gap between Seven Stages Movement and The Shunned. But those gains came at a heavy price: every action against the controlling faction eroded my current good standing with them and any illegal activities put an ever-increasing price on my head.

This trend would soon make me hunted in every corner of the system and eventually render me unwelcome at the station – the one place I could keep my selection of purpose-fitted ships. I would become trapped in a single ship for the entirety of my paramilitary operations.

After some initial experimentation (and further imprisonments) I made plans to take the plunge into morally justified criminality with a Cobra Mk.IV; it was tough, versatile, small enough to land on settlement pads, and laden with dumbfire missile launchers could clear out enemy ground forces quickly and rather spectacularly. I called it The Minotaur.

It wasn’t long before my name was appearing in the Most Wanted list in the daily bulletins as my bounty grew to tens, then hundreds of thousands of credits. I noticed at this time that I wasn’t alone on this list, which in previous months had often been empty. On the days that I checked, I found myself wondering who the others were, and what illicit activities they were getting into.

Particularly intimidating were the two top pilots, Cgore and Alex Rogan XIV, both of whom whose bounties were in the millions. It made me wary of flying in Open Play mode – the last thing I needed was to have my plans thwarted by some player-killing ubermensch pilot. Nonetheless I continued to do so, as I had been. Show no fear.

As I went about my one-man attempt to overthrow the government, ethically collapsing into bloodthirsty massacre and assassination missions, I was on the edge of my seat. Every spaceflight between mission waypoints was a tense cat-and-mouse experience, with now openly hostile system authority vessels and bounty hunters actively chasing me down. Although the Minotaur was a solid anti-personnel and ground mission ship, it didn’t stand a chance against the dedicated gunships roaming the space-lanes.

Then something amazing happened.

A CMDRGURU951 was watching my stream and saw my plight. He suggested that access to a fleet carrier would solve my problems and provide me with the means to access my other ships once again. It just so happened that one such fleet carrier that had been idling in system for a few weeks was his. He kindly invited me to make use of it, so I eagerly plotted a course for the OP New Growth from where, I learned to my surprise, he too had been working to overthrow the Seven Stages Movement.

Unfortunately, as I dropped out of supercruise and into approach range of the fleet carrier, I was set upon by some waiting Seven Stages Movement ships. They made short work of me. Fortunately, I respawned docked to Cmdr. Guru’s fleet carrier. Unfortunately, the hostile fighters had not finished with me and opened fire as my ship rested on the OP New Growth’s deck. I was protected by the megaship’s shields, but any attempt to take off would see me obliterated.

Cmdr. Guru expressed astonishment at this behaviour, stating that he had a significant bounty and notoriety but had never been effectively spawn-camped by NPC ships. I took it as a badge of honour and prepared to launch anyway. I couldn’t access the fleet carrier’s shipyard services as I’d hoped, so I was stuck with the ship I was in. This was going to be my Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid against the Bolivian army moment .

Cmdr. Guru wanted to watch my escape attempt first hand so asked me to wait for him to log in. Instancing issues hampered his attempts at first, so I suggested we form a team to encourage the matchmaking server to put us in the same instance. It was then that I learned his pilot name was not a variation of his Twitch and Twitter handle as I’d expected, but he was none other than the previously-mentioned ubermensch, Commander Alex Rogan XIV, whose bounty was approaching 20 million credits (for context, at its height, mine was little more than 300,000cr). I was in the presence – and a ‘house-guest’ of – one of the most accomplished and feared pilots in the sector.

He dropped into local space in a Federation corvette, one of the most indisputably efficient engines of destruction in the game, and engaged the quartet of angry but small system authority ships, which comprised two vipers and and two eagles. I feverishly hit the launch button and scrambled away from the fleet carrier as quickly as I could.

As I jumped into the relative safety of supercruise, I watched the team status indicator with horror as Alex Rogan XIV’s now shieldless vessel’s hull withered and disappeared. He’d thrown away his impressive bounty and his very expensive ship to let me escape in my paltry Cobra Mk.IV. It was a genuinely emotional moment – I had only just learned that we were brothers-in-arms and then he sacrificed himself to the cause. Sniff.

The Accidental Warlord

It was clear that fighting for the cause of The Shunned was gaining momentum. My earlier rescuer, Cmdr Tomasson, had remained in the area and had been sending me updates on his progress in taking the fight to the Stagers.

My misgivings about other local wanted pilots had proven unfounded, Cmdr Guru/Alex Rogan had revealed that other regulars on the most wanted list, the amusingly named CMDRs Crunch Buttsteak and Pudgebrownie, were also part of his cabal of freedom fighters, Rekall Inc., whose higher purpose was no less than to seek out the mythical Raxxla.

Meanwhile, Interstellar audio jockeys Hutton Orbital Radio – who had already taken an interest in my activities (mostly out of idle amusement at the fact I kept getting imprisoned and marooned) – had started including news bulletins of my progress in their broadcasts and even interviewed me.

It is with great pride that I can confirm that on Monday, July 19th, our combined efforts finally tipped the balance of power into civil war, at which point the hitherto fluffy Hutton Orbital Radio folks bared their teeth and dispatched squadrons of trucker-pilots to join the conflict and install The Shunned as the new controlling faction.

The ground combat has been adrenaline pumping and frantic and, even though I’m not very good at it, I’ve felt invested and immersed. The gradual build-up and events documented here has given each battle experience much greater heft, making every gain much more meaningful and every loss more painful.

At time of writing, The Shunned are on the cusp of victory, having routed Seven Stages Movement forces for three consecutive days. I feel like with the help of Commanders from all corners, The Shunned have risen in vast numbers like the Fremen from the Arakis desert, and achieved far more than we could ever have hoped for. Tomorrow, I hope to livestream our victory and the seizing of New Growth asteroid base.

I salute everyone who helped to make such a great story happen and I’m grateful to everyone at Frontier who has made such a fantastic gaming and community experience possible. I understand there are kinks to iron out, but there are many reasons to be proud of this fantastic game.

Elite Dangerous Odyssey is a deep, complex and awe-inspiring science-fiction experience that offers an immersive, personal journey across a sweeping epic backdrop akin to Asimov’s Foundation or Herbert’s Dune. It is a breath-taking, obsession-triggering addition to the seminal and definitive space experience that is just beginning its odyssey.

I cannot wait to see where it takes us next.

Life. We’ve all got one. Until we haven’t.

A succession of challenging life events has brought me to a tipping point. The last decade has seen the end of my ambulance career due to back injury, the death of both my parents and my 15-year-old nephew, and most recently the drain of working in healthcare through the COVID-19 pandemic and the impact of long covid on my own health.

Of course I have had many life-affirming experiences too that have been shining lights in my often dark journey – I wouldn’t want this post to seem like a cry for help. Chief among them has been my ever-present, supportive, wonderful wife and our two young daughters. Our life together so far has been tumultuous and serene, frustrating and rewarding, and absolutely the motivation to overcome the terrible things life has presented.

But those terrible things – the deaths, the responsibility, the survivor’s guilt – remains a weight that I carry. Early last year I started to channel this burden into my writing. I began a project that started life as a short story borne out of my grief for the loss of family, and grew into a full-blown novel concept.

I made good initial progress, writing several thousand words of planning and world-building, as well as initial drafts of the first five chapters. Alas, life had other plans for my time. Balancing productive writing with a healthcare career and a family was already challenging, but the tidal wave of responsibility that came with the pandemic coupled with (unrelated) family health challenges forced my writing onto the back burner.

Until now.

It’s funny how life works; contracting covid in January and failing to recover from it has been an infuriating experience which has impacted me physically, psychologically and financially. However, it has put me in a position where my best option to get better while being productive on my own terms is to step away from healthcare and focus on writing. It’s something I can do in fits and starts when I’m well and rest when I’m not.

I’m grateful that my employer has granted me a 6-month (unpaid) sabbatical, during which time I intend to write and to recover. I’m being as pragmatic as possible about it with safeguards in place, and I’ll be as industrious as my health allows while being realistic about the unlikelihood of my endeavour even paying for itself.

I absolutely recognise that this is perhaps a foolhardy, ridiculous decision, to walk away from a salary during such troubled times. But the aforementioned tipping point, the ever more frequent reminders that we aren’t guaranteed a long life, compel me to take the chance, to strive for something I can leave behind.

I’ve got stories to tell.

It’s been a week since the kids went back to school and I’ve been able to resume my ambition to write a complete novel. It’s a running joke among writers that we are world-class procrastinators easily distracted by- ooh, squirrel! And have you seen this hilarious photo…

What was I saying? Oh yes – as I continue my exploration of how this novel writing lark works, I thought it would be interesting to occasionally blog my experiences. If I’m doomed to get distracted then I might as well own up to it and perhaps even work it to my advantage.

Week one was a mixed bag, with some important foundations laid in preparation for the actual work going forward. I spent much of it reviewing the world-building, narrative notes and chapter plan I’d made last year, as well as reading through the five chapters I’d already written before the pandemic and lockdowns absorbed all my time and energy.

I also took some time to reach out to some key individuals for their blessing last week – after all, my story involves the hypothetical continuation (albeit metaphysical) of real people whose lives have ended. Thankfully, everyone so far is on-board with the concept.

In reviewing the work I’d already done, I resisted the temptation to make any changes for fear of getting lost in a loop of perpetual self-correction. Better that I press on and finish the first draft before getting the hatchet out, at least according to some of the many writing advice videos and blogs I’ve read.

If I want to see this project to its conclusion, I need to be making progress, not faffing about with busywork (he says as he sits writing a navel-gazing blog rather than writing the actual manuscript – but I look at this as warming up at the start of the week). Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to apply a military philosophy I’ve heard from royal marine friends to ‘get the rounds down’. Substituting rounds for words, obviously. I’m not planning a mass shooting or anything.

But I worry that what I write might be inconsistent and tonally uneven, or that my mood or my undulating health might impact the style and quality of my writing. It’s hard to know what is good practice, but I’m mindful of the Stephen King quote,

‘Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us just get up and go to work.’

Thankfully, by the tail-end of the week, I did manage to actually get down to continuing the story proper and wrote about 2.5k coherent words (despite some very noisy roadworks outside my house). That doesn’t sound like much – especially as I’m writing in the shadow of a certain Drew Wagar, an experienced author who I’m now proud to call friend and who once famously wrote an entire 7000-word short story (proofed and edited) for my nephew Michael in less than 24 hours. But it was a first – and important – step.

For me, Drew’s achievement has now become a unit of measurement against which I will always compare my writing output. Last week I wrote less than half a Wagar in total, and given my long covid challenges, I have no intention of trying to equal that endeavour in a day, but I do hope for something close to that in a week.

At that rate, I’d estimate my first draft will be finished by Christmas. Assuming that the total word count will be around 100,000 words (or approximately 14 Wagars).

Anyway, distraction over: word brain on, time to go to work.

When I decided to plunge naively into attempted professional authordom, I had originally intended to write a weekly blog to report my progress.

However, it is only now, at the end of week three that I’ve found the time and the energy for the second edition. It’s been an unexpectedly challenging fortnight and last week was such a disappointing one that I was, quite frankly, ashamed to dwell on my lack of productivity.

In my defence, after a reasonable first week of preparation, procrastination, and a small amount of progress, week two was dominated by long covid, which came at me hard.

At some point I intend to write more specifically about my ongoing post-acute covid-19 syndrome, but I’m trying very hard at present not to be defined by it. It’s fair to say that I lost at least two full days in a haze of fatigue and migraines. Although triggers are hard to define, I wonder if the consistent activity of the days prior might have been a factor. Learn to ‘manage your energy envelope’ the chronic fatigue guides say, which is fine until you realise you left your envelope in your pocket and now it’s been through the wash and is not the size or shape you expected.

In any case, my mission to function as a professional novelist (or indeed any line of work in the future) has to be rooted in a good work ethic irrespective of health issues. I had set myself reasonable, regular goals to account for this, with a minimum of two hours each weekday morning set aside to write. This was intended to give me a bit of structure without ‘kicking the arse out of it’. Of course, if I’m feeling okay after the two hours and I’ve got some flow, then I’ll crack on.

This worked well for the first few days, but I think perhaps alongside other domestic duties even that paltry amount became impossible to achieve by the second Wednesday, during which I mostly slept. The same occurred on the Friday. The other days were also not great but some ground was covered.

By the weekend, this left me quite despondent, wondering if I was doomed to failure. But I’m glad to say this week I rallied.

I made sure I went to bed early, stayed well hydrated, and threw caution to the wind with my caffeine intake (I’d previously kicked my habit some months before, partly motivated by the suggestion that it can have a negative impact on histamine processing which is key to autoimmune responses and possibly long covid). The migraines still came frequently but were manageable, and the fatigue was less pronounced.

So I went and finished Act One!

Over the course of this week, I wrote practically all of chapter six, a 7,400 word monster of a chapter (AKA: a full Wagar) which I’m mostly quite pleased with (I’m also concerned about narrative bloat, my growing propensity for run-on sentences, and an overuse of parenthetical asides like this one, but never mind that for now).

It was a much needed win and a big milestone – effectively one third of the planned first draft is now complete and it feels quite tight: I’ve established characters, hit the necessary worldbuilding marks, driven the plot forward and brought it all together to what I hope is a suspenseful what-happens-next crescendo. I’ll probably reread it and decide that it’s actually shite, but for now I feel like I’m onto something.

And that wasn’t even the best thing concerning the book that happened this week. I can’t disclose too much, suffice to say that some incredibly important support and a cherished endorsement of what I hope to achieve has really cemented my resolve to see this to fruition.

Now for a (hopefully) restful weekend and another good week to follow.

Thanks for reading.

[Image courtesy of The Telegraph]

I’ve just realised it’s been nearly two months since I blogged about my novel progress. It’s funny, over the weeks I’d thought of plenty of things to share about the experience so far (and honestly thought I had), but I suppose I was worried it would be a waste of my word output which would be better spent on the manuscript itself.

I’m moderately pleased to report that I’ve completed approximately two-thirds of the first draft, approaching 60,000 words. All the characters, motivations, plot points and macguffins are in play and now all that remains (ha!) is bringing it all together in the third and final act. I expect the final wordcount to be around the 80-90,000 mark which I understand is an acceptable amount for a ‘young adult’ novel.

Somewhat frustratingly, I think my hopes of having a completed first draft by Christmas is almost impossible now. I hope that I can still have a finished and published book by Michael’s 18th birthday in April. However, despite the target slippage, just recognising those progress milestones feels like an achievement.

One niggling worry I have is that the more I write, the less certain I am of the quality. Having previously only written shorter pieces, both fiction and fact-based articles for blogs and newspapers etcetera, I am used to being able to mentally keep track of every element of the prose, which enables me to avoid repetition, chop and change elements on the fly by shifting sentences and sometimes whole paragraphs around in the service of flow.

But my brain isn’t big enough to do that with the same efficacy over tens of thousands of words. There are just too many pieces of the puzzle to visualise simultaneously. Instead I’m charging on, getting the planned story down (with some unexpected deviations), with this growing itch that I’ve forgotten some key element, or I’ve repeated some dialogue ideas. I just can’t remember that far back with exacting detail. I’ve already caught myself writing two very similar campfire scenes several chapters apart. I’m writing beneath the spectre of uncertainty.

Of course when the first draft is finished, I intend to go back to edit, tidy and rework elements as required (I’ve got a growing list).

On the plus side and whatever the final outcome, so far it’s been an immensely satisfying process. The sheer joy of being able to write about beloved, deceased family members in new and interesting situations has been cathartic and heartwarming – sentiments I hope will convey to the reader.

I’ve been able to send Michael swimming with my Mum, sailing with my Dad, he’s been hang-gliding with my old schoolfriend Paul, he’s been camping, driving, animal taming and he’s currently preparing to tear apart the fabric of reality to get back home. Bloody kids, who’s going to tidy that up?

So I’d best get back to that to it, the clock’s ticking.

Thanks for reading.

[Image courtesy of letsgopeakdistrict.co.uk]