Picture the scene. Its about five thrity on a monday evening and I’m sitting in the pub.
Outside, London is going about its daily business. A few yards down the street business men and women are cramming themselves onto already-packed buses and tubes. They could wait a few minutes for the emptier one behind, but in their hearts they know that to do so would be to admit weakness. How could they face their co-workers in the morning knowing that it took them forty nine minutes to get home the night before rather than the normal forty seven? Across the road, Crazy John sits on the steps of the Territorial Army Recruiting Office playing beatles songs on a traffic cone. Can’t hear what he’s playing from here, but whatever it is, a crowd of japanese tourists seem to be enjoying it.
Back here in the pub, everything seems to have slipped into winter mode. The Landlord has decided its now cold enough to start lighting the log fire again (always good for pulling in the tourists) but the fact that the doors are still wedged open betrays the fact that its only September, and not quite the depths of winter yet.
Me? I’m perched on a stool at the bar, enjoying a quiet pint and a book. In about an hour i’ll probably think about heading home, as by then the evening rush hour will have subsided to what i consider a respectable level and i’ll be able to face the tube.
All is right with the world.
Suddenly, as i’m sitting there reading, i feel a hand clasp my shoulder and a voice rings out:
“Dillon! You son of a bitch! Whats da matter?! CIA got you pushing too many pencils?!”
Looking up i’m amazed to see my mate Watson - we used to work together but he moved on a year or so back. Turns out he’d been walking past and, fancying a drink, decided to pop in for a swift one. Being the generous guy that i am, i let him buy me a pint.
Its been ages since we last went out drinking together, but its not long before we’ve slipped into the old routine of talking absolute bollocks and solving all the worlds problems over a couple of pints of Man In A Box. After about an hour we’ve managed to devise an effective withdrawal strategy for the alliance forces in Iraq and are halfway through solving the Chechnya problem when we get distracted and end up arguing over the best way to defend yourself against a shark. Pretty soon though, we’ve moved onto our combined specialist subject - Computer Games. We’re both avid gamers and owners of multiple consoles and pcs.
We loop through all the standards - best games of the year so far (Knights of the Old Republic, Prince of Persia and Ninja Gaiden for me, Full Spectrum Warrior, Prince of Persia and Sims 2 for him), what roms we can swop and what we are looking forward to in the next few months.
“Well Halo 2 and Half Life 2 Obviously” I say “but there’s a shitload of good stuff coming out.”
“Damn straight” he replies, “Don’t forget Rome: Total War - thats due out on Friday.”
“Monday” I correct him, “Its not out until next Monday. Mate, i can’t wait for that game - i’ve been waiting years for it. If its half the game its promising to be it’ll easily be game of the year for me.”
He smiles and shows me a pre-order slip that he’s pulled from his pocket.
“Definitely Friday mate - i just pre-ordered it in Game!”
Fan-fucking-tastic, I’m thinking. There’s nothing better than a game coming out on friday - because it gives you a whole weekend to immerse yourself in it. There was me thinking that i was going to have to wait a whole week before i could lose myself for anything more than a couple hours when in fact i’d got the release date wrong. Instead i had a whole 20 odd hour gaming marathon of a weekend to look forward to.
Words cannot describe how good that felt. It felt like Santa had just turned up and given me every single toy i’d ever asked for in one go. If everything had been alright in the world before, it was pretty much damn perfect now.
And it stayed like that for a good five minutes until a suffered a catastrophic moment of realisation.
“BOLLOCKS!”
He almost spilt his drink at my sudden outburst.
“What?!” He asked
“I told the girlfriend i’d go down to Brighton to see her!” I said groaning, “I’m not going to be around this weekend!”
Leaning back on his stool, Watson smiled.
“Ah,” he said “the ‘Gamer’s Dilemma’. Sucks being you my friend, what’s it gonna be - 'Puter or Pussy? Only you can decide…”
The game will be there for ypou when you get back. Neglect your woman too much and the corollary may not be true 
