Sometime in the mid '70s, at a grotty caravan park in Saundersfoot, Wales. For the first two or three days, the folks dragged me and my sisters to a local pub/club for our evening 'entertainment' (drinking squash, eating crisps, watching Bingo, being bored).

Then, due to too much exposed flesh and absolutely no sunscreen (had it even been invented in the '70s?), the whole family got sunburn. We spent the first day shuffling about like zombies, peeling flakes of skin off each other's shoulders. It was compulsive - like human bubble-wrap.

In the evening, because we couldn't face the long, agonising stumble to the Bingo club, we submitted to the ultimate horror - the on-site pub. It stank of stale ale and chip-fat, but my stomach flipped when I saw the sign that said 'Games Room'...

The pool table had been commandeered by some older kids, the table-tennis table had no net, the skittles table was surrounded by scary old men... but there, squashed up against a couple of cacky slot machines was a thing called Space Invaders - alone, untouched, intimidating. Was I old enough to try it? Dare I?

I did - over and over again. I was transported - to an abstract world where, incredibly, I was in control. My parents could use alcohol to muffle the sunburn misery. Here was my own personal opiate. I begged for more 10ps, made the connection between getting better at the game and not having to beg so often. A little crowd gathered. Two-player games started. I remember the thrill of explaining to an older girl how it was a good idea to chop the Invaders down in vertical lines to delay their reaching the edge and dropping a level...

The sunburn was a perfect excuse to stay indoors, and while everyone else went crazy trying to find something on TV, I dragged my dad to the pub, twice a day, to loosely supervise my zapping. The landlord started to let me in by myself, and on the last day, my dad came to collect me - the car all packed - to go home. I had to leave, mid-game, with all my lives intact. As a grown man-child, I've had plenty of fantastic times in lots of different countries. But I've never been more depressed at the end of a holiday.

January 28th, 2003

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