Back to the history sessions...

It is September 1989. As a family we moved to Felixstowe last week. There are still boxes all over the house and the ST and Speccy are still sealed up within them somewhere. I have an itchy trigger finger and there are five arcades to explore. Unfortunately I also have a shedload of unpacking, sorting out, purchasing of important text books and more important telly and re-packing to do before Saturday because on Sunday I am off to College. Still, time was found and I made my way into the darkened interior of one chosen at random. Rows of monitors stared out at me, along with the seemingly obligatory surly girl behind the change counter and a sprinkling of kids who should surely have been getting educated.

Despite having played with stand up machines in the past in social clubs, at swimming pools, on cross channel ferries and in other, more unexpected locations I have never had such choice laid out before me in one place before. And what a choice, ranging across the years. There we see the familiar hairy shape of a space invader, here a clown rolling on a ball, across the aisle a selection of grand prix cars. And some of the more expensive units seem to have made their way out to the sea as well. In one corner WEC Le Mans spins idly as people brush past while in another we have Space Harrier creaking on its hydraulics. I gave up the Saturday job back at Christmas and other than a couple of weeks stuffing envelopes for the council have not been bringing money in of late, and the student grant won't turn up intil I've registered my intention to stay the course so there is not much in the way of jingling currency to use. Must choose carefully.

While there are new thrills to experience I am churlish when it comes to parting with my 10p pieces. Instead, old favourites and a couple only ever played before as Speccy conversions are to be graced with my coins. Bubble Bobble, Moon Cresta (how long will my SLB stay at the top of the table given I will not be around to defend it?), OutRun and a few games of pinball swallow my loose change until there is only one round ticket to bliss left. And there in the corner is that old blue ship cruising over a purple hill. Oh yes. Scramble will be the last game to keep my mind happy on the A1 in a day or so. And it did. Even though I seemed to have lost the ability to progress very far, it was still fun damnit.

-------------------------

So Sunday came, the Peugeot got loaded up and four hours later I was deposited in deepest, darkest Mickleover. On the wrong side of Derby for the bits of the college I was going to be taught in, but handy for something much more important. The Student Union Bar is on this site and there are people knocking on my door already wondering if I'd like to join them for a settling in jar or two. A bit of exploring around the campus finds me sat on a seat made for two (at a push), sandwiched between two of the girls living on my floor, glass of Southern Comfort in hand, loud music making conversation practically impossible and staring across the deserted dance floor at an upright RoadBlasters. I could get to like the Student life.

In the end the pool tables were to swallow more of my money than anything with the Atari logo on over the coming weeks. And more still would go behind the bar. Time went by in a haze of lectures, making friends, heading out on field trips, seeing bands and general life. Yes, there was also Chase HQ in the rec room at Keddie Road but it didn't seem all that important.

Two academic years passed pretty damn quickly. We'd done the big trip to Morocco, moved through a succession of halls of residence, damp flats and scruffy houses. The last big summer holiday was starting and even that wasn't going to be all that much fun as everyone had the spectre of dissertation research hanging over them. I needed cheering up.

ALthough it had been there in the background, I can't recall making much use of the ST during previous holidays or on weekends home. This time though, things were different. To start with I needed to translate my scrawled interviews with the folks running the docks in to something I would be able to read when it came to actual writing of the 10,000 words. Plus certain members of the faculty had made it clear that they didn't want to see hand written essays any more in our final year. I needed to process my words once again so a quick visit to the loft later the old faithfull Sinclair magic was working away in the corner under the window with the sea views. And with that available Jetman had to come out to play once more. And with him doing gravity defying tricks on the screen I knew what had been missing in the last couple of years despite everything new that had been packed in. I needed my pixel based fun.

And then there was my brother, who while I had been away at College had been doing the sixth form thing here in Felixstowe hooked up with other ST owners. So by the end of the first week of summer I was back at the joystick in the other room too. IK+ anyone?

OK, so I still needed a printer to take away with me if all my word processing was to be seen. Time to start working on Dad - surely he must want something better than the 120D by now. Yup, he starts to look in to the situation and days later phones home from the office to tell me he has the ideal solution in the car for me to investigate over the weekend. By now I have done all my interviews at the docks and am preparing to sell my soul to Argos for the rest of the holidays so this is indeed the ideal weekend to get a new printer installed on the ST for him.

WHat does he bring home then? A new Citizen Model? Perhaps a Star? Or even one of these flashy new bubble jets from Cannon the magazines are full of? No.

What emerges from the boot is a daisywheel monstrosity from some firm I've never heard of, a few miles of cable, a monitor (what? Where are we gong here? I already have a working speccy and tv I just want you to buy a new printer so I can borrow the old one) and lastly another piece of Sinclair kit. A QL to be precise.

Seemed somebody in the office was moving up to one of those new-fangled PC things and wanted rid of all the old stuff. I knew straight away that I wanted no part of this fiasco. The need to hand in typed work was only a ruse to get some games back in my life. There were computers at College I could have used if that was my only reason. How could this have happened?

Fortunately the thing refused to work properly, it went back on Monday and Dad bought a Star 24pin after all. I was set for my final year...

You can add your thoughts on this story in the forum