Video Games on TV

In December, two high profile shows on video games were broadcast.

First was Charlie Brooker's How Videogames Changed The World. Channel 4 promoted the show heavily and granted the programme a 9 pm prime time slot. Despite the hype, the programme was a let down; the show adopted the tired countdown + talking head format and was painfully dull. HVCGTW was aimed at those with a passing interest in video games; the show didn't provide gamers with much enlightening information.

At times, the programme came across as desperate in its attempt to sell the general public on video games significance. The last 'game' featured on the list was Twitter. Brooker drew a parallel between video games and the social networking site. He made a convincing argument but including the website as an example of video games influence was an insult to the many real video games deserving of a place on the list. The show repeatedly claimed that video games were mainstream. If they were, then this one-off programme wouldn't have been necessary.

While Brooker's programme was aimed at non-gamers, VGX was squarely aimed at those who choose to spend a Saturday night playing Dota 2. VGX was the successor to the Video Game Awards (VGA's), the Emmy's; they weren't. The VGA's selling point was the show's "World Exclusives." Previous year's VGA's unveiled such blockbusters games as Mass Effect 3 and Batman Arkham City. This year's redesigned VGX did away with the award show tropes; gone were the C-list celebrities and irrelevant presentations, the focus of the show was the game reveals. VGX broadcasted live - and commercial-free - on Spike TV in the US and streamed worldwide.

A+ idea. F- execution

The show plodded (badly), the "World Exclusives" weren't as significant as previous years, and the show suffered from many production errors. The decision to abandon the large amphitheatre for an empty studio may have been cost-effective, but it resulted in a drab and awkward atmosphere.

While all of those involved in How Videogames Changed The World were fans of the genre, the co-host of VGX, actor Joel McHale couldn't be anything but. McHale's response to the lousy script and shoddy production was to behave like a disinterested snob.

Many have lamented the lack of video games programmes on mainstream television. After these two embarrassments, the only involvement TV should have with video games is through an HDMI port.

The Quest for Prestige

Activision arranged an unprecedented giveaway at this year's Eurogamer Expo: The first 500 people to play Call Of Duty: Ghosts would receive a free Prestige Edition of the game.

Every major video game comes in three flavours these days: The Standard Edition, which is just the game with no added extras. Decked out with a unique cover and/or extra in-game content is the Special Edition. And then there's the Collectors Edition or, as it's known to COD fans: the Prestige Edition. The Prestige Edition retails at £180 and includes everything in the Special Edition but with one lavish extra. For example, 2012's Black Ops 2 came with an RC Drone. This year's Prestige Edition is packaged with a 1080p HD camera.

I couldn't pass up this opportunity; I had to go. It didn't matter that I hardly play COD and have a negative K/D ratio, but they were giving away A FREE PRESTIGE EDITION.

Due to a bad sleeping pattern and paranoia, I arrived at the Earls Court Exhibition Centre at 6 am; doors weren't scheduled to be opened until 11 am. Despite being obscenely early, I wasn't alone. There were already 100 people in line; the guy at the front of the queue had been there since 8 pm the previous day. My friends arrived an hour later. The atmosphere was jovial with a hint of apprehension; no staff was present to maintain the queue. It became clear early on that I wasn't among hardcore COD fans; "I'm putting mine on eBay!" said one man.

At around 8 am, the crowd was ushered from the right side of the building to the left. An uppity security guard - with shoulder-length brown hair resembling a certain biblical figure - took the Call of Duty theme too seriously; "If you listen to me, we'll all get through this safely!" said Army Jesus.

A few minutes after the guard had finished preaching, the staff allowed us to enter the building. We collected our passes and headed for the turnstiles; the staff halted us and directed everyone to the stairs below. It was 9 am and only authorized personnel was allowed into the hall; we were stuck in the basement.

The queue had disintegrated; hundreds of men and scarcely few women were jammed into this tiny area. Press members and staff would walk by, bemused, disgusted, and intrigued by this mob. Some would snap photos, instructing us to wave and yelp for the camera. "You guys really love Call of Duty, eh?" asked an amused press member. The crowd collectively shrugged.

Thirty minutes before opening time, we emerged from the basement into the foyer. Loud, ominous stamping could be heard from the back. A few moments before the Expo was to open to the public; we were finally allowed to stand in the main hall. Only a steel barrier separated us. Army Jesus arose, "Okay, people! I want a nice and orderly entrance." The crowd chuckled. He outstretched his hands and motioned to the two entrance points. The salivating crowd drowned out Army Jesus's sermon. I was jostled by the ravenous mob behind me. The hours of waiting and endless queues had turned the playful bunch from earlier into freebie obsessed monsters.

A staff member let the first in line enter; it was then when all hell broke loose. The barriers slapped the floor; a storm descended onto the Exhibition Centre, an 50" TV was flung aside like a copy of Battlefield, rucksacks flew with wild abandonment. The staff pleaded for order in vain.

My eyes darted left and right; I had lost sight of my friends a few queues back. Bodies flew past while I tried to ascertain where the booth was. I spotted a familiar silhouette: A man with a gun. That must be the Call of Duty booth! I dashed straight to it. The queue formed fast. I quickly claimed my spot.

I lagged a couple of seconds; I couldn't be sure if there were 500 people ahead of me. A man in an official Ghosts T-shirt shuffled down the line handing a piece of card. He approached me with the card. I grabbed it. This was it. It confirmed that I was #Oneof500. All those hours, all those queues, the basement, Army Jesus. It was over...almost. I just had to queue for another hour to play the game.

The magic ticket

It was 11 am. I had just finished a second game of COD Ghosts on an Xbox One (the controller felt unsatisfyingly light). I approached the redeem station, entered in my details; it was done. Finally, I had the rest of the convention to enjoy. Unfortunately, my sleep-deprived body couldn't handle a post office queue (although those are pretty brutal). I made a few rotations of the convention before heading home. Battered. Bruised. Alive.

I later sold my Prestige Edition on eBay.

My Modelling Experience

Scrolling through Gumtree, I stumbled on the perfect job listing: £300 for a day's work as an extra in a locally-filmed Bollywood movie. The next day, I received an e-mail with the location for the casting call, a swanky building near Bank Station.

...

While I waited in the lobby amongst a sea of Vogue and Hello magazines, the receptionist answered the phone, he spoke in a hushed tone.

"Mr. Gill, they'll see you now."

I rode the lift to the third floor, seated in the office, was the casting agent, a raven-haired Indian woman in a snazzy suit. She had striking brown eyes that said: "I'm legit."

"Have a seat, Mr. Gill," she said alluringly. "Now. Have you ever done any professional modeling?"

Err..nope. She proceeded to ask me questions that seemed like they were designed for a 19-year-old aspiring cover girl. Before she could ask if I'm a Gucci type of gal, I interjected.

"Hey, um...I thought this interview was for extras work, so are these kinds of questions...necessary?"

She flung her hair back and softly dropped her pen. "Okay, Mr. Gill. Before we can consider you for extras work, you would have to first be accepted into our agency."

Oh, okay then.

"All we need are a portfolio of pictures."

Oh, crap.

But not to worry, because they had a studio in the same building. "Just go down the hall, and we'll snap a few photos," directed the agent. I went and got prepared.

"No, that's not a pose." said the agent sternly. Apparently, standing upwards is not a pose. I leaned back against a vague city backdrop with my knee resting against the wall. "That's fine. I just need another nineteen or so more poses."

NINETEEN?!

"Be creative," she insisted. Well, I do have a degree in Creative Writing. I shifted my other foot against the wall. "NO!" she shouted. "You've just changed sides. Come on, be creative!" I put my hand on my hip. "What are you doing?! You look like a girl!"

Considering I had never modeled in my life, her attitude was unnecessarily harsh. How would've she liked it if I yelled at her for not knowing that pressing RB brings out the power wheel in Mass Effect.

After what seemed like a lifetime but was probably a minute, the agent grew weary of my inability to channel my inner Tyra and cut short the photoshoot. She ushered me outside. "We will e-mail you your photos and inform you of the result very soon."

On the bus back, while I was lamenting the end of my runway dreams, I got an e-mail from the agency. I had passed the audition. I immediately forwarded the message to my main e-mail account. Seconds later, I got an e-mail with the pictures. I sent that mail straight to 'Deleted'.

What Now?

My tenuous grip on my student status has fully loosened.

It's been over three weeks since I was at Guildford Cathedral shaking John Simpson's hand. I had been gripping on to that status since the first week of May when I handed in my last assignment. Being a student allowed me to dodge many tricky questions:

"Do you have a job?"

I'm a student.

"What's your future plans?"

Well, I'm concentrating on being a student.

"Are you going to help clean up?"

Student.

I recently entered my mid-20's. Due to a combination of bad course choices and general larking, I didn't enter University until I was 22. Being slightly older then most didn't prove to be a problem, it helped that I have the voice of a 10-year-old. University is such a great deal, spend three years studying a subject you're interested in with like-minded people around your (mental) age, Oh! And here is all this interest-free cash which you don't have to pay back till much, much later.

I was consumed in the University bubble, I never thought those three years were going to end. The last two summers were a breeze. I knew exactly where I was heading, back for another round of Uni. Now I'm faced with a multitude of options with various potential pitfalls and traps.

I'm certainly feeling the Post-Uni blues, and my age means I don't get the luxury of wallowing. I need to decide on my future. NOW.

The Facebook feed of my former Secondary School classmates features engagement announcements, job cripes and people genuinely excited for the weekend. An alarming amount are married, some even have kids. And here I am still playing Pokemon.

Despite my melancholy, I take comfort from a post I saw on Reddit: "Life is not a race." In the end, there's likely no Resident Evil style End Screen displaying all your stats such as how much cash you made and how many countries you've visited (although, it would be pretty awesome if there was). However, If life was really a race, I'd be lagging somewhere behind the kid from the Phantom Menace and MySpace.

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