13 Mar 2012

"You don't like me, but you love me
Either way you're wrong
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone
You're gonna miss me when I'm gone"
As I mentioned in my last post I'm currently addicted to Forza 4.  This in itself is highly unusual as I normally get about three races in and fail to qualify for anything further.  Recent games that have incurred my wrath and joined the small number of games that I actually trade in have been Blur, The Grid and Need for speed:Hot Pursuit and NfS:The Run.  Short story long is that I can't do racing games unless it was outrun and then only if I sat in the giant plastic Ferrari Testa Rossa replica version in the arcade.  Donkey Kong Racing being the exception rather than the rule.  The fact that I'm seemingly in no hurry to get to the small pile of games I bought and haven't played since getting Forza 4 is testament to my addiction.  Some eight weeks have passed and I've bought all the DLC and souped up cars to no end ( I now have a Range Rover that will make Ferraris into little red dots in the rear view mirror), 
I have also downloaded a whole host of videos from  WRC, F1 and Nascar from all sorts of vintages  I have whole seasons of F1 from Ye Olde Tymes when I used watch Messrs Mansell, PIquest, Senna and Prost, then Schumaker and Hill etc.  I find myself not agreeing with the lines that they take through certain corners on many of the tracks... despite these people and those more recent ones like Vettel, Hamilton and Webber being the ultimate in drivers and me just some fat bloke sitting on a cheap sofa who dreams of going to the Monaco Grand Prix or even better Le Mans armed only with a camera and a child like enthusiasm for roaring machines that he himself can't actually drive.
I think Forza has made me into a twelve year old again, albeit a twelve year old with 950 times the pocket money I actually got.  I say this because being on leave from work for the first time in nearly six months and being bored having not planned anything other than to sit and play Forza I found Motorsport artworks to put on my wall.... I say artworks they are only just a step up from posters ripped from one of my childhood magazines.
Providing that we don't all die on the eve of the birth of the baby Jeebus because of all the planets lining up or the coming of Damien doesn't happen I plan to go to at least one interesting thing next year.  The arse groove on my sofa may actually disappear.
"Talking bout Monroe and walking on Snow White
New York's a go-go and everything tastes nice
Poor little Greenie, woh ho
Get back home"

The older I get the less I understand in life.  Here are a list of just a few of them.
The attraction of Cher Lloyd.
People who wearscarves and hats with a t shirt in the cold but no coat.
People who wear perfectly good trousers and then have them hanging below their bumcakes.
People who feel the need to dress like Superman to go on a pub crawl.
Jewellery, no idea as to why that's popular.
Justin Beiber,
Nicholas Cage.
TOWIE. (I am certain that if I hold my ear to Amy Child's head I will hear the sea).
How people STILL don't know metric measurments.
Why people ask me for 'Start' cables and 'Preview' boxes.
Lloyds security who rang me up to say we've noticed that you spent a lot of money all at once and then nothing when you were overdrawn and it happened four weeks ago as well.
But most of all I am completely stumped as to why shoplifters seem to think they are invisible and why the drunks come into my shop and still think they won't be noticeably drunk to someone who is stone cold sober.   
The cold hard  some say, cruel fact is that the older I get the less I understand.  I fully expect to be found one day dressed in only my dressing gown shouting at ducks in the park.  But until then I shall drive my collection of vintage cars around the racetracks of the world hell for leather.  Sadly only on Forza 4.