Lazy Arcade Days
Nothing beats some of the memories I have — of dimly lit arcades in seaside towns… my home town. The noise would be a cacophony created by an electronic orchestra; plastic reels driven by unseen cogs or belts; melodic chiming blaring from within flashing cabinets and the clatter of coins that added a percussion. A patter of bass would thump above our heads as pool balls skittered across green felt and thundered into pockets. The smell of vinegar mixed in with burnt sugar and flooded inwards from the street.
The machines around us would have smoothed patches in the facades from the many fingers that drum or thump across buttons. Burns in the plastic lingered from forgotten fag ends; the smoker distracted by a jackpot or a trip to the counter for change. We’d pick idly at notches in the plastic or the flaking stickers, as we wait our turns.
Piles of coins would sit on top of the cabinet or lined along the bottom edge of the screen for whoever was next to play. This was where I fell in love with games. Among families dropping two pence pieces into pushers, hoping for a return — years before they were crammed with cheap plastic toys. Through the worn carpet corridors, showing only threads, there was a corner for games. A section already being depleted because of the popularity of gambling and the fact that videogames were moving from the arcade halls and into our living rooms and bedrooms. We…
