Saturday 14th October 2006

I am juvenile. I’ve really surpassed myself this time. I was walking along Lord Street in Liverpool (where all the Lords walk) and passed a shop called Game. It sells computer games. Anyway I got this strange desire to go inside and see what games are like now in the futuristic 21st Century.

I used to play computer games as a child, less so in my teens I think, certainly not in my late teens, and although about four years ago I bought an X-Box as a silly thing to do one Sunday morning when myself and a group of lads thought “Wouldn’t it be great if we could have a computer football tournament� and I disappeared and idiotically reappeared with an X-Box and football game from a shop around the corner, I’ve got no interest in them now. That prank got me immediate kudos at the time but it soon wore off, the bank balance still felt it, and that machine has been lying sadly underneath my TV gathering dust for ages. Can’t remember the last time I switched it on. It was ultimately a waste of money and I should give it to Oxfam or someone. Do they sell X-Boxes? I can’t see them turning it down just because it isn’t a shirt from the 1970s.

So I went into this Game shop. Unfortunately it didn’t sell pheasants and venison, much to my disappointment. Wow – who’s on form today! No, it sold computer games and computer consoles, and I browsed the titles quickly, impressed at the graphics shown off on the back covers. If I could afford to waste the money I’d probably be tempted into buying an X-Box 360 just to play the new football games, which appear photo-realistic, and then get bored of it after a day or two an donating it to Oxfam, only to be turned away because it’s not a 1970’s shirt.

What I would genuinely like is the new flight simulator from Microsoft called Flight Simulator X. I’d like to build (who am I kidding – buy) a computer with the best graphics card in the world in it, then design a room in my house to look like the cockpit of a plane, buy three huge monitors and pretend to be a pilot. For a day. Then take a trip up to Oxfam.

I felt old and stupid in the Game shop, unable to buy venison, and knowing that all the other patrons were younger and more knowledgeable about computer games than I. Everyone in the shop could probably thrash me at any given title. I was about to leave when I saw a row of Nintendo DS handheld consoles on display. They are quite new, and from the TV adverts I’ve seen for them, they have two screens, one of which you control by putting a ‘pen’ onto the surface of the screen and controlling the action that way. There is a new version of this machine out called the Nintendo DS Lite, which is slimmer and smaller, and despite my annoyance at their spelling of the word ‘Light’ I found myself, a mere five minutes later, walking out with one having paid for one.

How the Hell did that happen? What just went on there? Why am I the owner of a Nintendo DS Lite? It wasn’t too expensive, granted, at less that £100 but it’s still a fair whack of money and a mere ten minutes before I had absolutely no wish or intention of owning one of these mysterious bits of kit. I was in something of a daze and almost thought of taking it back, but what explanation could I give? “Sorry, I went mental for a bit there, can I have my money back?�

Looking back, there was some rationality to what I did. I’ve heard about this game called Dr Kawashima’s Brain Training. Interestingly, I’ve just written the word Kawashima and Word hasn’t put a little red line under it saying it’s a word it doesn’t know. He must be pretty famous to be in their dictionary. Anyway, it’s a programme that improves your brain, making it work better, and essentially making it ‘younger’. You play it for a few weeks or months until your brain is in tip-top shape and that to me seems like a good thing to spend about £90 on. Christ, I’ve spent that on a meal and drinks out, which has done nothing for my brain except think it’s clever for about three hours in front of a woman. If £90 can actually improve my mental capacity in the long term, I can write off the money as an investment.

See how I try to defend myself?

I took my new purchase, which I was now decided was a wise one, up to Room to show it off to Jamie the barman. I unwrapped it (I chose the black model over the white one, I think it looks cooler, but then it’s still a computer game console and therefore can’t be cool) and started getting to grips with it. You have to enter you name and the time and date, that sort of thing, to set it up. Even this I found something of a challenge, so surely any improvement to my brain can only be a good thing?

I started the Brain Training programme but very soon discovered I’d have to speak out loud at some points to start doing the tests and establish my current ‘brain age’ and so took it home for some privacy. Even my brain isn’t stupid enough to think it’s acceptable to start speaking answers aloud into a computer in cocktail bar.

Now, I’d had a couple of cocktails in Room whilst experimenting with my new machine, a couple of Mai Tai’s, and so feared these might have an effect on my score. I was actually nervous about finding out what it was. But I started the test. It’s very simple, but infuriating. Words appear on the screen, and you simply have to read out what each word is. But, here’s the rub. Every word is that of a colour. ‘Red’, ‘Yellow’, ‘Blue’, and so on. So the word ‘red’ might appear, but it will be displayed in yellow, and so you have to concentrate, saying the answers out loud into a microphone, so as your brain sees yellow, but the world ‘Red’, you have to say ‘Red’. Because that is the word, despite it being yellow. Do you see? It sounds easy but it isn’t.

Especially as some of the words will be in the same colour as the word. You’ll see the word ‘black’ in black, and this lulls you into a trap. The next one might say ‘blue’ but it will be in ‘green’ and I found myself on more than one occasion blurting out ‘green’ my mistake. You have to do it as quickly as possible, time is a big factor. But I felt I was doing okay… I thought I’d given an okay performance despite a couple of annoying mistakes. Then the results came in. The ideal brain age, the one to aim for ultimately, is ‘20’.

I came in at 74.

Seventy F---ing Four.

The computerised head of Dr Kawashima, the smug git, said “Oh dear, your brain is out of sorts! Have you had a couple of Mai Tai’s or something?� He said something to that effect, it wasn’t positive. “Don’t worry�, he continued “a few days of training will sort you out.�

Seventy four. Good God.

At least I can take comfort in the knowledge that I can easily out-suss anyone over the age of 74, the old idiots.

Right! I am humiliated! I will get my brain age down to a sprightly 60 if it’s the last thing I do! You are supposed to play daily, and so I’ll keep track of my progress here.

I did a number of other games on my workout programme. They involved maths. Sums appear and you have to write the answer on the screen in the quickest time possible. One exercise was 30 sums, the next one 100. I found it a real strain. The ambiguous verdict was ‘walking pace’. I don’t know what that means, it doesn’t sound too hot though does it.

Right, I’m going to beat this thing. I am getting my brain back. I’m intimidated slightly because one of the aspects to the course is Sudoku and I’ve tried this before in the paper and found myself to be hopeless at it.

Am I really that unintelligent? Dr Kawashima is going to have to sort me out. Here’s someone who’s setting up a company with the brain of a damn pensioner!

This has now become the most important thing in my life. Not the company, my brain age. I will conquer it. I will be young again.

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