As if it were some kind of gangster of the 1920s, the mightiest computer games magazine ever conceived by human beings began in the humblest single room, bought spacious apartments with success and swept around them in a comfortable robe, tumbled from grace and was forced to run from one shabby hideout to another, and was finally brutally slain by they who it thought friends.
Thoughtlessly destroying the gangster analogy, cheers then, AP clung to its humblest single room for the longest time. Born on 19th January 1991 in the featureless, uncomfortably tight Number 29, First Floor Back
(Future at that time comprised two buildings in Monmouth Street, knocked through within to form a single complex. Number 30, the larger, was suitably roomy, having previously been some proper offices or something. Number 29 was a thin bit at the side, seemingly an old woman's house that had been absorbed like a mouse unmindful of tendrils. AMIGA POWER's office was very probably the old woman's bedroom. There was a fireplace)
AP retained possession until issue 37, despite at that time having seven people in a room not quite the size of a Toyota Corolla laid end to end. Such tenacity is explained by these things: the room was easily defendable by locking the door (tremendously important when, for instance, the leeringly intrusive Annual Future Video camera crew made their death-tempting appearance); two floors and a murderously twisty staircase away from any publishers (tremendously important when, for instance, a bored publisher would take it into his head to wander about and interfere with mags); isolated from other mags (tremendously important when, for instance, playing music extremely loudly or rightly demeaning other mags); and territory. (It's a genes thing.)
More than any that followed, the old woman's bedroom was the AP office.
Then, unrefusable temptation. By buying an old pub, Future had created a console-only building dubbed hilariously by some publishers The House Of Fun, notorious over time as the scene of proportionally the highest number of resignations/engineered removals of any part of the company ever. This left a veldt-sized floor to be filled, by Steve The Publisher and AMIGA POWER.
Hurrah!
Or was it? Or WAS it? OR WAS IT?
No. It was not. A simple move threw up border conflicts that escalated into what is still known today by the likes of the people who were there at the time and the writer of this sentence, THE WAR OF THE PUBLISHER'S OFFICE.