Y’know, viewers, we glamorous, highly-paid, international superstars of videogames journalism – deep down, beneath all the layers of showbiz glitz, we’re just Ordinary People like you.

Let me tell you a story to illustrate that point, and we’ll see if we can fit in something about videogames at the end if there’s room.

Writing about videogames was my first ever job, and more than 10 years ago now, I used one of my first journalist’s paycheques to buy myself a nice fancy stereo system. It was a lovely big all-in-one, two-of-everything MIDI system, from back in the days when stereos still came with record players and when the size of your speakers bore direct relation to how loud they were. It was expensive, being from one of the more-respected hi-fi manufacturers, and designed in an understated, timeless style without all the garish and tacky unnecessary knobs and lights you often get on cheaper, nastier models. The sound was beautiful, soft and warm yet clean and sharp at the same time. The only drawback was that the speaker cables were a bit short, so I had to fit extensions to them.

My stereo served me well for several years, but then one day it started cutting out the sound whenever you tried to turn the volume above a certain rather low level. By this time I was working for a software developer and had more money than blood cells, so rather than try to fix the stereo, I decided to take the plunge into the real grown-up’s world and buy a hi-fi separates system that took up six power sockets all by itself and had enough metres of cable (which cost extra) to bungee-jump off the Empire State Building. (NB Do not actually try this, especially if the cable is still attached to your hi-fi, as it will void the warranty.)

Not wanting to throw the old stereo out, I stashed it in the tiny cupboard under the stairs and sat it on top of the washing machine, where it would spend the next six years being violently shaken and vibrated at speeds of up to 1400rpm. (NB Do not attempt to use your stereo while this is happening.) I thought no more of it, except to occasionally wonder if all that weight could be doing the washing machine any good. Then a couple of weeks ago, for reasons we don’t have space for here, I decided to see if the old stereo still worked.

Getting it out of the cupboard wasn’t an easy task to begin with. It’s a really small cupboard, only just wide enough for the washing machine and only just tall enough to get the stereo in under the sloping stair floor, which doesn’t give you a lot of room to get grip and manouvering space on a big, heavy stereo. Also, the remote control had fallen down the narrow gap behind the washing machine (which needs two strong and very flexible people to move it), and after a lot of awkward struggling I only managed to eventually retrieve it by wrapping a load of parcel tape sticky-side-out around the end of one of the vacuum-cleaner attachments and spearing the remote with it.

Like an idiot, I’d left the batteries in the remote, and they’d leaked acid over the terminals. The vents at the bottom of the stereo were coated in a fine covering of washing-powder dust. But I plugged it in to the washing-machine power socket anyway, put some new batteries in the remote and lo and behold, the stereo switched on and worked. Despite the years of neglect, the endless shaking and high-speed vibrating, the acid and the dust and one of the speakers being dropped on the floor as I hauled it out, it was working as well as it had the day I put it in there, which is to say it still cut out at anything above field-mouse volume.

By this point I was getting fed up of tripping over the 20-foot cable extensions, though, so I took them out and plugged the speakers directly into the stereo. And wouldn’t you know it, suddenly the problem was fixed. Once again the system was in full maximum-volume voice. I sat on the floor, exhausted and covered in dust and transfixed by surprise as it boomed out a deafening yet still crisp and warm wall of sound (as my unfortunate downstairs neighbour, whose door is right beside the washing-machine cupboard, will confirm if you ask her. ‘It was “Exterminator” by Primal Scream’, she’ll hiss at you through bared and snarling teeth.) It was a good day.

Nearly forgot. 1999: Dreamcast.  2000: Playstation 2. 2001: Game Boy Advance. 2002: Xbox and Gamecube. Total: around e1820 (Spare joypads, memory cards, multitaps, modems etc, maybe e400 extra). See you for the next generation of hardware in 2004, viewers!