The wind is whistling outside like a vengance of ghosts; the dull horizon meets a duller sky with a cold, grey kiss of Thames; a lone, heroic birb hunkers stoically in the crevasse we call our balcony. Ah, June.
I get asked a lot how I got into games. I always feel unhelpful when I tell my story, because it’s such an unconventional and such an unrecommendable one. But it goes like this.