Can’t decide what to eat?

They've got you jumping around on their Wii Fit and you can keep your faculties in trim with Brain T

Now regularly invading the Sunday supplements and lifestyle technology sections of the dailies, the middle-brow appears satisfied that gaming is ‘mainstream’, something ‘older’ people and on occasion ‘females’ are now enjoying as a pastime of choice.

Upon closer examination though, it rapidly becomes apparent that such editorial is usually talking about the work of a one company in particular - Nintendo, and the rest of the industry is benefitting from their innovation hugely.

Since the launch of their handheld DS and latterly Wii systems, this old Japanese company has become an accepted synonym for mainstream gaming. Their most recent success, Wii Fit, sent non-gamers rushing to the shops to buy a brilliant (and expensive) ‘balance board’ with software which could apparently measure and improve their fitness.

Despite also emitting the same whiff of pseudo-science which some found objectionable about their Brain Training games, the masses were mostly able to make the leap that their ‘Wii Fit Age’ score was simply a motivational device which encouraged them to play, and not a clinically accurate diagnosis of their cardio-vascular health.

There was of course, the unfortunate subjective analysis (you’re fat) that the software doled out to one ten year old girl, but most people emerged relatively unscathed.

So, having convinced aging gamers that they can delay the onset of Alzeimers with Brain Training, and selling an elaborate set of bathroom scales into living rooms with lucrative success with Wii Fit - they now make a move into a previously untapped room of your house - the kitchen. Their latest DS release, Cooking Guide, prizes open the gap between them and their ‘competitors’ even farther. Subtitled ‘Can’t decide what to eat?’, this is a snappy, convenient little tool designed to help you answer that recurring question and then guide you through the culinary process.

It’s a perfectly effective recipe software and most useful in the manner in which it allows you to interrogate its database, selecting recipe options based on your available ingredients, spare time or country of origin.

Having chosen your meal, the software takes you step by step through preparation and cooking in a surprisingly un-patronising manner. Fears of your DS’s circuitry becoming jammed up with raw pork are unfounded, as there’s really no need to touch the device once you start cooking.

The entire process can be driven through effective voice-recognition, requiring you to clearly shout ‘continue’ to move on to the next step. A chef avatar thankfully devoid of any particular character traits guides you through the cooking, and suggests a real opportunity for celebrity chefs in the future.

Surely Ramsay will see this as an opportunity to stretch his franchise even further and license, ‘Can’t decide what to fucking eat?’

The whole exercise is more a very effective proof of concept than an essential purchase, and it’s unlikely that the software will make the same headlines that Brain Training did. That said, as another demonstration of the durability of the DS as a device, it’s very persuasive.

Quite how effective Brain Training and Cooking Guide are as a gateway drug into other gaming experiences isn’t wholly clear as yet. The DS remains one of the richest platforms for innovation in game design around, and it would be great to think that having had their brains trained, players move on to try other experiences. Cooking Guide is also suggestive of a yet un-tapped market for decision making software. Politics Guide : Can’t decide what to think? Anyone?

Iain Simons writes, talks and tweets about videogames and technology. His new book, Play Britannia, is to be published in 2009. He is the director of the GameCity festival at Nottingham Trent University.
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Let's face it: supporting Spurs is basically a form of charity

Now, for my biggest donation yet . . .

I gazed in awe at the new stadium, the future home of Spurs, wondering where my treasures will go. It is going to be one of the architectural wonders of the modern world (football stadia division), yet at the same time it seems ancient, archaic, a Roman ruin, very much like an amphitheatre I once saw in Croatia. It’s at the stage in a new construction when you can see all the bones and none of the flesh, with huge tiers soaring up into the sky. You can’t tell if it’s going or coming, a past perfect ruin or a perfect future model.

It has been so annoying at White Hart Lane this past year or so, having to walk round walkways and under awnings and dodge fences and hoardings, losing all sense of direction. Millions of pounds were being poured into what appeared to be a hole in the ground. The new stadium will replace part of one end of the present one, which was built in 1898. It has been hard not to be unaware of what’s going on, continually asking ourselves, as we take our seats: did the earth move for you?

Now, at long last, you can see what will be there, when it emerges from the scaffolding in another year. Awesome, of course. And, har, har, it will hold more people than Arsenal’s new home by 1,000 (61,000, as opposed to the puny Emirates, with only 60,000). At each home game, I am thinking about the future, wondering how my treasures will fare: will they be happy there?

No, I don’t mean Harry Kane, Danny Rose and Kyle Walker – local as well as national treasures. Not many Prem teams these days can boast quite as many English persons in their ranks. I mean my treasures, stuff wot I have been collecting these past 50 years.

About ten years ago, I went to a shareholders’ meeting at White Hart Lane when the embryonic plans for the new stadium were being announced. I stood up when questions were called for and asked the chairman, Daniel Levy, about having a museum in the new stadium. I told him that Man United had made £1m the previous year from their museum. Surely Spurs should make room for one in the brave new mega-stadium – to show off our long and proud history, delight the fans and all those interested in football history and make a few bob.

He mumbled something – fluent enough, as he did go to Cambridge – but gave nothing away, like the PM caught at Prime Minister’s Questions with an unexpected question.

But now it is going to happen. The people who are designing the museum are coming from Manchester to look at my treasures. They asked for a list but I said, “No chance.” I must have 2,000 items of Spurs memorabilia. I could be dead by the time I finish listing them. They’ll have to see them, in the flesh, and then they’ll be free to take away whatever they might consider worth having in the new museum.

I’m awfully kind that way, partly because I have always looked on supporting Spurs as a form of charity. You don’t expect any reward. Nor could you expect a great deal of pleasure, these past few decades, and certainly not the other day at Liverpool when they were shite. But you do want to help them, poor things.

I have been downsizing since my wife died, and since we sold our Loweswater house, and I’m now clearing out some of my treasures. I’ve donated a very rare Wordsworth book to Dove Cottage, five letters from Beatrix Potter to the Armitt Library in Ambleside, and handwritten Beatles lyrics to the British Library. If Beckham and I don’t get a knighthood in the next honours list, I will be spitting.

My Spurs stuff includes programmes going back to 1910, plus recent stuff like the Opus book, that monster publication, about the size of a black cab. Limited editions cost £8,000 a copy in 2007. I got mine free, as I did the introduction and loaned them photographs. I will be glad to get rid of it. It’s blocking the light in my room.

Perhaps, depending on what they want, and they might take nothing, I will ask for a small pourboire in return. Two free tickets in the new stadium. For life. Or longer . . . 

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 16 February 2017 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times