I have always thought there is a contradiction at the heart of video games: by virtue of their interactivity, I find them much more engaging than TV, music, movies – but I’ve never related to them emotionally and psychologically to the same degree as I have with other entertainment forms. The Jam sang all the thoughts I had as a working-class teenager. Watching Friends, I aspired to be popping in and out of my pals’ apartments in our 20s, dropping quips. Bruce Willis movies always made me feel that I, too, could wisecrack my way out of any situation. And latterly, the books of Matt Haig have helped me analyse depression, anxiety, loneliness and what, if anything, I’ve done with my life.
Video games never did that for me. Until I played Old Man’s Journey.
