On living in The Matrix
"Oh God, Dad, these people are going to make me late for work."
As usual, Scaryduckling isn't quite on time for her Saturday job at Weymouth's finest tat emporium (marshmallow willies and cuddly meerkats a speciality), and her lift to work has been slowed down by a little old lady in a Nissan Micra driving like she's behind the wheel of a hearse.
Luckily, we too are in a Nissan Micra. An excellent one with jet engines mounted with afterburners, warp coils and phased plasma rifles.
I nip down a side street, take a diversion through a back alley - tramps diving for their very lives - narrowly avoid a paperboy as we rattle down some steps behind the fire station, to emerge, turning on a sixpence with a little help from the handbrake *just* in front of our dusty-minged arch-nemesis.
I catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror.
Above my head - for the briefest of moments - are the words "Player One: +2XP", confirming what I've always suspected: We're all trapped in a first-person shoot-em-up.
This can only be a good thing. Once I get past the boss battle, I unlock the Bugatti Veyron.