The Addict By our resident analyst
PICTURE the scene, a small darkened room lit only by a television
screen. Airless. Hopeless. Seated in front of it is Pete B., a
drawn, emaciated man, young but prematurely old. His eyes have
a vague, faraway look.
"Well," he said, glancing at me nervously and then
quickly looking at the screen as if for reassurance, "it
all started quite innocently."
He paused to type something into the micro.
"I was at a friend's a couple of years ago and he had one
of those games machines. It was a laugh, just good fun, no harm
in it."
He looked at me his expression pleading for understanding, for
some contact with a fellow human being. Again he looked at the
screen - it was as if he felt insecure with anything other than
the micro.
"Later, I was in a pub with some friends and I started
talking about it. One of them seemed to know something about it
and he laughed at me, saying that games were just for kids and
I ought to try something better, more adult."
Again the haunted glance, followed by the rigid gaze at the
display. I noticed one of the tape cassettes which littered the
room was ominously titled "Fix".
"So I went back to his place. I'd never seen anything like
it, he had a couple of micros. He let me have a go and I was hooked.
"By the time I left, I had decided to buy a 1k machine.
I went out and got it next morning. Oh, I know now it was nothing
much but at the time it seemed great.
"Soon, however, it wasn't enough. I'd learnt all the machine
code and Basic I could and I realised that I needed add-ons."
He had reached the point of no return. He had gone from software
to hardware.
"I could afford it at first, but soon it got too expensive.
Yet I couldn't stop. And, even then, what I had didn't satisfy
me. I began to crave a real keyboard.
"Then I met a man who said he was going to start a magazine
for the Beeb and why didn't I get a Beeb?
"I said I couldn't afford one and he said that it didn't
matter, he'd lend me the money for one and I could repay him by
doing software reviews.
"Of course, I said yes and that was it. Now it seems like
there's nowhere else to go, it's all getting too much. I'm in
his power, always doing reviews, getting stupid amphibians across
the road. I never see anyone else except when I go to the local
users' group.
"I know I should get out more and get some fresh air and
I will, I really will - but I've to get this program debugged.
I'll give it a rest after that. Just one more program, that's
all."
Pitiable. Yet this is becoming a common occurrence in this,
the age of the computer revolution. How much further on the downward
path did Pete have to go? I didn't have to wonder long.
As I left, he turned to me with these words: "You couldn't
let me have some money, could you? Maybe just a fiver. You see
I need a second processor, I need it real bad ..."
