Clubabble Computer Games

Gentleman’s clubs.

Misogynistic bastions of privilege where men retreat from a world they do not understand and which values they do not share, in short, a world with females in positions of authority.

Gentlemen like women in a position of authority in only two circumstances, when they are dealing out either punishment, or pudding.  Imagine a typical Gentleman’s club, such as the Apostrophe Club just off Pell Mell, founded in 1742 by greengrocers, or the Europa Club, universally known as ‘The Green Door’, founded as a retreat where Valets could relax and bitch about their employers (and of course famously fictionalised by P G Wodehouse as the ‘Junior Granymede’).  They conjure an image, do they not, of deep armchairs, blazing fires, dusty libraries, members flaccid beneath The Times or the Pink ‘Un, and the aroma of cabbage and spotted dick emerging from the dining room, although it will never be called the dining room, it will have some preposterous title such as ‘The Restorvation’ or ‘The Games Room’, the latter an excellent example of how clubs like to fuck with strangers by giving each room a title totally unconnected with its purpose, leading to visitors defecating in ‘The Billiards Room’, meaning a lifetime ban for them, and Korky Gussalt winning twenty guineas for pulling off the most impressive, and disturbing, trick shot ever achieved on the brown baize.

Gentleman’s clubs, it could be argued, by their very intransigence, are preserving our heritage.  Manners, decency, drinking at lunchtime, smoking, racism both institutional and personal, a fear of the underclass, the greatest fear being the realisation we can’t do without them and, of course, the most unfashionable value of all to hold, that as a chap you don’t understand women, that you will never understand them and that, deep down, this is because they don’t want to be understood.

If you doubt me, look to Shakespeare, look to Dickens, look to (Amis, once upon a time your name would have been here, not any more, you arse) Barnes.  Look to any chap who has ever put pen to paper and they will tell you women are unknowable.

It’s not charming, it’s a fucking conspiracy.

And that’s the sort of attitude that allows you to establish a club called ‘The Citadel’, to admit only male members (ooh er!) and then, and this is the genius part, charge £5,000 a year for membership but make it so difficult to get into that people are pathetically grateful to pay to get in, like a shit night club on rainy Thursday in Droitwich.

With all the oak and tweed about the place, not to mention testosterone, gentleman’s clubs are an excellent place for the playing of games.  These include games of chance, such as card games, games of skill, such as backgammon, and games of social exclusion, such as Dungeons and Dragons.  Where chaps gather, a game will soon be in the offing, even if it is ‘club cricket’ played in the Short Room with a bread roll as ball and copy of Wisden as bat.

The only other place where the female presence is this unlikely is the bedroom of a teenage boy.

These too, are environments where the playing of games is indulged in, although in this case ‘backgammon’ is likely to be the name of the level VII war-warg that ‘Acroblaster the Destroyer’ (AKA Simon) rides into battle.

It’s time that the console came into the club.

Men join clubs because they are socially awkward.  If they weren’t, they would be able to make friends without having to be in close confinement with others, with alcohol, that they know generally share their views.  What I am suggesting is that instead of feeling comfortable starting a sentence ‘I’m not racist but…’ they should feel comfortable flopping down in an armchair, picking up a controller and doing unspeakable things to one another during a 72 hour Halo tournament.  Or even better, challenging other clubs, or ‘guilds’ as they will quickly become known.  Gambling may be involved, it’s one thing to play for honour, another to bet your chef.

Naturally, a gaming room would have to be established on the premises.  I suggest ‘The TenBox Room’.

A change of scene - clubs

While some strive to make the world a better place, others strive for a perfect world, a select few strive for their perfect world and the realists strive to make a part of the world a better place. And if that part is their part, so much the better! The realists establish clubs.

Clubs are areas of the universe where your rules, or at least the rules of you and people like you, well, rule. They establish a set of parameters for your universe, like no women, no pooches, or no people from whatever ethnic group fell out of favour during your formative years or possibly had an affair with your mother, or 'other nanny' as you may have called her.

Let's not get all snobbish about clubs. They start in tree houses and tents where kids brave septicaemia and dishonour by using a pen knife to swear eternal brotherhood to the person with the gash in their palm rapidly going very pale.

Clubs like initiation ceremonies. They are like gangs in that regard. The essential difference is this; if somebody is trying to insert something into you, you are joining a club. If you are tying to insert something into something, you are joining a gang. If you are doing either while wearing a blindfold, you are joining a society.

It's a simple enough proposition. Within four walls, or a set of rooms, or a cellar, you create what you consider to be a restful environment. Where you can relax after a hard day. If you consider that the leather in question might be, for instance, the wallpaper, or attached to shackles, or simply fashioned into a gimp suit, then certainly, that sort of club has its place, possibly in the aforementioned cellar, more usually and depressingly in the converted back bedroom of a semi in a dormitory town with excellent connections to the motorway and a population leaning towards middle management and intolerance of gypsies.

If, however, you consider that the best use for leather is to cover very comfy armchairs and provide the binding for collected back issues of 'Country Life', then that's much closer to what a real club should be. A real club serves two purposes - oh it allows for rest, relaxation and a place to retreat from the cares of the world, such as hustle, bustle, and family, but there's more to it than that. The two purposes a club serves are firstly to allow one to gather together with people of similar interests, be it political, recreational or vocational. The second purpose, almost more important, is to deny anyone who does not share your views membership. Essentially, you want any conversation to be minimal and agreeable, along the lines of;

"I say, this man Cameron. He's an absolute shit!"
"Quite so."

And that's that.

Yes, a gentleman's club is where you make your own universe, a bit like glue sniffing but with more leather and servants. A good club should be a place where one can get a decent drink, tolerable food and your view of the world reinforced whenever needed, all from the comfort of an overstuffed armchair.