I’ve been accused of spending too much time playing Fallout 3 and its offshoots. I would say at around the 3,000 hour mark, the time I've spent in the wastelands of DC, Nevada, and Utah feels ‘just about right’.
A new game was always a big deal in our house, and not just financially; it was an event inherent with the promise of adventures and banter ahead. My mum and I got ready with snacks and booted up Fallout 3, piling through the introduction.
Probably worth some context at this point. My mum was an incredible, tiny, white, Scottish woman who wasn’t academic but hella smart. As a single parent of a mixed-race child on an estate in the '80s, she created an incredibly supportive and loving home with very little means beyond her dogged determination to better our circumstances. The outside environment wasn’t always the most welcoming to a child with my hue, so my mum bought me a Commodore 64, and rather than insist I go outside to face reality when I got too ensconced in a virtual world, she happily nurtured my love for gaming.