It's 1997 then.
I stop masturbating over FHM and pick up a magazine called SSM.

That's SEGA Saturn Magazine, the world's greatest gaming fanzine.
Devoted to SEGA while completely ignoring the burgeoning PlayStation scene.

I chipped my Saturn at great expense, my Sony-loving friends thought it didn't make sense.

"What you doin wiv that Saturn? You wanna bin it! Sony's got all the best games on it, innit!

They don't know that Saturn is where the fun starts - and lasts and lasts and lasts. In fact, SEGA Saturn is better than the sum of all PlayStations component parts.

Then came Dreamcast.

Oh my god. Sega Rally 2. The NTSC version as the PAL conversion was poo.
Easy left, baby! K-right! Slow down! I'm crying with happiness so much that I might drown if I lie down!

I buy Japanese games for sixty a pop quid from dodgy import shops.
I know it's a waste of money but I just can't stop.

They'll be out in the UK eventually.
But waiting three months for Jet Set Radio doesn't make much sense to me.

I've got to have the games immediately.
I don't care if they're in Japanese, I'll just have to work their controls remedially.

My VMU batteries have died, but it still saves my game.
Between me and you, that's the sort of bravery we associate with the Dreamcast name.