Getting older means that I've become better at knowing what I do and don't like, and some of that can be applied retrospectively. There were games, way back, which I bought into because of the hype and peer pressure, and suffered through despite a little voice at the back of my mind telling me that I was eyes-to-eye with the Emperor's lilac bulb.
Enough is enough. It is time to even some scores and shoot some sacred cows in the face. Here are 10 (9) supposedly classic games which I can no longer pretend I like.
If you like dark browns and greens and an angry man hammering on a dumpster with a metal pipe you'd have been in your element, but for the rest of us Quake was like boarding a train where the only available seat was next to an overweight goth in headphones listening to the sound of people mourning through a metal ventilation duct, as recorded on an old reel-to-reel tape player.
Other first-person shooters of that era were far more enjoyable - just look at the peerless Duke Nuke 3D - while the superior Hexen, Heretic and Outlaws are all mostly forgotten. Heck, I'd even rather play Redneck Rampage than suffer again through Quake's adolescent, try-hard, heavy metal album cover fantasies.
I mean, just try and recall the enemies in Doom. Easy isn't it? Now try and do the same for Quake...
I rest my case.
What made it all the more irritating was how everyone insisted that it was finally the point at which video games grew up. Hello? You rode around on giant chickens, for pity's sake!
It's fine for the occasional go in an arcade, where you might get to sit in an actual red sports car for a quid, but this was a full priced game!
Once you'd been around the track backwards and forwards a couple of times all that was left to do was play Galaxian on the loading screen. Which, for the record, offered far more gameplay than the travesty it had been grafted to.
Also, lest we forget that the game is actually called WipE'out, which makes not a lick of sense, and simply highlights the "We're cool we are" desperation of its creators. Who, being game designers, were a bunch of nerds, and probably broke out in hives at the very suggestion of visiting a nightclub or talking to a member of the opposite sex.
What's worse, the Halo series has become increasingly naval-gazing when it comes to its own tedious mythology, all of which revolves around a character who has all the charisma and depth of a fart cloud trapped in a bread bin.
25 years on and I can still only shoot fireballs and occasionally do a Spinning Bird Kick. Which is a complete nonsense when you realise that none of these moves give you any sort of advantage over a five year-old who is merely mashing the buttons with their pudgy, Wotsit-stained, fingers.
Also, while we're at it, let's not forgive the loading times between rooms, the absurd inventory boxes, the pointless health system, the spread-out saves requiring you to find typewriter ink, and - worst of all - the godawful controls. If somebody moved like that in real life it'd because they'd just done a runny in their pants and were trying not to have it dribble down the backs of their legs.
Though now that I think about it, maybe that's exactly what they were going for it. It was a horror game after all. A "survival horror" game no less. What does that even mean? Is there anybody who doesn't want to survive an horrific experience?!?