Trocadero: Welcome to the Palace of Crap

I've walked past Trocadero a million times on my way to Chinatown, to the cinemas in Leicester Square, to theatres and pubs and clubs. But I always passed it in a hurry and it never occurred to me to to go inside. Until last week. My friend R. was visiting for a few days -- his second time in London. The first time was 15 years ago and one of his memories was Trocadero. Nostalgically, he wanted to go back. So we did. When you enter the place, it starts with tacky souvenirs ranging from Union Jack g-string panties to life-philosophy proclaiming bumper stickers. It continues with booths where you can take a photo in a Tudor costume ... there's a cinema, junk food and cutesy-cute Hello Kitty shops. The architecture is not bad: it's a big open space with huge industrial-style pillars and neon lights. But what R. really wanted to see was the gaming machines. He's a big-time geek.

Can I just confess, seeing a man in his 30s shoot a gun at a screen, concentrating like it's the most important thing he's ever done in life ... is really, truly, madly, deeply disturbing. He was so completely immersed in the game that I dared not utter a word. It reminded me of my dad, when he used to sit in the living room sorting out his invoices and taxes, sweat running down his forehead. As a child, even when I wanted to play, I could sense from the look on his face that daddy was busy and needed to be left alone. I'd quietly tip-toe away, because I knew that he was trying feed the family, and that was more important than playtime. But now R. is standing in front of me with the same I-am-busy look, with a receding hairline, and it's his playtime. What the hell? I stood at a safe distance of about 5 metres, watched him and laughed on the inside. Being youthful and playful is wonderful and it's what keeps us happy and sane. But when you see someone who will probably never grow up, someone who has never learnt that there are bigger things than playtime, it's actually really sad.

And the whole place is full of these types -- people who are escaping reality to pursue an alternative success route of gaining points, shooting monsters and proceeding to the next level. It was a sunny weekend (very exceptional in London), so I just sat there thinking: Why are you zombies holed up in here, with no daylight at all? The world is so pretty with grass and flowers and birds singing, let's go out there and get high on vitamin D.

Like a child, I kept pulling R.'s sleeve, my sad eyes repeating: "Can we please leave now, daddy?" He bought me a pair of pink Hello Kitty earmuffs as a consolation prize.