In 1972 I didn't exist.  Not in my current incarnation.  The atoms that would make up my body on the occasion of my birth some eight years later were, by and large, scattered liberally around the south east of England, while other particles of my future-being made their merry way, circulating the atmosphere and oceans of the planet known by its inhabitants as Earth, which I've always taken to be a rather unimaginative moniker.  Where I - like many others here - existed but hadn't yet stumbled upon the instance of remarkable co-operation that forced myself into receiving a birth certificate, something rather more long-living did come into the world.  Pong was a simple bat-and-ball game where everything was decidedly square and monochrome.  And yet it captured the imaginations of so many people.  It was revolutionary and once the home edition hit the scene, it was among the first home video-games.

Press fast-forward on your Betamax player and go and make a cup of tea, this may take some time because we're heading all the way to 1987.  October 16, to be exact and the UK was reeling after the worst storm for nearly 300 years.  With 23 people dead and widespread destruction, once the winds abated people emerged to examine the damage.  We'd lost some roof tiles and a piece of coving had smashed through our conservatory, bouncing through our kitchen window but other than that and the obligatory lost fence, we got off pretty lightly.  I will always remember that night, waking up to the violent rattling of sash-cord windows, finding everyone hunkered down in the lounge; midway through Jan Hammer's Crockett's Theme on MTV (this was back when they played music), the power went and seldom-touched drawers and cupboards were turfed out in the search for candles.

In the morning, amid the junk, there was a peculiar machine.  Once the power returned, I hooked it up to the TV I used to play the Commodore 64 and turned it on.  It flickered into life and a square white dot bounced around a black screen.  The controllers were unlike anything I'd ever seen before.  They looked like a thermostat, as if by playing the game, the room would flash hot and cold.  The brushed metal of the dial fascinated me and I recall the paddle being surprisingly responsive.  I played it against my mum, but she couldn't play for long; there was much to do in the aftermath of the storm.  I played with my sister as we listened to Who's that girl and La isla Bonita. 

Things returned to normal, though among the millions of trees blown down, six of the eponymous seven oaks went.  I went to school and my father didn't miss a day of work.  I reconnected the C64 back to the TV and Pong was put back in its cupboard among the long-forgotten artefacts of our cluttered, busy lives.  Pet Shop Boys went on to beat The Pogues to Christmas number one that year and eventually, someone marketed nylon sportswear.  Somewhere along the way, Pong and the cupboards full of junk simply disappeared.  Lost, but not forgotten.