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Dear Girlfriend,

I’m so sorry I missed our date today. I know, I know, but it’s been a strange diary, even by my standards. I was on my way to see you, trying to mind my own business, when a tiny Sumo wrestler approached me and asked for my help. Of course, he actually meant he wanted my father’s help. I’m nothing to these people – nothing! I do all the work, all the rolling, yet it’s my father who gets the praise, the fans, the glory. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.

But my father forced me into helping him again. He made me roll this Sumo wrestler around the town picking up food that had been left lying around. I got hit by a train several times because chicken legs had been left on the railway line, but I’m okay. Just a bit sore. This guy ate and ate. He even ate some children I ran into by mistake. Oh God, darling, I’m a murderer! I don’t want to do this! I don’t want to live this life! I want to be good! I want to paint! Maybe teach! Not this endless rolling, rolling, rolling. I’m a thief and a killer!

My father had only given me five minutes to get this Sumo guy up to size and by that time I’d failed. Everything went black and my father appeared above me, terrifying to behold. And then the laser bolts shot from his eyes, something I’ve seen before. He was so mad at me! I ran, trying to evade his terrible discipline, but some of the bolts hit. It was burning agony like I’ve never felt. My poor raw hide! He hit just the spots left raw by the train hits. So I tried again and again I failed him and his rage was no less brutal.

And again I tried and this time I realised I had to take the Sumo wrestler to his match before the five minutes was up. He beat his opponent and my father was all sweetness and light and let me go. I ran all the way to the cinema, but by the time I got there, you’d gone. I’m really sorry.

I know we’ve talked about this, how I should run away, let one of cousins take over my duties, that the way my father treats me is wrong. But I can’t help going back. He’s my father, and he’s King of the Cosmos and I’d never be able to hide. I love you, but like it or not, this is my life. I hope you can accept that. I’ve learned to, in time I’m sure you will, too.

Maybe you should come round for dinner one day, so I can introduce you? Please, reply soon. I miss you.

Your Love,

The Prince

An aptly named game if ever there was one.

Because everyone who’s played Katamari Damacy loves it. Well, everyone I know. I’m sure there are people out there who don’t like it. Weirdos.

I’ve just played through a few levels of this and it’s really not very different from the original. The Katamari still feels big and unweildy, the graphics are still pastel and blocky in style, the level design is still, superb the soundtrack is still great, the cut scenes are still hatstand mad and the presentation is still wonderfully quirky.

It’s the next chapter, basically, not a whole different book.

But it doesn’t matter because I love Katamari.

I’ve not failed a mission yet, but I’m getting really fed up of all the people I indulge complaining about how small my balls are, A man could get a complex.

And if you don’t know what Katamari is all about, then I really don’t know why you’re reading this. Not in a “get out, you’re not worthy, you non-gamer!” type of way. I just really can’t imagine that anyone’s going to come to this page who doesn’t know what Katamari Damacy is all about.

But if you need to know: You play a tiny Prince who has roll a knobbly ball around that picks up everything that touches it, as long as it’s smaller than the ball. The aim of the game is to roll a lot of things up. And that’s about it. From drawing pins to the stars themselves, anything’s fair game as long as you’ve got your ball, or Katamari, to the required size. The challenge comes from working out paths through levels to get as much as possible as quickly as possible.

And it’s all a great big bundle of joy.