From 10p Triumphs to Blanka Brawls and Broken Dreams
Warning: This blog post may contain nostalgia, grief over fruit machine tokens, and at least one reference to Street Fighter. You’ve been warned.
My Earliest Arcade Memories: 10p at a Time
Before I had a mortgage, responsibilities, or any understanding of how gravity works - I had Pac-Man. And an older brother who gleefully fed my addiction to glowing cabinets full of pixelated doom.
I still remember the smell of the arcade. A potent cocktail of sweaty palms, burnt dust, and the faint scent of hotdogs no one should’ve trusted. It was noisy, chaotic, and wonderful, like Vegas, but with less regret and more Space Invaders.
First Contact: Pac-Man Ate My Childhood
My very first brush with the arcade gods came in the form of Pac-Man. Or as I like to call him, the tiny yellow circle that ruined my savings. My brother, the original 8-bit enabler, was older, cooler, and somehow always better at everything - especially this.
He showed me the ropes:
- “Don’t go for the fruit, it’s a trap.”
- “Don’t chase ghosts unless you’ve had your power pellet breakfast.”
- “If you lose, just keep feeding it 10p coins. That’s the law.”
I must’ve sunk enough change into that thing to buy a secondhand Ford Fiesta. In the end, all I got was crushed by Blinky, Inky, Pinky and Clyde. And yes, I loved every second of it.
The Glorious Pantheon of Games That Followed
As if Pac-Man wasn’t enough, the arcade was teeming with glorious machines that wanted my pocket money and my soul. Here’s just a few of the earliest arcade machine encounters.
Galaga
Ah yes, Galaga, the game that taught me the very real trauma of having your ship abducted. At some point I started to believe my goal wasn’t to win, but just to get my poor ship back like Liam Neeson.
“I will find you… and I will shoot you in 8-bit revenge.”
Space Invaders
Space Invaders was the original anxiety simulator. That heartbeat sound as the aliens dropped closer and closer? Yeah, thanks for that, developers. Appreciate the lifelong twitch response to beeping.
Donkey Kong
Donkey Kong, the game where you climb steel girders to rescue a woman from a monkey throwing barrels like an angry pub landlord. I never made it past the third screen, but I looked like I knew what I was doing, and really, that’s what counts.
Also, Mario in that game looked like a plumber on his day off moonlighting as a wrestler. Unhinged stuff.
Defender
Defender was a side-scrolling fever dream where you flew around blasting things at warp speed while being yelled at by pixels. I never fully understood what I was defending, but I blew it up anyway. Felt great when I figured out how to control the damn thing.
Family Holidays: Powered by 240 Volts and Pure Neon Joy
Between the noble ages of about 8 to 14, I didn’t care much about sightseeing or “making memories.” No. I was there for one thing: ARCADES.
We never did foreign holidays, no planes, no sunbeds, no sangria. We stuck to the British classics: Blackpool, Skegness, Devon, and Cornwall.
And every single place had arcades. Glorious, sticky-floored, coin-guzzling arcades. Especially Blackpool’s Golden Mile, a flashing, buzzing paradise. I didn’t know the names of any of the arcades. Didn’t need to. They were shrines.
Every time a new one appeared in view, I lit up like a jackpot lightbulb.
“Mum, can we go out now?”
“Where to?”
“Just… walking.” (Strategic arcade recon mission activated.)
Those arcades weren’t part of the trip. They were the trip.
Family Arcade Dynamics: Fruit Machines, Dad Logic, and Tuppence Glory
Turns out, the family got sucked in too.
Mum? She was in a lifelong blood feud with the fruit machines. She refused to leave until it paid out. And when it finally did? Tokens.
“What the bloody hell am I supposed to do with these?!”
Usually followed by exchanging them for a tiny bouncing ball or a Garfield keyring worth about 7p.
Dad? He thought arcade games were a waste of money. Said I should be sticking to the 2p pushers - “at least they give you something back.” And, to be fair… he had a point.
Even with all the joystick madness, I loved those machines. The cheap prizes, the edge-of-your-seat thrill of watching a coin dangle at the brink of falling - absolute tension. I’ve seen less drama at weddings.
Maybe Dad was right. The 2p pushers were our little shared moment. No screens, no aliens. Just simple mechanics and mild gambling for children.
Where Did They All Go? The Sad Arcade Fade-Out
It hits a bit hard these days, realising most of those classic arcades are gone. I live in the middle of the country, so even getting to an arcade was an event. That made every trip to the seaside feel like a digital pilgrimage.
At home, there were small wins:
- The Street Fighter II cabinet in the local chippy.
- The Pang! machine at the swimming baths, a post-swim treat with my dad.
I loved that Pang! machine. Played it every Sunday. Until one day… it was replaced with Sunset Riders.
A great game - but it wasn’t Pang! It felt like your favourite dog had been swapped with a cool robot wolf that didn’t wag its tail when it saw you.
Mum never came swimming. She could swim, but hated getting her face wet. That was mine and dad’s thing.
Fast forward to now: I’m 43, and recently took a trip back to Skegness for my partner’s birthday, dog in tow. It was meant to be a chilled-out family break. But secretly? I was buzzing to hit the arcades again.
Except… they were gone. Or mutated. The few left had been replaced by weird, soulless money-sucking monsters with names like Mega Spin Master VR+. No charm. No thrill. No fun.
I didn’t enjoy it.
Not even a little.
And that hurt more than I expected.
End of the Credits… But Not Quite Game Over
Looking back, those arcade days weren’t just fun. They started everything. My love of games. My interest in tech. Maybe even my appreciation for buttons that go click in just the right way.
Modern games? Sure, I play them. But they never scratch that same itch. They’re often too complex, too hollow, too covered in shiny nonsense.
Nothing beats the challenge of making 10p last as long as possible. Learning a game inside out just to squeeze a few extra seconds out of it. That was the fun. The fight. The mission.
It’s sad to know those arcades are mostly gone. The CRT screens have gone dark. The coins have stopped clinking. That part of my world? Closed up, neon sign flicked off.
But… I’m not done yet.
I’ve decided I’m going to build my own arcade cabinet. Just for me. To try and recapture a little piece of that magic. That’s the plan, assuming it doesn’t join my Hall of Half-Finished Projects.
Maybe one day I’ll fire up Pang!, grab a ice cold can of Coke, and for a few minutes… it’ll be 1989 again.
Until then - I’ve still got Guile. And if that fails, Blanka will bite your face off.
Game not over. Just paused.
Got your own childhood arcade memories? Drop them in the comments below. Bonus points if your Street Fighter II main wasn’t Ryu.