"LEFT, left. Now flick the switch. The switch, FLICK THE @!*&*@$ SWITCH!"

Ah yes, there are red faces at Chez Diffley's of late, and quite often the air is blue.

Not that the Long Suffering Marjorie and I are at loggerheads it's just that our competitive streak has been brought to the fore recently -- courtesy of a computer game for kids. Kuri Kuri Mix is a serene and very cartoon-like adventure featuring two fluffy rabbits that can do nothing save walk around and jump their way through lots of quirky worlds.

It's not the gung-ho of Lara Coft and her Tomb Raiding exploits but it has brought the LSM and myself a lot closer (not least because of the short wires that link the joy-pad to the console). Without the help of the other player it is impossible to finish the various levels. Rather than compete, the two players actually work together.

And it also represents the crossing of a huge cultural barrier that is endemic in millions of householders in Britain and the first sign to a brighter future. Girls can actually do computer games. Ever since I've known the LSM she has frowned upon my fondness for all things virtual. No matter how hard I tried she simply would not pick up the gauntlet when I challenged her to all sorts of games -- especially football or shoot-em-ups.

The only time she relented she sat there, shoulders slumped, face drawn, lethargically negotiating a virtual Alan Shearer around a virtual Old Trafford while the whole of the virtual Manchester United runs very real rings around him. Even the fact that she got to witness 11 fantastic goals whistle past her 'keeper did little to lift her spirits or give her the impetus to take it seriously. I may not be Claire Raynor but I could certainly detect a mood of disharmony. Despite her protests I have still not given up the games. Quite the opposite in fact, upgrading over the years from the humble Mega Drive to the revolutionary PlayStation. Nowadays a PlayStation 2 stands firm in the front room. Great for me. Very bad for the LSM. Because we live in a one-bedroomed flat, there is no where to escape. Both of us steadfastly refuse to be relegated to the bedroom and the smaller television that lives there so a tense situation has ensued.

If the LSM is watching her regular dose of banal soap operas I sit there, sighing loudly, dropping not-so-subtle hints that I have a very important football match coming up with arch-rivals Arsenal -- all virtual of course. And should she relent and let me play the LSM sits there, sighing even louder, dropping even-less-subtler hints that I am a very sad person who needs to get a life. Rather harsh I know.

For a while there was a race on to get home from work first to lay claim to the front room so we could indulge in our various pastimes undisturbed. Whoever got home late would be met with a terse "I was here first" response forcing the other to the bedroom and that small TV. Which is also fuzzy. It got to the stage where either of us would capitalise on any situation in our favour. The LSM would leave the room to make a cup of tea only to find Coronation Street replaced by a screen full of aliens and me darting around the room, laser gun in hand, doing my best to save the world. There was one particular week when we were embroiled in a stubborn stand-off. For six-days and six-nights neither of us would leave the room. We slept there -- with one eye-open -- ordered take away food -- which we both had to go to the door to collect -- and accompanied each other to the kitchen for refreshment breaks. We only came to our senses when the police called after our respective employers had told them we were dead (neither of us bothered answering the phone which is on the landing).

But the ice seems to have thawed and the gloomy atmosphere is slowly lifting with the purchase of this strange new game featuring two fluffy rabbits. It's a bunny old game!