Today was a red-letter day in the garden: it was Miyamoto-San’s birthday and the honoured company executives had been invited into the garden to pay tribute to our glorious innovator as a sign of great respect.

Unfortunately, a mix-up of slippers at home had left me without suitable footwear with which to attend this special celebration, so I left the house in a pair of my wife’s 3-inch red-sequined strapless sandals. Needless to say I was late for the gathering, and the proceedings had already begun as I clip-clopped into the garden, drawing stern looks from the honoured executives and inquiring glances from their lower-assistants.

Miyamoto-san was kneeling in the place of honour, wearing his best silk Barbie-patterned Kimono, a steaming bowl of tea in front of him, noting my arrival with a raised eyebrow directed more at my tardiness than my choice of substitute footwear. I bowed in humble respect and he returned my greeting with a tilt of his noble head and waved me to sit in the place at his side – a sign of great respect.

Gently serving out tea to his guests, he first filled one bowl half-full, then another half empty, another full to the halfway point, another empty from the top to the middle and so on. His guests smiled at this sign of great respect and closed their eyes gently in thanks for his generosity. Then he began to speak.

“It was a beautiful stormy winter’s morning, the lotus flowers were in full bloom all around the gardens, my hat was, I remember, in the wrong place. Winter days such as these were hard to come by in mid-July so I bundled myself up in my best Bermuda shorts and gold medallion – a gift, I believe from Ken Kutaragi, in thanks for the time I unblocked his sink.”

Here Miyamoto-san stopped to take a sip of tea. Finding it too hot he sprayed the full burning contents of his mouth into the face of a lower-assistant who dutifully writhed on the ground in great respect, his hands making signs of thanks as he clutched at his blistering red face. Miyamoto continued.

“Outside the streets were full of people chattering: young people, old people, middle aged people, tall people, short people, ugly people, some… as big as your head,” He nodded knowingly. “My journey that day would take me to strange places, and inspire new greatness for our fortunate company.”

Here the others leaned in to listen more intently – a sign of great respect. We were interrupted by the arrival of the birthday cake I had ordered in Miyamoto-sans’ honour: double chocolate marshmallow with red beans and the salty tears of Sega executives.

“Your cake, Miyamoto-san” whispered the delightful serving girl. The great man only nodded and decapitated her with the cake knife. –a sign of great respect.

“Today I was to meet a senior man from a foreign conglomerate interested in supplying new chips for our console, but I didn’t feel like it, so I decided to meet our honoured company president Yamauchi-san in Akihabara.”

“Naturally, he was late so I started to wander by myself, soaking in all the sights and sounds of the crushing throng of young people, while adjusting the crushing thong around my man-parts. Suddenly, I heard a buzzing sound: laughter, the screech of tires and the smell of victory. I was, intrigued.”

“As a sign of great respect, I hurried to where the sound was coming from, and my eyes were met with an amazing sight: a man, fat, moustachioed and wearing red overalls was racing around in some kind of four-wheeled car on a track with others. There was another man with a black moustache, a giant, fat dinosaur and a pretty girl in a pink dress. As they swerved and dodged around the track they threw melon rinds, sea shells and for some reason, semi-transparent blocks with upside down question marks on them. All the time they were laughing and joking.”

The executives leaned closer and unobtrusively tried to wipe the blood of the dead serving-girl from their kimonos – a sign of great respect.

“There and then,” he continued, smiling. “It hit me: if we could take the fun of four people like this and turn it into a video game then we would have a long-running formula for success. I tore off my Bermuda shorts, grabbed a pen from a passing man in a Sonic the Hedgehog costume, making sure to kick him as a sign of great respect. I began frantically scribbling my ideas in between the sweat-stained seams, my eyes never leaving the people drifting, snaking and boosting around the track.”

“I felt a warm hand upon my shoulder and recognised the gold-ring covered fingers of my honoured superior. I stood up and bowed three times as a sign of great respect. ‘Miyamoto-san’ he said. ‘Miyamoto-san, why are you naked in Akihabara again?’ never mind that, I replied and thrust my shorts into his unresisting hand. ‘Read!’ I cried. ‘Read my shorts!’ His eyes fell for a few moments, scanning the lines and lines of text I had hastily scribbled on the faded fabric. Yamauchi-sans’ face slowly broke into a smile. ‘Genius,’ he whispered, covering me with a nearby fire blanket.”

“And that, my honoured friends, is the story of how I came to create one of our most beloved and respected franchises: Donkey Kong.”