Er, wow? Hmm, what about a zowie? Now this is one Rolex Oyster of a game (that means good to people not as rich as me). FW seriously rivals Silkworm as the greatest Amiga arcade version to date.

For a reference point of view, Nick 'RIP' Kelly awarded the original an arcade star back in the August issue, and well deserved it was too. The concept was a simple, two-player, horizontal scrolly shoot 'em up. The execution however was faultless. Great back drops, squillions of original aliens and a fantastic tune.

Rooting through my Japanese to Cockney phrase book, the plot dictates that a nutty Japanese god has created several other nasty demi-gods. Seeing as they are so nasty they decided to decimate all the cities they could find. It is here that I get confused; the lub-a-ducks have a run in with the yin yans and come off the worst. Somehow these two guys have been thrust into existence armed with the latest anti-everything weaponry (fully expandable and probably made by Sony). Only in Japan...

The hardware sprockets can only be upgraded at one of the mysterious shops (I say mysterious because when was the last time you saw Fortnum and Masons rise out of the ground?). Inside you can spend as many credits as you have collected on such luvlies as twin-fire lasers, napalm, gold neck chains, first aid packs and so on until you have armed up heavier than an Oliver North convoy.

Each level is long, and I mean from here to Middle East. All the way through you face a constant barrage from all angles, jet packed troopers, human missile silos - and that is just for starters. And of course the (here we go again) end-of-level mega foe.

Arc (the programming team) have done one helluva great job on Forgotten Worlds, the graphics are really arcade quality (no joshing mum) and so is the sound. And what is more it only costs the equivalent of 99.999 games on the arcade machine as opposed to £15,000 for the thing itself.

This is the sort of game that goes down phenomenally well over in the office, a two player mode, fast, addictive and good looking, and as Nigel Taylor our northern ad manager would say 'Hadaway I'd gie ya ma bes' racin' pigeon far tha' 'un'. For CU's NT to say that it must be good. So go to your local computer shop, part with twenty sovs and thank me in the morning.

There you are, recovered from all the havoc of Side Arms, sitting back on your laurels, mulling over all those marvellous things you've achieved in your life (toasting marshmallow in between your teeth, taking your underpants off without removing your trousers, listening to one whole Tarby joke) when a news-flash comes through your receivatron.

Bios, God of Destruction lives again. 6 worlds have already been destroyed. Volunteers are being called from all over the galaxy in an attempt to half universal destruction but spokesmen for the intergalactic Council stress their chances are very small.

Yeah, well, those laurels always were a bit uncomfortable. Time to go out, save the universe and earn enough dosh to buy one of those really comfy, floppy armchairs you've always wanted to get hold of in time for your old age.

Believe it or not, but there was one other bloke stupid enough to respond to the summons as well.

You've got a lot in common (not much brainpower) so you instantly become best mates and blood brothers before setting off on to the six forgotten planets with nothing but destruction on your brain.

Luckily you've got one of them great big gadgi bazooka guns to fire the stuffing out of everyone and anything that comes your way - unless they get you first. Every now and again a shop comes floating down from the sky and gives you the chance to buy anything from napalm bombs to extra armour and multiple fire which sends corpses bouncing all over the shop.

Not only that, you can also get interactive intelligent aliens who give clues on how to defeat the enemy. And don't start going on about how you wouldn't really find a shop in the middle of nowhere in one of six forgotten worlds. Just showing underneath. Severely uncool, that.

Right! You've got the right brief (ho,ho) - now hop off the bus. Gus, and off you go.