We love games, and so does OPM's bitter Scotsman Dave Meikleham. But sometimes it all get's a bit too much and his angry-glands kick into sweaty overdrive.

Here he'll tell you what's most got his ire. This month...Why friends aren't everything

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Stop forcing me to have pals, video games! Look, I’m perfectly happy being Norman No Mates. I hate the world and it hates me right back. It’s a situation I’m comfortable with. I may be a cantankerous sod, but my PS4 shouldn’t punish me for being such a hate-filled social leper. Meiksy’s gaze of scalding fury is focused on you, Destiny.

You know how long I’ve been after the Crota’s End Titan Raid helmet? About 30 friggin’ hours. damn you to moon hell, Crota! The reason I’ve been unable to obtain said shiny head trinket: I can’t get five actual human beings to go through the bloody Raid with me.

Contrary to my near constant Scottish surliness I do actually possess living, breathing human friends. However, having five other chums who all play Destiny and getting those compadres to all give up hours of their spare time on the same evening is a strategic undertaking of such Scrotum-crushing savageness, it’d have even Sun Tzu blubbering into his famous book. God I hate my Titan’s hat.

A matchmaking option in Bungie’s MMO hybrid would certainly improve my chances of bagging a magic space cap, then. Yet interweb buddying up can’t fix all my epically moany PSN problems. Just take Evolve. The games I’ve played with randoms so far have devolved into almighty monster-slaying clusterf**ks; a by-product of a group of silent strangers teaming up and failing to talk.

To get the most out of Turtle Rock’s monster-minded shooter, constant communication is required at all times to use your group of Hunters combining their abilities effectively. That means you really have to play with at least three actual chums who all own the game. Bottom line: freddy friendless is royally screwed.

Meiksy angry! Meiksy smash! Yes, it’s that time of the month for your favourite Highlander to vent his furious neeps-loving spleen. This month, my peppery wrath is focused squarely on video game ‘heroes’… specifically clean-cut ones designed and approved by soul-evaporating committee thinking. The next games character I see wearing any combination of hoodie/trenchcoat/cap is so getting a Glesga Kiss to the face. Stop making everyone so damn good at everything! I don’t want Arno leaping across Notre Dame in a single bound.

I’d rather the cack-shinned hobbler who can barely shimmy through an open window without squirming around like he’s attempting to solve advanced calculus while Mary Antoinette hurls rotten Escargot at him. Preferably, physical and physiological shortcomings wouldn’t come via glitches, either; but hey, I’ll take character weakness wherever I can get my dirty mitts on it.

Y’know what’s interesting: human flaws. I don’t want Johnny Chiselled Chest punching terrorism in the pelvis while letting off patriotic one-liners in between necking a hapless damsel. No, I want self-destructive jerkweeds who are crippled by faults. I’d rather a middle-aged alcoholic with a Burger Shot addiction or a fondness for supping Kong Whisky at 6am in a bar in Rio. Never change, Mr De Santa/Mr Payne.

Just look at Life Is Strange or Grim Fandango. While the parallels between a failing skeleton travel agent and two troubled young women aren’t immediately apparent, stare a little closer and you’ll see characters defined by struggles and insecurity. Sod off perfection! Aiden Pearce and his perfect coat lapels can do one by comparison. It’s time to start embracing glorious failure, devs.

Urge to rant… rising. Yes, I’m feeling as agitated as ever this month. Blame my dour, super sweary demeanour on the absolute savaging my poor ear holes have been forced to endure these past few months. Don’t get me wrong, my lugs are happy to put up with the booming noise of COD gunfire until the deaf cows come home. What they can’t stand? The phoned-in awfulness of a disinterested Hollywood actor.

Like many of you, my ears were the subject of a brutal beatdown back in September, when Peter Dinklage put a monotone mangling on Destiny’s (admittedly limited) script. That Mr Rinky Dink avoids the full extent of my terrible tartan wrath is because a) I want to have Tyrion Lannister’s babies and b) his phoned-in patter partially suited the game’s dull droid.

Of course, reasoned discourse has about as much place in this column as Peter Andre at a Mensa convention. That’s why I’m going to tell the entire cast of the Nostromo to royally sod off for their part in Alien: Isolation’s recent DLC. The original cast of Ridley Scott’s sci-fi terror sound as wooden as Pinocchio’s nether regions and the comatose efforts of Tom Skerritt and Veronica Cartwright should replace sheep as the nation’s go-to sleep aid.

Even my beloved Metal Gear can’t escape my straw-berry blonde fury. Say what you want about David Hayter, at least the former voice of Snake sounded half interested. By comparison, Kiefer Sutherland may as well be snoring into a mic for all the emotion he unleashes in Ground Zeroes.

Any big actor who treats VO work with all the enthusiasm of a PPI claim checker is an utter berk. Just look at the calibre of performance GTA V enjoys from little known thesps and tell me Kief and co shouldn’t be ashamed.

You know what really boils my potato? Well, aside from that deep-fat fryer currently on standby in my kitchen for emergency Mars Bar batterings. That’s right: Day One patches. They really are getting out of hand now. Not to point any judgemental digits, but there’s more than one big-hitter we had to drop from the magazine at short notice because of promised-but-not-delivered-on-time launch day download fixes.

Even some of the games that made it still sit squarely in the jerkwad corner. Just look at The Evil Within; a game OPM thoroughly enjoyed but one that throws a techy tantrum should you not have web access. Minus the v1.01 patch, Mikami’s horror shudders around up to 10fps slower than the patched game in certain sections.

We may well live in the magical age of the interwebs, but developers are using Day One patches as far too much of a cheeky crutch. In the era of PS2 and before, your game had to be 100% finished by the time it hit shelves. There was no do-over for the likes of MGS2 or GTA III. If those classics had been blighted by terminal lag or game-breaking glitches that would have been the whole, sad ball game.

The alarming rate of Day One patches in the last few years is bordering on creating a culture of inequality. Some poor sheep farmer in John O’ Groats shouldn’t be forced to endure an experience vomited from hell because he can’t get his PlayStation 4 online through no fault of his own.

Do post-launch patches help devs tweak tasty new games and make them even better? Sure. But too many studios now treat Day One as the beginning of months of colonic irrigation, not the end of a hard-earned journey.