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Seven days in Second Life

Posted on 27 Nov 2006 at 11:35

As I walk out of the casino, I pass a vehicle lot that, besides selling sports cars and private jets, has a very good deal on a flying dragon. What better accessory for a man already decked out in dragon's feet? The bottom has clearly fallen out of the dragon market, as I pick up the flying beast for L$50 and immediately enjoy dive-bombing bewildered passers-by, one of whom abruptly suggests another part of my anatomy that might benefit from the insertion of a dragon.

Frittering away cash on gambling and dragons is clearly a road to ruin, so I attempt to make my own items with the readily available creative tools. Second Life allows its residents to build practically anything - from coffee tables to nuclear missiles to riverside apartments - and retain the intellectual property, allowing them to sell the goods to fellow residents for a tidy profit. I begin crafting a speedboat, but I have less artistic talent than a woodlouse, and my boat quickly becomes a park bench.

Just as I begin to despair of my design abilities, I notice some admiring glances from an attractive young lady to my left. "Nice feet," says Sweetee Ball. I wonder if she's confused my speedboat/park bench for a pair of clogs, when I realise she's talking about my dragon's feet. "That's nothing," I say. "Do you want to see my dragon?" Needless to say, Sweetee Ball is bowled over by my fiery friend, and after a quick fly around the island she's inviting me clubbing. Day 3 has been a good day indeed.

Day 4

I decide it's time to expand my social circle, and I'm making small talk with a group of Australians at the bar (where else?), when suddenly a chap doing a mighty fine impression of Darth Vader bursts through the door and unleashes merry hell by letting off a rocket launcher.

This is the first time I've even seen a weapon, let alone been on the receiving end of one. I instantly appoint myself as the Second Life version of Hans Blix, and set off to find the source of the WMDs. A quick search for weapons on the search engine, and within seconds I'm inside a missile factory, looking down the barrel of a replica Trident. If only it was so easy in real life, eh Tony?

I begin tinkering with one of the demonstration missiles in the warehouse and before you can say "what does that red button do?" I'm launched into orbit and, bizarrely, come crashing down alongside a memorial for breast cancer victims. The memorial is genuinely touching, with individual pink ribbons dedicated to victims of the disease and information packs and details of Second Life support groups for sufferers and their families. I pop a donation into the collection box and decide the time has come to settle down.

The real-estate market is big business in Second Life, with residents able to buy and sell land, or snap up and develop entire islands and rent accommodation to others. I'm only going to be here for a few days, so I search the classified ads for property to rent, and settle on a modern glass-fronted apartment, with sea views, two storeys and a space to park my dragon on the roof terrace. The rent for No.5 Zuni Villas is L$450 (about £1) a week, but the flat's unfurnished, so I head off to a furniture store and pick up a leopard-skin sofa, pool table, rug and bed for my bachelor pad, which pretty much resembles Peter Stringfellow's holiday cottage.

I hit a snag, however, when I can't work out how to move the furniture around my flat. With training camp well and truly out of bounds, I message my friends for help. I fear, however, that Sweetee Ball - the glamour puss I met yesterday - takes my plea to make the furniture move the wrong way, as she soon arrives wearing a schoolgirl outfit that would make Britney blush.