(Where hair clippers once ruled, gaming shall rise)

🏚️ The Mystery Annex

(Or: What even is this room?)

One of the main reasons we bought this house?

It had a weird little room tacked onto the side.

The Rightmove listing described it (with enthusiastic optimism) as “a self-contained salon space.”

What we actually found was a chopped-up downstairs bedroom — surgically split in half like a magician’s assistant.

One half stayed a bedroom.

The other half? Transformed into a hairdresser’s… complete with its own front door.

And not just any door.

This thing looks like someone installed a wardrobe from IKEA and hoped it might lead to Narnia.

You open it expecting coats and snow. Instead, you get tile floors and lingering whiffs of damp and conditioner.

The vibe is less “purpose-built workspace” and more “someone started a renovation and got distracted halfway through an episode of Homes Under the Hammer.”

And I loved it immediately.

You see a weird, ex-hairdressing half-room.

I saw potential.

💈 From Clippers to Controllers

You see an ex-salon.

I see potential.

From the moment I stepped into that strange, echoey room, I didn’t see clippers and mirrors.

I saw cables. Screens. A desk glowing with RGB and bad decisions.

This wasn’t a failed hairdresser’s.

This was a future.

A place where I could finally go all in on the thing I’ve always wanted to do: build something in gaming that actually matters.

🦠 The Pandemic Spark

The pandemic messed with a lot of things — schedules, routines, sanity.

But weirdly, it also gave me clarity.

It was the first time I had real breathing room to ask:

> What do I actually want to do with my time?

And the answer?

Not sit in endless Teams calls or follow someone else’s roadmap.

I wanted to build something.

Be my own boss.

Make my own bad decisions — on purpose.

So I started saving. Every spare penny hoarded with one goal in mind: turn that strange, echoing salon into a creative paradise for gaming, content, and chaos.

🏟️ Enter: The Arena

Now, I’ve got the space.

The dream.

The ticking clock.

No sponsors.

No big team.

Just me, a toolbox that rattles too much, and a worrying amount of optimism.

So I’m calling it The Arena.

Not because it feels like an arena yet.

Right now, it smells vaguely of bleach and regret.

But because that’s what it will be.

Eventually.

It’s a working title.

A placeholder.

Something to call it while I fumble through wiring diagrams and yell at rogue bits of plasterboard.

At some point, this place might earn its true name.

Maybe one of you will name it.

Maybe it’ll come to me during a design-fuelled meltdown at 3AM.

Either way — The Arena is here… And the build begins now.