When I got back from holiday and Kristan asked me to review Worms, my shoulders slumped a bit. "I expect I know why that is," he said. "It's because you think that - having slaved half to death while you sunned yourself on a beach somewhere - I am deliberately punishing you with a game that a) everyone has played, b) the two people who haven't can download off Xbox Live and try out anyway, and c) that is probably exactly the same as it always used to be."
"Correct," he added.
Worms' longevity is, of course, tremendous - even by the standards of an industry that continues to support Mega Man, Trip Hawkins and whoever it is that accidentally uploads all Ubisoft's product information to a public FTP once a month. It was 1994 when it first popped up, if Wikipedia remembers correctly, and won plaudits for its delightfully surreal premise, daft weapons and funny accents. Since then it's become something of a national institution, a bit like Terry Wogan or Babs Windsor, at least in the sense - if we're prepared to dispense with the usual games industry standard of "is it ripping off enough films" - that it's failed to do anything particularly inspired in the last ten years and now just sits there reciting the same punchlines while we all applaud like an audience of poorly medicated Kilroy disciples.