When I was in my early teens, I harboured a vague interest in video games. Whether it was because of my burgeoning but unrequited sex drive, or because of my rapidly diminishing sporting prowess, I would occasionally sit indoors and play games on my computer, or some console.

One of my childhood friends had a Playstation 2- something that God had not blessed me with- so I’d head round to his house and play games on that, which had more advanced graphics than the Miniclip platform games that I was used to. And, during those grotesque adolescent sessions, we played Grand Theft Auto III, and, ten or so years old, we would routinely beat prostitutes to death with a baseball bat.

Now, this isn’t designed to be a standard Daily Mail diatribe against violent video games. I haven’t gone on to kill prostitutes in real life, or even steal cars. Nor did I find the game particularly exciting, possibly because I got the biggest thrill from trying to observe the rules of the road (waiting at traffic lights in that game is how I developed patience). But with the release of Grand Theft Auto V, and the news that a man was stabbed for a copy, I’m slightly concerned that we might all be missing the point of what immersive game playing is.

At this point, I should point out that the last time I played a video game was several years ago. I find them extremely hard and frustrating, and, frankly, I’d rather watch repeats of The Office. But, once upon a time, I did play Red Dead Redemption, which has been described as ‘Grand Theft Auto in the Wild West’.

I played that game, and even, at one point, hog-tied someone and left them on the railway tracks to be flattened by a steam train. It’s a worryingly violent game, but one whose saving grace is the fact that we can’t actually go back to 1911 and ride around on horses. It’s basically the same thing that stopped me worrying about my friend massacring cave trolls in Oblivion.

But with Grand Theft Auto V, we have a game where players are positioned in the role of the ‘everyman’. No superpowers, no real backstory, just an ordinary guy. And then they’re let off the leash to commit whatever atrocities they desire. If I wanted to go out and recreate the Washington Navy Yard shootings, I could. If I want to slaughter pedestrians for money, I can.

Which, in itself, isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Moralising creative art is an unsophisticated way of tackling the topic. Grand Theft Auto V may have many other virtues as a piece of storytelling that focuses on the decisions of the gamer, rather than the pre-ordained narrative (whereas American Psycho or Complicity wouldn’t give you the option to avoid that path).

What worries me is the fact that the game is unrivalled in its popularity. The game is expected to gross over $1bn and the release has been met by feverish, fetid fan boy fanaticism. People are so overwhelmed by the release of this game that they’re willing to stab someone to get a copy of it. This isn’t life imitating art, it’s just life being shit.

The video game that inspires the greatest level of devotion by its acolytes is the one that most closely resembles the taboo possibilities that are out of reach in real life. I’m not so much worried that the game will breed a generation of prostitute-killers, as I’m worried that we live in a community where that is the fantasy. Nor riding horses, not slaying cave trolls, but having unrestricted access to an enormous arsenal that can be used to level and destroy buildings, vehicles and puny human lives.

It’s not the fault of Rockstar Games, who developed the franchise. It’s the fault of a consumer base who crave unmoralised violence. Sure, I could get knifed for a copy of Rollercoaster Tycoon, but at least my muggers wouldn’t be further dislocating themselves from society when they go home later and play it (unless they’re actually aspiring rollercoaster tycoons, in which case they’ll become hopelessly deluded).

The problem with video games is not that they’re artless or mean-spirited; it’s that the most popular title taps into our darkest fantasies. If Crash or Irreversible were the top-grossing films, then I’d argue that we have a problem there. Likewise, if Earl Sweatshirt were topping the album charts, I’d be slightly concerned (although Robin Thicke is worrying in many of the same ways). If Grand Theft Auto V is a barometer of the moral standards of our society then we should probably be extremely worried, and go out and dig bomb shelters.

And even if it is ‘just a game’, aren’t there better ways to waste your life? Go out and carjack a hoop and a stick, kids.

After a long summer, conference season has finally arrived. Political parties from across the country will now gather and assert their ability to lead the nation. You would think that such events would be a full and vibrant demonstration of democratic values. Sadly, the common wisdom seems to be they are not. The media will be there; the lobbyists will be there and the politicians will be there –everyone, but ordinary members will be there in force.

The decline in the membership of political parties is both well documented and often quoted. In the 1950s, the Conservatives had 2.8 million members and Labour one million. Today, political attrition has led to a Conservative membership of approximately 130,000 and a Labour one of 200,000. Correspondingly, attending a party conference has become less and less normal. That is not to understate the facts – the Labour and Conservative conference can both expect an attendance in the region of 10,000. The problem is not a shortage of people wanting to attend conferences, which have become a lucrative way of earning income for cash-strapped parties, but that they have become increasingly distant from the general public.

Is this surprising? Well, considering the ability of ordinary members to shape policies, not particularly. Annual conferences now play a minor role in shaping election manifestos, in both the Conservative and Labour parties. Most of the big outcomes of these conferences are pre-scripted and party strategists have largely decided what the themes of the conference will be far in advance.

It has been a long time since the grassroots of any political party managed to defy the leadership at a party conference. The Liberal Democrats are the only one of the main parties to have a reasonable measure of direct democracy at their conference. However, rather than being praised for this, there is constant speculation about whether the conference attendees will back their conference masters. This makes the politics of presentation seem more important than the politics of substance.

Everyone, in theory, seems to agree that conferences should be for members, yet peculiarly enough that is not what is happening in practise. Fringe meetings continue to be a hub for ideas, but it seems perverse that it is only at the peripheries of a conference where real discussion is taking place.

A partial explanation for this trend is that party conferences are no longer just for the members, but are part of a national political drama. Indeed, the media is already raising the stakes this year; the Daily Mail has helpfully pointed out that Ed Miliband is now as unpopular with voters as Iain Duncan Smith was 8 months before he was dumped as Tory leader, resulting in the Labour leader’s upcoming speech being turned into a crucial moment for his leadership. The focus then becomes less upon self-reflection and critical debate and more about a triumphant display for the party leader.

The concerning part about this issue, is that senior politicians have so little to say about it, or even worse, they deny it. For example David Cameron, in a message to Conservative Future members, claimed:

“Each year our Conference goes from strength to strength, finding new ways to give everyone attending the chance to get involved, have their say, and contribute to our Party’s work.”

The problem with statements like this, from all politicians, is that they radiate positivity, but bear little relation to reality. People begrudgingly pass it off, saying party leaders have to say things like this. In truth, it is damaging, as the issue of internal party democracy can only be addressed once it is admitted.

Naturally, having a conference representative of your base is a risk; it is a lot harder to whip ordinary party members, as opposed to career-minded MPs. It is a wonder how party leaders can express surprise at political apathy, when they are unwilling to even give their own members, who generally agree with them, their own say. Displays of faction on the national stage are certainly damaging, but equally a lack of discussion can lead to both weakly supported and poorly conceived policies.

British political parties have been top-down organisations for quite some time now. The ability of party headquarters, to parachute candidates into seats, makes that plain. It seems party conferences have become so thoroughly scripted that they verge on being a sham to extort media coverage from the BBC.

The decline of the party conference can be linked to several other national trends:  the decline in strong party affiliation, the decline in electoral turnout and, most clearly of all, the decline in party membership. However, a point will come where political parties will have to give power back to their members, even if it is only to maintain an organisation capable of campaigning on a national scale. Rushing activists around the country works fine for by-elections, but in general elections, parties will begin to be stretched extremely thin. A time will come when political parties will be forced to decide whether they wish to be democratically accountable to their members. If the answer to that question proves to be no, then they risk the overthrow of the current political status quo.