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There is one other punter in the place — a nicotine-stained old guy in a raincoat who is operating a strange roulette system consisting of a plethora of tiny stakes that more or less cancel each another out. They were all over the walls, they were dangling from the curtains. As usual, the inner demons the shrinks, the addiction experts, call it this "permission thought" won the argument, and at midnight, came the start of a new hour period, which meant that I was allowed to deposit fresh funds. The pull on me as I headed back toward the bus stop, and home, was astonishingly powerful. I dismissed this despite having once suffered from a bout of manic depression that included delusions as some sort of short-term optical glitch that was only to be expected in the circumstances, and soon hurried back to my laptop to resume playing. One day in February I asked the old pal in question if there was anywhere you could play Holdem online. I found myself walking, like a zombie, towards the nearest of the outlets. Worse still, because of the peculiar nature of gambling addiction — many experts reckon it's the hardest of all addictions to cure — once it dawned on me that I was in fact losing, I figured the only way to recoup the money was to play more and then yet more. I started in a restrained way — five or six hours a day — maybe a bit more if I had no work on. What harm could it do, now that I was cured? The other day, for instance, as I approached Finchley Road, near where I live — a thoroughfare positively festooned with betting shops — I conceived a strong urge to have a flutter on the betting machines. I went back to my laptop, put another 5k on and hit blackjack. Suddenly, like young Stephen Dedalus in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man , as he walks down Lott's Lane in search of stimulus, then suddenly spins round and heads for home, I turned. It's the tackiness of the betting shop that, for me, puts it without peer as a means of wrecking your life. Nor am I especially plagued when I remember that, but for gambling, I would now be living on a comfortable income from royalties scrimped and saved over 15 years of hard showbiz slog. I hit 20 with that hand, won, 20 with the next, won again, won again with the third bet. The soulless strip lighting of the shop creates a curiously appealing, dismal ambience — a kind of physical equivalent to my own spiritual landscape. Hard to retain much self-respect after that. It wasn't even my money, but the bank's. That convinced me of the true nature of my predicament, though sadly it didn't do anything to curtail it. Here, at last, was the steady, reliable source of income I'd been dreaming of ever since giving up a well-paid job in the City to concentrate on, of all things, translating 17th-century French verse comedies. That night I opened an account and began to play. I was an addict by now, of course, and that kind of self-delusion is standard addict practice. The "fish" poker speak for bad players out there had to be seen to be believed. One time, after playing non-stop for three days, so that the index finger of my right hand had started to tingle from repeatedly clicking the mouse to bet on or fold a hand, I woke to find that somebody had broken into my flat during the night and festooned it with playing cards. And I am once again remortgaged, for 30k this time. I called my GP, fixed an emergency appointment and got myself straight down there. This has something to do, I assume, with the structure of the game: the ability to stand or take another card creates an irresistible illusion of control. In the space of two minutes I had not merely quadrupled my 5k overdraft, but could now pay off my mortgage and be, once more, to some degree at least, a free man. Unfortunately, I drifted off in the middle of a hand, without having taken the pill, and when I woke up a couple of hours later I was dying Well, perhaps not quite.

I t is nine o'clock on a Saturday night and I should be at an old friend's party. I have lost, at a conservative estimate, a quarter of a million pounds over the past seven years.

This is my usual garb — my uniform, if you will — when I visit my betting shop of choice in north London. In the ambulance they informed me that I was having a massive buy online gambling business fibrillation, brought on by four days and nights without sleep, sprayed something on the roof of my mouth, and asked for my next of kin.

What had I got to lose? It began with evenings of spontaneous, anarchic, life-enhancing mayhem at his flat, escalating from there, by insidious steps, into a serious fortnightly home game complete with league table and annual trophy.

The fact that I went on to blow the lot in 10 hit it rich casino game cheats and was suicidal for a fortnight thereafter is another matter. During a lucky streak, for instance, I get a sense of quite astonishing and implausibly sustained wellbeing.

Though, in this case, in return for the money you feed in, you mostly get nothing back. If it didn't, who on earth would take it up in the first place? Whereas with blackjack, few things can match the adrenaline rush you get when that third card takes you to 20 or, incredibly, to If you're not familiar with gaming machines, they are, in appearance and construction, not unlike the automatic ticket vendors at railway stations.

I used to watch small-scale punters like this with contempt. I was in there all the next day, my pulse returning to normal just 20 minutes before I was scheduled to be medically "rebooted". All this makes gambling seem a dark and destructive business, and, of course, it can be. The feeling of triumph as I boarded a bus and headed for Hampstead where any betting shop manager worth his salt will, at my own request, eject me from the premises on sight was one that, to anybody who coral roulette been there, might seem pathetic.

Coral roulette withdraw the demons were of the opinion that I shouldn't stop there. After wishing my confrere an unacknowledged "Good luck", I make my way to coral roulette withdraw terminal and park my backside on the sticky black leather seat.

I waited a quarter of an hour for a seat to come vacant. But now he does it in different ways. This was no vague optical effect, either, but a perfectly formed, shiny new king of hearts.

Coral roulette withdraw a truism to say that no very disastrous experience is without its compensatory positives — its winnings, coral roulette withdraw other words.

The gambler in me is still looking to recoup, needless to say. She placed a large white tablet in my hand. I even managed to convince myself that I was earning a living from the game. I do not complain about any of this — not the debt, the near-death experience, not even the huge and horribly dark spells of despair and self-loathing. Then, around lunchtime, I was in the loo, when I looked down and saw that there was a playing card lying in the bottom of the bowl. Nor is my dress remotely smart, consisting as it does of a fisherman's sweater, more holes than wool, and a pair of frayed tracksuit pants smelling faintly of urine. But, yes, the highs. Regaining a recent loss brings a special pleasure of its own, as any gambler will tell you: a weird, warped sense of redemption. It was seven for seven thirty, dress smart but "not too smart" I am not at the party however. Feeling a whole lot better, I reckoned I would just get a couple more hours' play in, take the tablet and turn in. I spent the day debating with myself whether or not I should try my luck and see what I could do with that 5k. He chortled and gave me the name of a "reputable" site. I have swallowed my pride, sought professional help, attended GA meetings. And among the charms of the betting shop, blackjack has the greatest appeal. There are likely to be nice people there, artistic, talented; and the hostess is a wizard cook. Equally true, on the other hand, is an observation by Casanova, who had a sideline in gambling and noted that inside every serious gambler lurks a miser. Soon I was convinced I'd struck gold. I remember sitting in the dark for half an hour with such joy and relief washing over me. The tax revenues from the big gaming companies help build schools and hospitals, pay for teachers, doctors and nurses. Now, if all poker — all gambling games, in fact — are potentially addictive and obsessional, Texas Holdem is both of those things to the power of Being endowed with just the right, catastrophic psychic make-up, I was pretty soon hooked. But the resentment doesn't last. I do sometimes wonder quietly why walking down any major street in London has to be, for me and my fellow gambling addicts, rather like negotiating Scylla and Charybdis — Paddy Power or Betfred here, William Hill or Ladbrokes there. This is something, I tell myself. With roulette, you spin the wheel, and that's it; horses: once they're off, ditto. At the time of writing I haven't gambled, in any shape or form, for several months. Or, to put it another way, a greedy klutz wanting something for nothing. So I would find myself, at 9. I announced arrogantly at dinner parties that I had discovered a new string to my bow, a sure-fire revenue stream. Well, clearly because I'm a schmuck, but that's not what I mean; I mean biographically speaking …. There is nothing worse in this world than a sore loser, and nowhere is that more true than in gambling. I've gambled online, and in live casinos, but neither has the same, uniquely sordid appeal as the betting shop. Like all addictive activities, it offers astonishing highs — highs as high as the lows are low. It took many weeks of steady, daily losses before a nagging suspicion was born that something might be amiss. You should not be doing this. For many years an old friend of mine and I have been devotees of poker. I collapsed on the sofa, numb with joy, sandbagged by bliss. Then one day I found myself in a Ladbrokes shop on a Saturday afternoon with every station occupied. Go home, switch off your computer, or better still, chuck it in the bin and take this pill and get some sleep. No less pitiful, you might say, than an alcoholic outside the off licence at 9. It was then that I realised that the size of the bet didn't count for anything: I was just as desperate and sleazy as the rest of them. Wherever I went — bathroom to wash, kitchen to make breakfast — they kept popping up. But that's pretty obviously not the whole story. I couldn't keep this goldmine I'd hit on to myself. So, why am I here?