I did think at some point last year that I was beyond the whole ‘going out loads’ thing. I couldn’t even be bothered with the pub most of the time, for a number of reasons, but generally speaking I just couldn’t be arsed. I was fine with that – not necessarily getting older or whatever, just not caring anymore.
Suppose that would be getting older.
Anyway, circumstances changed and I found myself going out again and rediscovering the fact that I am capable of being old-fashioned Ian. Just with longer-lasting hangovers and a bit more work to do in the morning.
If I had remained given up on the dream of going out and getting hammered – it is a dream, you can’t take it away from me – I wouldn’t have experienced last night which was nothing short of bloody brilliant. Pub lunches that never happen, ‘one drink’ that starts at 4pm and finishes at 7am, singing with pimps, bringing the mirth at the roulette table by pretending to be Wesley Snipes, illegal piering, tattoo convention after parties, OHHHH YEEEEAH!, McMahon jumping off the pier*, goggles, eventually having that pub lunch comprising of a 6.30am Ginsters pastie… the list goes on, but could well be unsuitable for most ears.
Yes, my pants were pulled down outside. I need another new belt notch.
I am glad I have not died yet.
*Into sand, not the water.
Temptation is an interesting thing. Especially how quickly I give in to it. Take every single time I’m in a pub, for example – I genuinely think I’ve managed to go for “one drink” a handful of times in my life, and I’ve been going to the pub since I was about 14*. Sometimes it’s been one or two extra, which is obviously understandable (and quite sexy). Then there are the other times. The Other Times. Where it turns into something quite special.
Most of those times I blame Ben. And they were definitely very sexy.
But temptation comes into so many other elements of life, not just my rampant alcoholism. There’s the much-documented gambling I did… do… won’t do anymore… will do again soon. There’s shit food. There’s talking to people you hate just because they amuse you somewhat. There’s that bit where you’re Jesus in the desert. There’s loads of temptation everywhere. There’s also Chris saying “one more?” Cock.
Is it so bad to give in to temptation? Surely the only reason we shy away from it is because the Bible told us to? And who gives a fuck about that claptrap? I mean, if it’s not killing you or really badly affecting how you cope in life or treat others, what does it matter that you’re giving in? Though I am just convincing myself to drink rum, eat a tub of ice cream and gamble a lot right now.
Probably shouldn’t listen to myself, then.
Also: CHICKENS DON’T CLAP.
*Yes, this means I’m well cool.
I want to go to Las Vegas. I think that my gambling problem, which I clearly do have, would be a lot different over there. Rather than getting caught up in the madness and throwing all of my cash (which I don’t actually have) down the greedy gullets of the casinos (which definitely aren’t run by the mob) I think my inherent Yorkshireness would take over.
“How much?!” it would say, as I approached a table. “You can’t spend much, you need to save some for a rainy day” it would add as I consider trading in everything I own for a few more chips. “Don’t bet more than $1 a hand, otherwise you won’t have enough for PIES later on,” it’ll throw in just to remind me that I’m a fat bastard who likes pies.
I think it would be a more interesting trip from the perspective that I would appear to be a dodgy bastard to any and all pit bosses across Nevada. I don’t only get nervous when I’m doing something I shouldn’t be – I get nervous when I’m near someone in authority who stops people from doing things they shouldn’t be, even when I’m not even considering doing things I am not supposed to be doing. Ya dig?
I would fully expect to be ejected from multiple casinos for being some kind of cheat, thief or rapist just for sitting at a table trying to act like I’m minding my own business (when in reality I’m actually just trying to mind my own business). Ejections ala the head-first bloke on Casino spring to mind.
I probably wouldn’t even get any free drinks.
Yeah, I think Vegas would be a great trip to go on. Someone sort it out for me – I can’t afford it right now. Gambled all my money away. I mean… umm…
It seems that my simple foray into experimenting with online bingo has taken another step. One might say a step too far. See, I decided I would put a few spare quid I had (35 of them, to be precise. Sigh) on a certain blackjack card game offered by a certain William Hill’s online casino. I did this as I was bored and because I like gambling.
For once it didn’t turn out to be a complete horror show. I initially lost money, but soon enough I had made it back. Then I’d made back some other money I’d lost before. Then I’d made profit. Then I’d made double the worth of my losses in profit. Then treble. And on, and on, until – two hours later – I walked away from the space-internet-virtual table with £1,300 winnings. That’s thirteen hundred, in case you’re wondering.
I have therefore decided that I need to ban myself from all of these sites, as it would seem to be all too easy for me to lapse into the attitude of “oh, I can just win again”. When I can’t. Being lucky once doesn’t mean it will happen regularly, or ever again. Hmm… Must visit Google to find out how to block this stuff.
It’s not a problem unless you let it become one, right? Also I’m in profit, and have therefore beaten the casinos. I win. I quit. Victory is mine. Never again.
Though there is always World Series Of Poker…
Tonight I immersed myself into an alien world, the likes of which I had never before been privy to. No, I hadn’t decided to eat a salad – far worse. I played online bingo for a bit to see why they seem to advertise it to insane fat women on telly. It’s all in the name of research, obviously.
I can actually see why the bingo in particular could eat so much into someone’s funds – and I don’t just mean from the perspective that gambling is so deliciously addictive (my self-imposed deposit limit on Ladbrokes is testament to that*). No, what I played was so insanely easy to do, so laid back and so out of your hands it’s easy to forget you’re actually playing with real money. You simply click a couple of buttons to buy your tickets then either sit there watching intently, maybe chatting with the reams of pillocks in the chat section, or just go do something else for five or ten minutes and come back to see if you’ve won money. That’s bloody dangerous for a bored housewife/husband/drunk bloke who is bored (not me. I’m not drunk).
I’m actually writing this while a round is playing out in the back – I can see it behind this Word document. I have three balls to go, apparently. Which isn’t something I hear often. If I get a full house I’m able to take home the tidy sum of £21.91 – not too shabby, seeing as that would feed me for a couple of weeks… In fact… I really could win at this… It could be better than working… I could live the high life, free from responsibility and able to buy all the beans I want!
Or I could play blackjack… Or roulette! Always bet on black… Hmm…
*That makes it sound like I have a gambling problem – I don’t. I rarely, if ever gamble.