Thursday 16 June 2011

LUCK BE A LADY

My thoughts this week run on gambling.

I could go on about how lovely it is to work in a bookshop for a few hours a week – love reading as I work, (HA!), sorting out bookshelves, talking to other book lovers. Buying up a few bargains and birthday presents. Oh I could go on and on about the joys of the bookshop….

But no, I want to mention gambling. It’s been a sore point with me for a while. I felt a creeping distress when a third branch of a well known bookies opened up in my local high street. There are now at least six on the not so long road that is the hub of the community. I like my High Road as it still has small individually owned shops that have been there a long time and has been overlooked by all chains – except the bookie chains. (‘Bookie’ eh? Not quite the same as a bookshop).

The internet, of course, is full of ‘opportunities’ to win plastered all over everything and I regularly get held up in the queues in newsagents or the supermarket by people diligently completing forms and handing over hefty wads of cash for the fluttery.

There is not much on telly these days that I particularly like to watch, least of all such stuff like million pound Droop, a really gruesome torture chamber without  a passing nod to the contestants’ intelligence as attempted by its predecessor, Who Wants a Millionaire. And apologies to all those millions of fans out there of Deal or Deal -  that one for me is truly the most nauseating of wind ups. I reckon they change the amounts in the boxes as they go along to create the tension, a simple trick for any basic magician. The hosts of these shows probably earn many millions for their ability to coo over and get pretended excitement for their victims’ possible lucky break.

I do, however, have a slight obsession with CSI, something about the clean clinical detachment and analysis, following a variety of tortuous and often macabre murder scenes, where test tubes are swished about and computer graphics are generated to a selection of musical soundtracks. Always a little twist and an Aggie Christie desire to avoid the most obvious suspect until all ends are neatly tied by the end of the hour.  Then, just as one is enjoying the denouement, up pops a banner to tell me I can ring a number and win some phenomenal amount like £5000. They used to ask an inane question like, did the action take place in Miami, Bali or Tasmania, but now they don’t even bother with the question. Just ring in and we will bank the price of your phonecall, £1 minimum. I don’t like it on top of the way too frequent ad breaks. It’s disturbing, I don’t need it, I don’t want it, I will not be ringing in. I want CSI without the opportunity to win something, thankyou.

All the reminders that we could all do with the extra money, that this could be our turn, that win so richly deserved is just around the corner. So needed in times of recession, such a great niche market…….

A few years ago (yes this is a recurrent theme for me) I wrote a sort of poem dedicated to all those who want it to be ‘them’. These lines are theirs, I’ve heard them all. I still don’t know anyone who won yet but sure it is just a matter of time and Lady Luck smiling on you.

Ghetto Dreams

If I won a million pounds
I’d look after you
And you and you and
I’d have a car and a house
And a holiday and I wouldn’t
Forget you
I wouldn’t change I’d still be me
I’d be free
I wouldn’t have to work again
I might do work I wanted to do
Work for myself or not work
If it’s a nice day
Every day would be a nice day
Fly away to a sunny land
Everyone is smiling
And beautiful I would be attractive
And popular you will want to be my friend
Bouncers and police will be nice to me
Could even buy a peerage
Could go shopping buy whatever whenever
Pick up a phone and order
Make someone else clean up the mess
I’d be happy no matter what crisis
Money there to mop it up
Tidy away the inconveniences the stress
Order a massage
Pay someone to pay the bills
Never worry again about the knock on the door
Unrecognised
O life would be a peachy sunset beach
If I won a million pounds
It’s not a dream it could come true
You have to believe
If you don’t believe it can never come true
I want that fucking peachy beach thing
I really want it need it now
Believe.