It may seem a very boring subject until an assailant is standing in front of you with a cosh and demands your cash. But a night out on the tiles shouldn't mean laying in a pool of blood, your wallet gone, star-gazing, actually flat-out on the ground, outside an unnamed casino on the Norfolk coast.
Instantly, a winner turns into a loser.
Like a couple hundred pound chips sitting on the roulette table, swept down the chute. Perhaps ending up in a grubby drug addict's pocket.
I have to tell you a quick story about myself because you just wouldn't believe what happened on a dark, dark night...
Leaving the Grosvenor Casino at Great Yarmouth.
I'd been playing hard at the roulette table. It had been a disaster of a night. It was about 2 am, walking the short journey back to my hotel room when I was confronted by a scruffy-looking, unshaven, person, no kidding, this being was at least seven-foot-tall and four-feet wide. They blocked my path, casting a shadow in the moonlight, a faint smell of Chanel No 5 blowing on the breeze, waving something in their hand. I was in a state of shock as they lunged at me with a £50 note. It was the customer service lady from the casino! She'd seen me losing my shirt (all night long) and felt sorry for me.
You can't beat their customer service.
However, your personal security is no laughing matter.
It may be a harsh remark, but most casinos are a melting pot of the good, the bad, and the ugly of life. It's like meeting the Queen and bumping into Freddy Krueger on your way to the toilets. Then one of those Critters emerges somewhere from the u-bend to bite off your nuts as you get comfy on the throne.
It's the kind of place you will meet a sweet, old aunt or a potential assailant high on crystal meths. Both endearing characters within a happy-go-lucky melee at the roulette table. However, after an evening of big losses, raised voices, and a few sherberts, Mrs. White, that loving granny, is waiting for you in the billiard room, with a candlestick to place it where the sun doesn't shine if you don't add a little padding to her purse.
However, your personal security is no laughing matter.
It may be a harsh remark, but most casinos are a melting pot of the good, the bad, and the ugly of life. It's like meeting the Queen and bumping into Freddy Krueger on your way to the toilets. Then one of those Critters emerges somewhere from the u-bend to bite off your nuts as you get comfy on the throne.
It's the kind of place you will meet a sweet, old aunt or a potential assailant high on crystal meths. Both endearing characters within a happy-go-lucky melee at the roulette table. However, after an evening of big losses, raised voices, and a few sherberts, Mrs. White, that loving granny, is waiting for you in the billiard room, with a candlestick to place it where the sun doesn't shine if you don't add a little padding to her purse.
The Lowestoft beast.
You never know who is watching you. I mean, whose looking around when you pick up a prial of kings when playing 3-card poker?
But someone may well have seen you walk to the cashier's booth, and stick a bundle of notes in your pocket as you sashay, lopsided, into a cold, bitter night.
For that reason, always walk home with a friend, preferably staying at the same hotel. If gambling alone, call a taxi to pick you up from the door.
Else you might not be so lucky as I was on that evening down Marine Parade.
You never know who is watching you. I mean, whose looking around when you pick up a prial of kings when playing 3-card poker?
But someone may well have seen you walk to the cashier's booth, and stick a bundle of notes in your pocket as you sashay, lopsided, into a cold, bitter night.
For that reason, always walk home with a friend, preferably staying at the same hotel. If gambling alone, call a taxi to pick you up from the door.
Else you might not be so lucky as I was on that evening down Marine Parade.