I’d never bought a lottery ticket entered a raffle set foot in a casino. Until a couple of years ago, I had never so much as put 50p on the Grand National. Usually when I’m looking at my bank balance – which I now try not to, like the squeamish studiously ignoring the nurse drawing blood. ![]() How did it start? I ask myself that a lot. Nowadays you can bankrupt yourself via an app on a mobile phone, or a never-closed browser tab. Often, that’s not the way it is any more. Stubby pencils, receipts littering floors, rising voices as dogs with prominent ribs raced around a track on a TV screen. ![]() I’d “spent” an entire book advance.Īlong with many people, I still imagined gambling as the preserve of bored middle-aged men in rundown high-street shops Ladbrokes and William Hills nestled among kebab joints and pawn shops. “I really wish there had been a warning that gambling was addictive,” I joked to a friend, though neither of us was laughing – at that point I was genuinely worried about paying rent and bills.
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