The Cover all Bases Series #2: New Beginnings.

 

After years of procrastinating, months of saving, and dozens of sleepless nights, the time had finally come to leave Aberdeen to travel. It had been a long time coming and despite setbacks, I felt I was ready and I wanted it, so badly.

Despite their differences, my family had mustered a little gathering – Mum, Dad, both Grandmas and Granddad –  even though I had made it clear that I didn’t want a sending off at the airport  (my parents were going through a divorce and not on talking terms, and my grandmother from my mother’s side hadn’t spoken to my father in years.) I was a nervous wreck. This was an important moment in my life, but I hadn’t thought about just how significant it would be to them. They were proud and supportive, they would certainly miss me, and, of course, they wanted to say goodbye. The life that awaited me was within touching distance. My familiar life, for now, was set to disappear.

Scattered tactically around a restaurant table at the terminal, my family watched on as I sipped on a strong coffee, rifled frantically through my notes, and enjoyed the last Scottish breakfast I’d be eating for a while. I was very much being given room to breathe – something to which I had been missing for months prior. There followed careful conversation as my family remained focused on me and the impending trip. They tentatively judged and changed the pace depending on the ever-shifting vibe around the table in a concerted attempt to form a delicate environment for me to star in. But, in truth, I had said most of what I wanted to the weeks before, and was, surprisingly, doing a good enough job of keeping it together. I only wanted one person with me at the airport that day – my Grandad, a strong and wise and worldly man who gave countless pieces of good advice and was always generous with his words. When the time came to leave, he would know what to say, he would know how to act, and he would give me the added strength I needed.

The mood around the table changed as the time drew closer. I was suddenly bombarded with silly yet mandatory questioning: “Got your passport?” “Got everything you need?” “When does your flight get in?” “How are you getting to the hotel?” This unsettled me. I could feel my family becoming restless too as what little conversation there was descended into unsubstantiated ramblings.

I was flying to Heathrow and then onto a connecting flight to Beijing. I had been dreaming of this for a long time. I hated who I had become in Aberdeen – a gambler, a drunk, and the clichéd under-achiever. In the weeks before, I had my first real run in with online roulette, and had blown a chunk of my travel money. This put a huge downer on my preparation. Despite this, I still felt ready to leave – I had worked hard to escape; I was proud that I was finally broadening my horizons.

Soon my flight was called and it was time. As a family, we began to make the short walk to the gate. I walked ahead to buy some time as I couldn’t bear to look at my parents. This was going to hurt.

As expected, both my grandmothers were in tears, and, although there was no family protocol to saying goodbye, I turned to them first. They couldn’t be more different: a very Aberdonian grafter, with a love for whisky, bingo, and an incessant quest to cater for my vegetarian mother, despite not really knowing what a vegetarian is; a flamboyant, eccentric, animal-loving Jehovah from South Africa to whom there is never a dull moment in life. I loved them both equally.

I turned to my old man. I was dreading this. I harbour a lot of feelings on him (so much so, I’ve always struggle to say and even write the word ‘Dad’) and our relationship has been, and still is, strained. We are both scarily similar from the way we walk to the way we talk, to the jobs that we do. I see so much of myself in him, and he does in me. But we still find it incredibly hard to relate to one another. We moved in for an awkward hug. I would have welcomed us letting our guards down for just one moment but it wasn’t to be. Unfortunately, moments of true honesty, relaxed conversation and real bonding are few and far between. He loves me; I love him. Yet, something, nothing and everything prevents us from truly becoming close.

The relationship between my mother and I had also seen better days. The three of us had been living under the same roof since they announced they would be getting a divorce, but I couldn’t remember the last conversation that any of us had, together or otherwise. We had our own rooms, now ate at different times, and tip-toed around each-other. My mother said she thought she had driven me away. That wasn’t true. I had at least made sure she knew that. We shared a genuine moment at the gate as we said goodbye, and I was reminded how much my mother loves me. It was hard for her to let go. I gently edged myself out of her death grip hug and pulled away. I couldn’t tell her when I’d be back. I honestly didn’t know. She was devastated I was actually leaving.

Then, as I approached my grandfather, suddenly I began to crumble. I had remained strong throughout, but now it was all getting a bit too much. My eyes filled up, my lip began to tremble and I knew I was about to fall apart. But before I could, he interjected with some more wise words of wisdom which I had come to expect from him. I wanted his advice and I wanted to remember it. It felt right that he would be the last person to see me off.  We shook hands firmly and I was almost there. I worried that I would never see him in good health again: Parkinson’s had been slowing him down in recent months and he could well be a different man by the time I returned.

Head down, passport and boarding pass in hand, I took a deep breath and made a turn for the gate. My eyes had been pushing back tears in those last few minutes, but like faulty swimming goggles, I couldn’t keep them dry any longer. I began to sob, but out of site from my family, as I continued to make mercifully towards the desk. I looked back only once, to let out a forced smile. And then as I turned the corner, it was done.

I was gone.

It would be fifteen months until I would eat another Scottish breakfast.

Gambling & Childhood: A Timeline.

“I worry for the next generation” was the quote and headline used, when I was interviewed for an article for The BBC.

A year and a half later, I can’t say I’m any less concerned.

I once attended Youth Work training, which centred on Social Media, Apps and Technology. I sauntered in, pulled up a chair and gorged on free sandwiches, biscuits and coffee, thinking I’d have a rough idea of what the latest trends are, and how they influence young people. I was 32 at the time. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how much I would learn from the session.

Six hours later, I was thinking to myself how foolish and naive I was. Not only was I behind the times; I knew next to nothing.

As it turned out, I really wasn’t as cool as I thought: just a portly dinosaur, waiting for the bus home, covered in crumbs, and scrolling through Facebook. Sad times, but a fun image.

Joking aside, what I mostly took away from the training, is just how vulnerable and exposed children are online. It was really quite an eye-opener. And although the training didn’t focus on gaming and gambling specifically, (which I was hoping to learn about…) I couldn’t help but make these connections throughout. I thought to myself:

“Fuck… If I have kids one day, I have no idea how I would navigate this. I’d always be one step behind and be constantly in the dark.”

I still feel like this now. I can genuinely give myself anxiety if I think too hard about it.

If you’re a parent reading this and have similar concerns about your child: I tip one of my many caps to you – It can’t be easy.

I’m from the tail-end of a generation, that didn’t grow up with smart phones and unlimited access to the internet, so I wasn’t exposed to as many of the online dangers, the same way young people are today. Although I’m not a parent yet, I presume with a lot of everyday things, the principals more or less stay the same from when I was growing up: educate and guide your children the best you can but, ultimately, they have to learn from their own experiences and make their own mistakes.

But this doesn’t really fly in the online realm, does it? For example, Grooming and Cyber-Bullying – the potential impact, consequences and fallout can be – and is – truly devastating. No sane person would ever want their child to go through such things.

Because of what I’ve experienced with online gambling, and the ease to which I was hurt, I would never want a child of mine to go through the same thing. And whether you believe it or not, the reality is that it is already happening on a massive scale, right underneath our noses. Without getting too high on my political soapbox, we are really letting our young people down. And when I say ‘young’, I mean as young as 11 years old; and when I say ‘we’, I mean our lawmakers.

Just saying.

I encourage you to read this brilliant article in The Guardian, who have dug deeper into the problem. It’s a sobering read at times.

The Timeline

I have been reflecting back on my childhood and youth, exploring my own exposure to gambling. I have a fuller understanding of what went wrong as an adult, but I was curious to know if the ball was already in motion for me at an early age. As it’s not something I think about often, I wasn’t expecting any revelations. But I’ve managed to stir up memories – and even emotions attached to memories – that I thought I had lost forever.

The following is a rough timeline, starting from my earliest memory and ending where I took my first spin on a roulette wheel. I pinpoint roulette as a marker, where my gambling became more compulsive and addictive in nature. I don’t necessarily believe I had a ‘problem’ until then.

Just a note: I blew my mind a little with this.

– During a family holiday to Butlin’s: (a cheap, family Summer Camp type place for those not familiar…) I remember being fascinated with Claw Machines, at the Amusement Arcade. One particular machine, was full of stuffed toy monkeys, with long arms and Velcro hands. This turned out to be a bit of a design flaw, as many of the monkeys had stuck together. My Dad ended up pulling out a dozen monkeys or so in one shot. I recall how excited I felt and how lucky I was. It stuck with me. I was maybe 6 or 7 years old.

– I remember my first real bet being 50p on a horse. I’m not sure of the name, but I know it won.

– Primary School, 9 years old: Like most boys growing up in the 90’s, I was obsessed with Pogs (round, quirky, collectable cards that could be traded, swapped etc.) I would spend my lunch break, trading with other kids. It also involved a game where you would stack them up, and take turns hitting them with a far heavier, metal slammer. If you turn them over, you win the Pogs! Harmless enough of course, but I started betting my pocket money along with the Pogs.

– Claw Machine (again…) down at the beach arcade with a friend. I wasted all of my pocket money, attempting to pull out a ‘Kenny from South-Park’ stuffed toy. I was convinced the game was rigged and I had a mini-meltdown. I asked for the manager, who just gave a casual shrug of the shoulders and a “better luck next time.” I remember it bothering me more than it should have.

– Many of the magazines and newspapers scattered around our house growing up, had some sort of promotional material attached. My mum used to read all the trashy woman’s magazines and I’d often flick through them for something to do. I’d commonly find scratch cards that, of course, you would nearly always win with. But you’d have to call up a premium number to find out the prize. On one of the scratch cards, (from a Kids football magazine aimed at boys no less…) I won a games console. I will never forget the words: “Congratulations! You have one a Sony PS1 with World League Soccer Game!” I was 12.

– Every weekend for years, I used to go watch my Dad play football. I spent a lot of my time hanging around the changing rooms, kicking a ball about outside etc. It wasn’t not uncommon for the players to be talking about the bets they had on that day. The Club also had their own Sweepstake that most people would bet on. I’d often help out by going around collecting money, and handing them out. I’d always fill in a couple myself. I have several memories around this time of me sitting in the car, waiting for my Dad to pick up his winnings/betting slips from the bookies.

– Teenage years: several nights out ending in having to walk home, as I had blown all of my bus fares/taxi money on fruit machines. I also recall getting to the jackpot board one night, and lost it all after taking bad advice from a friend. I wanted to cash out but was convinced otherwise. It paid out later in the night, but not for me. I remember how unusually down it made me feel.

– Football Accumulator; Early Twenties: I needed Rangers to draw with Lyon for £500. It was 1-0 Lyon with ten minutes to go. This was the first time I recall feeling hurt and frustrated about losing a bet:

“Benzema looked certain to net when he rounded McGregor but, with the goal at his mercy, shot straight at the covering Whittaker and the keeper recovered to block the follow-up effort.

Rangers charged straight up the park and Barry Ferguson slid the ball into the six yard box, only for Darcheville to somehow divert it on to the crossbar and over with his shin.

The Ibrox crowd were further stunned when an error from Cuellar allowed Benzema room to fire a shot between the legs of McGregor.

And the impressive striker doubled his tally soon after with a marvellous arrowing shot, low into the corner from 30 yards out.

A miserable night for the home team got worse when Darcheville saw red for reacting angrily to a tackle and stamping on an opponent.” BBC Sport.

-Early Twenties: In the Bookies, being shown by my Dad how to play roulette for the first time. He made it look easy. I remember being impressed with how quickly he made big money and how straight-forward it seemed. It caught my attention immediately. I would end up in the bookies myself, not long after this, losing money on roulette.

I’ve not spoken to him about this particular day and to be truthful, it still bothers me from time-to-time. Maybe one day I can explore this further, but as you can appreciate it, this one’s pretty personal in nature. I’d rather have that chat with him first.

So there you have it. These are just some of my memories, that likely impacted my relationship with gambling later in life.

It was a time where gambling was normalised in culture, but not as saturated and mainstream as it is now. Sure, there was still gambling addiction and most definitely bad practise going on somewhere, but not on the scale we are seeing today. And with the advancements in technology, coupled with an out-of-date Gambling Act, this generation really are just sitting ducks.

So, until this changes, I will continue to worry about this generation, and, the generation that follows.

– Are you worried about your children being exposed to gambling and other online threats?

– How do you approach this subject with them?

– And what are your own childhood memories of gambling?

I’d love to hear your thoughts.