First m/c u ever remembered as a child
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trayhop123
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that meet i was on about jg old been,,,,,,,, erm think best leave it ,,,, you've clearly been on the vicks vapour rub a bit too much and im scared you might butcher me with a stick of seaside rock after that tale,,,,,,,, your clearly a loon and if your not on medication, you should be.
just kidding m8, great read,,,,,, touched a few nostalgic nerves
just kidding m8, great read,,,,,, touched a few nostalgic nerves
Little discipline = BIG issue
**** ****
**** ****
Tit for tat I guess. I do the story, you give me the links. As for the bloops, didn't realise they were that annoying. I'll try and restrict their use to bleeping out sensitive info and late night drunken blooping after a big poker session. Less bloops from now on, I promise. Nothing like a bit of nostalgia. 2p play Copper Pot is emulated as well, but I never got the emulation to roll in cashpots/Aarons. I must have been freakishly 'lucky' to get that.
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Martal~Wombat
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Wot no mention of big pertruding large mustard coloured buttons?JG wrote:Tit for tat I guess. I do the story, you give me the links. As for the bloops, didn't realise they were that annoying. I'll try and restrict their use to bleeping out sensitive info and late night drunken blooping after a big poker session. Less bloops from now on, I promise. Nothing like a bit of nostalgia. 2p play Copper Pot is emulated as well, but I never got the emulation to roll in cashpots/Aarons. I must have been freakishly 'lucky' to get that.
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Martal~Wombat
- Senior Member
- Posts: 1787
- Joined: Tue Jul 25, 2006 11:51 pm
- Location: Leicester
- Contact:
I found a pic of one of the first machines I remember playing, its for sale on ebay, its a shame its not working or I might have bought it.
An original barcrest, anyone else remember these??
http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/CHERRY-JACKPOT-FR ... otohosting
An original barcrest, anyone else remember these??
http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/CHERRY-JACKPOT-FR ... otohosting
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mr lugsy
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[quote="JG"]I can't even remember the name. 2p play....£1.50 jackpot?
Defintely had the mustard yellow buttons with no writing on 'em and old wooden cabinet. Big buttons. Big round buttons. Not little buttons. I was only a kid at the time, but big round buttons. A bit bigger than the buttons on an Impulse. Protruded more as well, not flat. Big, big buttons. More convex than the buttons on a Horizon cabinet. Big protruding, no writing, big round, non shiny, buttons which did have a light under 'em. Big buttons. Mustard. yes. Holds were red, start was green of course. Maybe. Probably.
Possibly Frog hop, early JPM, then some PCP stuff. I remember Sidewinder, Adders and Ladders and jeeez I never was much good with names. In a seaside arcade near Plymouth. Big round mustard no writing bulbous perspexy buttons. Names weren't important back then. There were no message boards, no bulletin boards, no Intranet linking the White House with.....some other things. Nothing. No Internet. Nope. Well it was a twinkle in somebody's eye. Who needed names?
Tried a few 2ps begged off the parents. Same-same-any. That's what you aimed for. 4p win. Get in.
Fact: Winning 4p from Same-same-any back then was more exciting than getting a £105 top now! It's like Christmas, the magic goes as you get older.
Come on then, let's have a story, a real life story. No sign of Nudgeman and Robin in this one. With a little fictional twist at some point. Come on, Easter story, here goes.......make yourself a drink, kick back and relax.
"Paradox of the fruit machinist"
The first machine I really cut my teeth on was Copper Pot with Aarons as one of the symbols. Cracking machine. Lost £6ish on it once and was gutted. From then on it was outright war.
I walked back from that chip shop gutted, sorry Jackpot George jnr walked back from the chip shop gutted. He could have stayed on the beach with his family. He'd just put £6 of his holiday money in a 2p play/£2.40 jackpot Copper Pot. Devastating. He'd wanted to cut his teeth, always had the urge. It was a bit like being gay I guess, you know within yourself you're different. That's how it is supposedly, isn't it? Anyway he wasn't gay, but he knew he was a fruit obsessive. His grandad loved the horses. The only thing he liked was the peculiar music on Channel 4 when it came on the old Black and White TV. The music was the best bit. Gambling in purer forms didn't seem to interest him, but the hummm, the buzz and the clatter, the multitude of complex flashing lights drew him in.
He'd cut his teeth and it would all made sense. He wanted it to make sense. Putting in 6p to try and get same-same-any didn't really teach you much. Putting in a whole £6 and then some, taught you a whole lot more. Trail held, feature repeat, coin link, it all started to make sense. Thin rectangular buttons. A loud chunking. All backed by the unbeatable essence of chip shop on sea front and the lyrical sound of the waves breaking on the rocks. There was something really enticing about the electric blue button that frenetically lit up when a respin dropped in. A synapse intrigued.
It was late afternoon, mid August 1989, ten years old. Double figures. Definitely old enough to try big boy stuff. His parents lay on the beach. The sun glared down and JG placed a beach towel over his face. It was low tide, a low spring tide at that. This presented lots of opportunity for examining rock pools, and marvelling at the revealed sand which rarely showed on this shingle beach. No more wincing as bare feet stepped gingerly over jagged stone and ground down broken glass from ancient smuggler's moonshine. The low, low tide had revealed a flat sandy area, normally only seen on the 'proper' beach a couple of miles down the road. The sloping beach gradient had flatenned out and as such the waves started to roll in. There wasn't much breeze, so they were only small waves. A cove, the beach was quite well sheltered. One direction took you into Plymouth, the Barbican, Nelson playing bowls, warships in the dockyard. The other direction was an open bay, wide open, cross channel ferries, sailing boats that looked like midges on the horizon. Beautiful blue clear waters, the Eddystone lighthouse a fair few miles off the coastline.
JG had explored to his hearts content. He'd prised off a few of the weaker limpets from the rocks, not being of cruel disposition, he'd deposited them back where they came and let them get a better grip. A crab had made an appearance and he'd joined in with some other revellers as they played with the cantankerous creature. He'd whacked a few skimmers across the bay. He could only manage four, but some of the other older lads would get eight or nine. The tide was so low, it was an easy swimming distance to some of the closer moorings in the bay, buoys which normally bobbed a strong five minute swim out to sea, were within easy reach now, practically wading distance. A faint nautical hubbub smooched through the haze from Plymouth docks. Then a whining jet ski, occassionally an angry burst of lawn mower amplitude violently rendering the peaceful continued slushing of the gentle rollers. Low tide was lazy, relaxed and fun. A sand barrier was needed to keep the world like this, to keep the sea at bay. Industriously the most purposeful sand barrier and castle in the world was erected between two rock pools. A few workers on the payroll were given empty limpet shells as a token of appreciation. This would put the world to rights. Still there were more pressing matters niggling the back of his mind. Other things to work out.
He looked up from the sanctuary of the rock pools, shrouded somewhat with the over hanging trees from the cliff path above. Just around the corner at the top of the hill was the chip shop. He knew what was in there. He'd had many hours on the beach. A little indoor activity was what was needed now. He walked back up the beach....oooh....ah....ooh...remember the hot sharp shingle. A quick dry down, the old hoop whopp, take off the trunks, under the beach towel, whack on the shorts. £6 whole change in saved up pocket money. Burning a hole. He made his excuses about going up to the hotel room and left his parents loafing about on the beach.
Ooh aahh ooooh, he couldn't wait to get onto the causeway and off the shingle. The tarmac was hot, but it wasn't sharp. Watch the wasps around the bins. They too could sunbathe and were heady on all the leftover Panda pops on the benches near the beach cafe. The beach cafe held no allure. There was no coin operated entertainment, the closest thing was only a hot drinks machine which was owned by the hotel who owned the cafe. No fun there. Destination chip shop with £6 jingling in my pocket.
The chip shop interior was cool and quiet. 4-5pm and it wasn't really peak time for chips. The sun was now falling down toward the West, the heat was still there outdoors, but it missed the windows and the floor was beautifully cool as my sandy feet stepped onto the tiles. An aura of visual purple still burning from sunny refelections on my retina, I faced the machine and waited for a few seconds as the lights started to make patterns. I wasn't going to put a whole pound in. That was madness. Pure madness. WHO THE HELL PUTS A WHOLE POUND INTO A FRUIT MACHINE? Gamblers. Addicts. Desperados. I fed a 2p in. Orange-Orange-lemon. Quick collect. Bang. Profit. Chunka chunka. Two big bronze medals chunked out noisily. Wow, I could make a living at this. I was amazing. What the hell? I was giddy with the whole hazy summer, Panda Pops induced mesmeric detachment of the whole situation. This was way better than school. In went the silver. Silver was ok. It was holiday time. Like a 5p/10p NL hold 'em player stepping up, under-rolled, to a £1/£2 NL cash game for a treat, I tentatively popped in 10p. It made a different sound as it settled within the 10p tube. Five presses and somehow, with the aid of the frenetic electric blue respin button, I had the letters lit. This was it, I had hit the big time. Big boy stuff. This is what grown men got when they played the machine. They got the bit I was on now. I was a man. I was THE man. I had hit the big time. I knew this game. This was my fortune. Flashy lights, Yamaha jingles and enticing names. Coin link.
Coin link. An ascending crescendo played as 2ps flickered. 10ps flickered. I got the jist and I reckon I had the skill. All I needed was to time it right. I'd be coining it in. Those massive 20ps....oooh some were lit...if I could get there. Three and in. Oh joy of joys! I took my time, studying the rythym intently. It seemed honest enough. I had won almost 70p. A varying timbre of chunkas presented me with a pretty collection of silver and bronze. Chunka, chunka, chunka, chinka, chinka, chinka.....the loud tube payout echoing around the empty chip shop. I felt no guilt, I was a winner. Victorious]
still a good read.
Defintely had the mustard yellow buttons with no writing on 'em and old wooden cabinet. Big buttons. Big round buttons. Not little buttons. I was only a kid at the time, but big round buttons. A bit bigger than the buttons on an Impulse. Protruded more as well, not flat. Big, big buttons. More convex than the buttons on a Horizon cabinet. Big protruding, no writing, big round, non shiny, buttons which did have a light under 'em. Big buttons. Mustard. yes. Holds were red, start was green of course. Maybe. Probably.
Possibly Frog hop, early JPM, then some PCP stuff. I remember Sidewinder, Adders and Ladders and jeeez I never was much good with names. In a seaside arcade near Plymouth. Big round mustard no writing bulbous perspexy buttons. Names weren't important back then. There were no message boards, no bulletin boards, no Intranet linking the White House with.....some other things. Nothing. No Internet. Nope. Well it was a twinkle in somebody's eye. Who needed names?
Tried a few 2ps begged off the parents. Same-same-any. That's what you aimed for. 4p win. Get in.
Fact: Winning 4p from Same-same-any back then was more exciting than getting a £105 top now! It's like Christmas, the magic goes as you get older.
Come on then, let's have a story, a real life story. No sign of Nudgeman and Robin in this one. With a little fictional twist at some point. Come on, Easter story, here goes.......make yourself a drink, kick back and relax.
"Paradox of the fruit machinist"
The first machine I really cut my teeth on was Copper Pot with Aarons as one of the symbols. Cracking machine. Lost £6ish on it once and was gutted. From then on it was outright war.
I walked back from that chip shop gutted, sorry Jackpot George jnr walked back from the chip shop gutted. He could have stayed on the beach with his family. He'd just put £6 of his holiday money in a 2p play/£2.40 jackpot Copper Pot. Devastating. He'd wanted to cut his teeth, always had the urge. It was a bit like being gay I guess, you know within yourself you're different. That's how it is supposedly, isn't it? Anyway he wasn't gay, but he knew he was a fruit obsessive. His grandad loved the horses. The only thing he liked was the peculiar music on Channel 4 when it came on the old Black and White TV. The music was the best bit. Gambling in purer forms didn't seem to interest him, but the hummm, the buzz and the clatter, the multitude of complex flashing lights drew him in.
He'd cut his teeth and it would all made sense. He wanted it to make sense. Putting in 6p to try and get same-same-any didn't really teach you much. Putting in a whole £6 and then some, taught you a whole lot more. Trail held, feature repeat, coin link, it all started to make sense. Thin rectangular buttons. A loud chunking. All backed by the unbeatable essence of chip shop on sea front and the lyrical sound of the waves breaking on the rocks. There was something really enticing about the electric blue button that frenetically lit up when a respin dropped in. A synapse intrigued.
It was late afternoon, mid August 1989, ten years old. Double figures. Definitely old enough to try big boy stuff. His parents lay on the beach. The sun glared down and JG placed a beach towel over his face. It was low tide, a low spring tide at that. This presented lots of opportunity for examining rock pools, and marvelling at the revealed sand which rarely showed on this shingle beach. No more wincing as bare feet stepped gingerly over jagged stone and ground down broken glass from ancient smuggler's moonshine. The low, low tide had revealed a flat sandy area, normally only seen on the 'proper' beach a couple of miles down the road. The sloping beach gradient had flatenned out and as such the waves started to roll in. There wasn't much breeze, so they were only small waves. A cove, the beach was quite well sheltered. One direction took you into Plymouth, the Barbican, Nelson playing bowls, warships in the dockyard. The other direction was an open bay, wide open, cross channel ferries, sailing boats that looked like midges on the horizon. Beautiful blue clear waters, the Eddystone lighthouse a fair few miles off the coastline.
JG had explored to his hearts content. He'd prised off a few of the weaker limpets from the rocks, not being of cruel disposition, he'd deposited them back where they came and let them get a better grip. A crab had made an appearance and he'd joined in with some other revellers as they played with the cantankerous creature. He'd whacked a few skimmers across the bay. He could only manage four, but some of the other older lads would get eight or nine. The tide was so low, it was an easy swimming distance to some of the closer moorings in the bay, buoys which normally bobbed a strong five minute swim out to sea, were within easy reach now, practically wading distance. A faint nautical hubbub smooched through the haze from Plymouth docks. Then a whining jet ski, occassionally an angry burst of lawn mower amplitude violently rendering the peaceful continued slushing of the gentle rollers. Low tide was lazy, relaxed and fun. A sand barrier was needed to keep the world like this, to keep the sea at bay. Industriously the most purposeful sand barrier and castle in the world was erected between two rock pools. A few workers on the payroll were given empty limpet shells as a token of appreciation. This would put the world to rights. Still there were more pressing matters niggling the back of his mind. Other things to work out.
He looked up from the sanctuary of the rock pools, shrouded somewhat with the over hanging trees from the cliff path above. Just around the corner at the top of the hill was the chip shop. He knew what was in there. He'd had many hours on the beach. A little indoor activity was what was needed now. He walked back up the beach....oooh....ah....ooh...remember the hot sharp shingle. A quick dry down, the old hoop whopp, take off the trunks, under the beach towel, whack on the shorts. £6 whole change in saved up pocket money. Burning a hole. He made his excuses about going up to the hotel room and left his parents loafing about on the beach.
Ooh aahh ooooh, he couldn't wait to get onto the causeway and off the shingle. The tarmac was hot, but it wasn't sharp. Watch the wasps around the bins. They too could sunbathe and were heady on all the leftover Panda pops on the benches near the beach cafe. The beach cafe held no allure. There was no coin operated entertainment, the closest thing was only a hot drinks machine which was owned by the hotel who owned the cafe. No fun there. Destination chip shop with £6 jingling in my pocket.
The chip shop interior was cool and quiet. 4-5pm and it wasn't really peak time for chips. The sun was now falling down toward the West, the heat was still there outdoors, but it missed the windows and the floor was beautifully cool as my sandy feet stepped onto the tiles. An aura of visual purple still burning from sunny refelections on my retina, I faced the machine and waited for a few seconds as the lights started to make patterns. I wasn't going to put a whole pound in. That was madness. Pure madness. WHO THE HELL PUTS A WHOLE POUND INTO A FRUIT MACHINE? Gamblers. Addicts. Desperados. I fed a 2p in. Orange-Orange-lemon. Quick collect. Bang. Profit. Chunka chunka. Two big bronze medals chunked out noisily. Wow, I could make a living at this. I was amazing. What the hell? I was giddy with the whole hazy summer, Panda Pops induced mesmeric detachment of the whole situation. This was way better than school. In went the silver. Silver was ok. It was holiday time. Like a 5p/10p NL hold 'em player stepping up, under-rolled, to a £1/£2 NL cash game for a treat, I tentatively popped in 10p. It made a different sound as it settled within the 10p tube. Five presses and somehow, with the aid of the frenetic electric blue respin button, I had the letters lit. This was it, I had hit the big time. Big boy stuff. This is what grown men got when they played the machine. They got the bit I was on now. I was a man. I was THE man. I had hit the big time. I knew this game. This was my fortune. Flashy lights, Yamaha jingles and enticing names. Coin link.
Coin link. An ascending crescendo played as 2ps flickered. 10ps flickered. I got the jist and I reckon I had the skill. All I needed was to time it right. I'd be coining it in. Those massive 20ps....oooh some were lit...if I could get there. Three and in. Oh joy of joys! I took my time, studying the rythym intently. It seemed honest enough. I had won almost 70p. A varying timbre of chunkas presented me with a pretty collection of silver and bronze. Chunka, chunka, chunka, chinka, chinka, chinka.....the loud tube payout echoing around the empty chip shop. I felt no guilt, I was a winner. Victorious]
still a good read.
