heads & tails
1p play 10p jp
margate 1973
6yrs old
First m/c u ever remembered as a child
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Martal~Wombat
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trayhop123
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Sounds like a Super Nudge Gambler ?trayhop123 wrote:1p a go £1 jp ,,,,,,,,,,big round red and mustard yellow buttons
made a very loud mechanical noise whilst nudging
cant remember name though
For me it was a machine called Crossbow - 3 of said symbols for 50p JP at Butlins Skegness when I was about 6. At that time the free fun fair rocked and the 'Beach comber' bar had an hourly storm where the lights would flicker, the 'landscape' on the walls would change to stormy graphics and there would be loads of thunder cracking through the speakers. 3 mins later back to normal, classic idea that hasn't been reproduced much over the years in any form.
Confucius say "man who know wombat know more than stupid looking monkey"
I think it's got to be a JPM each way nudger. Had one in the garage. Made a noise like thunder. 5p play/£1 jptrayhop123 wrote:1p a go £1 jp ,,,,,,,,,,big round red and mustard yellow buttons
made a very loud mechanical noise whilst nudging
cant remember name though
This is a mark III version.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=ZOmQJo1t3Z0
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trayhop123
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- Posts: 4901
- Joined: Tue Jan 22, 2008 9:21 pm
- Location: leicester
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trayhop123
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Bertster_ADS
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- Joined: Wed Sep 19, 2007 7:59 pm
- Location: UK
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; a proud and honest winner. I had no doubt in my mind I'd work the thing out and win more. I had won. It was my money now.
My pocket was heavier. Definitely. What a catch, I could buy something and still be in profit. A cone of chips. I'd buy two cones of chips for my parents, we'd share them out, on the beach. Nothing like chips on the beach. Doused in vinegar, rattling in salt, drenched, entrenched, infused with vinegar. Soaking through and dripping out the hole in the bottom of the cone. Wait. Wait. You're untouchable. You are untouchable. There is so much more to find out. Action nudges, nudges....what's a nudge? What is a nudge? How can I label myself as a player? I don't know what a nudge is. I think I can guess, it's where you errrrr......errrrrrrr.
I'm sure I needed 20p to work out what a nudge was. Ten credits and no win. A temporary blip. I wasn't concentrating hard enough. I needed to focus. Another twenty pence inserted in bronze and then something absolutely amazing happenned, a slow spin.....real slow spin and three cashpots rolled in. A massive, absolutely massive £1.80!!!!!!!
I had found my vocation on my vacation. I could spend my time eating fish and chips. The occassional sausage or pie. I'd spend my time in chip shops, winning a fortune, touring the globe. I was a born expert. I was one of the smartest in my class and this was why. I never doubted myself. I took a look at the sinking, but powerful sun from outside the shop. The children still played, the parents still snoozed, the motorboats still hummed. The tide had turned though, the golden sands were diminishing. The sand castle and wall I had made earlier was standing up to a pounding now. I walked out the chip shop and peered over the granite wall to where I had laid this solid barricade. How could the tide beat me? It couldn't. I was over £2 richer. I could defeat nature as well as I could defeat fruit machines. King Canute had nothing on me. There would be a continual low tide in Plymouth tonight. Who needed Plymouth Sound? I had built my castle and had set a precedent. The sandy part of the beach would be there tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Now all I had to do was win the jackpot. For someone of my calibre, it'd be a walk in the park. I returned into the chip shop parlour for the final bout of JG vs machine. It wasn't really fair on the machine, but I needed to leave every stone unturned. There were still a few odds and ends that puzzled me.
I was a pro, an accomplished player. Look at that fool. Playing Super Jester next to me. Not a clue. Not a darn clue. I was the king of the machine. Within 30p I had my favourite feature. Coin link.
2p......4p.....easy.........miss........I must be more careful........concentrate...........miss.........yikes! I was sure I'd nailed it...it was.....it was......it was......no.....surely not.....it was as if the machine had......cheated....would it do that? Could it be so dishonest?...........no.....concentrate....you're tired......focus.....nail this and you're on the way to jackpot and complete mastery of fruit machines. Miss. What a? What the? How did? 4p? Disaster. I don't understand. The money piled in. How much had I put in now? As if I was counting. Counting was for boring people. The pocket was lighter. Things seemed tighter. Those numbers were so hard to get. The barren hum of the reels. The sparsity of numbers and trail helds. Still some features to get. Then.....Aaron....Aaron...Aaron...........quite why this was the jackpot symbol I don't know. Aaron? Mysterious. Who cared though....I had skillfully rolled in the jackpot through my clever manipulations. I had done it. From the jaws of deafeat I had snatched the proverbial victory. I had done it all. I had won. I had proven beyond any semblance of a doubt that I had the minerals to make a lovely bit of extra pocket money, anytime, anywhere. There was just one more question. What was that 'big money' feature?
Half an hour later it was a question I still hadn't answered. A few things had become apparent. Coin link wasn't quite as straightforward as it first appeared. In fact winning more than 10p was pretty good going now. The pocket was oh so light, oh so light. What a downturn. I reached in for the solid gold round nugget. Lovely pound coin. Lovely big golden chunky coin. Go forth and multiply. I let it drip out my hand into the hungry slot. Clunk...bunk.....dooosh. 50 credits ticked up. Tick tick tick went the meter. That would take years to play off....years...aeons.......I'd surely have hundreds in the bank at the end of that lot.
16p. It was devastating. A bank of 16p for a £1. Only about two features. How could this happen? My universe had shatterred. Where had I gone wrong? What had I done? I didn't understand. I knew where my hand was going next though. Pocket. Clunk.....bunk.....boooosh.
It didn't take long. Long enough for the evening to come into the mix from the hazy sounds of the late afternoon. Long enough for the stillness to become a background sea breeze. Long enough for the jet skiers to moor up and have a quick pint or two. Long enough for the Brittany ferry to leave Plymouth and disappear into the horizon. Long enough, for the water, to swallow my sandcastle.
Bonfire. Piss. Great height. Balloon. Burst. Ego deflated. I was bamboozled and dazed. A victim of a fruit traffic accident. How? Why? The answer was glaringly obvious. It was my own greedy stupid fault. Why did I think I had a ticket to eternal wealth? Why? Why? Oh why? Why did I not just leave? I had one chance, two chances, three chances and I blew them all and burnt out my holiday fund. No chips. No cones. Who needs chips? They make you fat anyway. Who needs money? Playing with sand, rocks and limpets is free. Now I understood. I could see. Things weren't quite as they seemed. I had the bigger picture, but at a cost. There was an undeniably bitter taste in my thoughts.
Not bitter enough. The whole experience had been totally engaging. Part of me had absolutely loved it. I don't want to get all full of hyperbole here, but it was totally and utterly consuming, thrilling and yet bittersweet. One thing was for sure. I'd lost the battle, but I was going to win the war. I'd make a comeback. Every pub meal, I'd be on the warpath. Every roadside cafe, service station, arcade, chip shop, next year's holiday. I'd win it all back. I had the skills. I knew it all now. I had seen the light and the game was on.
The walk back was full of contemplation. I walked slowly. I had to compound an excuse, in case it became evident my holiday money had vanished. I was steeped in thought. I had cut my teeth, yet why did I feel like the tooth fairy was still miles away? I had walked into the library, picked up The Sun and read page 3. I hadn't touched the literary greats. Why did I feel this had only just begun? As my brain churned through the new wealth of experience, excitement and adventure, I almost failed to notice the man blocking my path. I looked up, puzzled and slightly scared, who was he? He looked vaguely familiar. He spoke.
"George....I know it's you.....but this is me, you, George. Err...I don't know exactly how much time I have, but it's not much. It's a shock, but this is all making sense now, I know where we are, it wasn't a drunken man, it was me. Listen look, there will be a machine called Deal or no Deal, What's in your box? Noel Edmonds....I mean......sorry this is.....I knew this might happen because I was where you are now 20 or so years ago, but I didn't realise this would happen whilst I was driving back from work, I was in my car and now this, I'm here it's a shock anyway I don't have much time if I recall so listen it's you'll need to play like this and take this feature. You'll have the skills I know, make good when it comes up, the cash will be real helpful. Shit! I mean, sorry to swear, I'm not sure I should have wasted time telling you that. I knew I was going to waste time telling you that as I remember so clearly now that I'd say exactly this, it's inevitable, look there's something far more important you should know. In fact there's lots of things you should know, so much infact. Power 5, another Deal or no Deal, which is a gameshow from the 21st century...actually if I remember I need to say this quick, I know, this isn't making much sense, you're only young, but listen, I won't have the time to say it all, but someone will tell you Power 5 anyway....far more important is five years from now, your Dad will start pissing blood, he'll go to the Doctor, but he'll get fobbed off that's it's old age and he'll get a prescription for paracetamol for the pain, which'll be useless, you won't know this unless you ask, but what you need to suggest to nip it in the bud as it's actually can......"
The man seemed to keel over, as if he was trying to hold onto something, his hands swerving in circles violently, then steadying themself, he seemed to vanish as mysteriously as he appeared.
Words and visions blurred in his head. Gameshows, deals, fives, boxes, blood? What had just happenned? How did he know my name? Was he a guest at the hotel? had he over heard my name? It was slightly surreal. Then the lost £6 tapped gently on his conscious mind and his subconscious assigned the peculiar encounter to a drunken smuggler, giddy on moonshine. What garbage. The words mingled into nothingness. Sitting, ready to be deposited in a dark recess of his brain.
He arrived back on the beach, his parents just starting to pack things away.
"You disappeared for a long time, where did you get to?" asked his Dad.
"Oh errr, just watching the Athletics."
"How did we do in the triple jump?"
"Oh......I don't think we won very much."
The late evening sun dappled on the calm, cool waters, the sandcastles and the mysteries contained, shimmering, underneath.
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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; a proud and honest winner. I had no doubt in my mind I'd work the thing out and win more. I had won. It was my money now.
My pocket was heavier. Definitely. What a catch, I could buy something and still be in profit. A cone of chips. I'd buy two cones of chips for my parents, we'd share them out, on the beach. Nothing like chips on the beach. Doused in vinegar, rattling in salt, drenched, entrenched, infused with vinegar. Soaking through and dripping out the hole in the bottom of the cone. Wait. Wait. You're untouchable. You are untouchable. There is so much more to find out. Action nudges, nudges....what's a nudge? What is a nudge? How can I label myself as a player? I don't know what a nudge is. I think I can guess, it's where you errrrr......errrrrrrr.
I'm sure I needed 20p to work out what a nudge was. Ten credits and no win. A temporary blip. I wasn't concentrating hard enough. I needed to focus. Another twenty pence inserted in bronze and then something absolutely amazing happenned, a slow spin.....real slow spin and three cashpots rolled in. A massive, absolutely massive £1.80!!!!!!!
I had found my vocation on my vacation. I could spend my time eating fish and chips. The occassional sausage or pie. I'd spend my time in chip shops, winning a fortune, touring the globe. I was a born expert. I was one of the smartest in my class and this was why. I never doubted myself. I took a look at the sinking, but powerful sun from outside the shop. The children still played, the parents still snoozed, the motorboats still hummed. The tide had turned though, the golden sands were diminishing. The sand castle and wall I had made earlier was standing up to a pounding now. I walked out the chip shop and peered over the granite wall to where I had laid this solid barricade. How could the tide beat me? It couldn't. I was over £2 richer. I could defeat nature as well as I could defeat fruit machines. King Canute had nothing on me. There would be a continual low tide in Plymouth tonight. Who needed Plymouth Sound? I had built my castle and had set a precedent. The sandy part of the beach would be there tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Now all I had to do was win the jackpot. For someone of my calibre, it'd be a walk in the park. I returned into the chip shop parlour for the final bout of JG vs machine. It wasn't really fair on the machine, but I needed to leave every stone unturned. There were still a few odds and ends that puzzled me.
I was a pro, an accomplished player. Look at that fool. Playing Super Jester next to me. Not a clue. Not a darn clue. I was the king of the machine. Within 30p I had my favourite feature. Coin link.
2p......4p.....easy.........miss........I must be more careful........concentrate...........miss.........yikes! I was sure I'd nailed it...it was.....it was......it was......no.....surely not.....it was as if the machine had......cheated....would it do that? Could it be so dishonest?...........no.....concentrate....you're tired......focus.....nail this and you're on the way to jackpot and complete mastery of fruit machines. Miss. What a? What the? How did? 4p? Disaster. I don't understand. The money piled in. How much had I put in now? As if I was counting. Counting was for boring people. The pocket was lighter. Things seemed tighter. Those numbers were so hard to get. The barren hum of the reels. The sparsity of numbers and trail helds. Still some features to get. Then.....Aaron....Aaron...Aaron...........quite why this was the jackpot symbol I don't know. Aaron? Mysterious. Who cared though....I had skillfully rolled in the jackpot through my clever manipulations. I had done it. From the jaws of deafeat I had snatched the proverbial victory. I had done it all. I had won. I had proven beyond any semblance of a doubt that I had the minerals to make a lovely bit of extra pocket money, anytime, anywhere. There was just one more question. What was that 'big money' feature?
Half an hour later it was a question I still hadn't answered. A few things had become apparent. Coin link wasn't quite as straightforward as it first appeared. In fact winning more than 10p was pretty good going now. The pocket was oh so light, oh so light. What a downturn. I reached in for the solid gold round nugget. Lovely pound coin. Lovely big golden chunky coin. Go forth and multiply. I let it drip out my hand into the hungry slot. Clunk...bunk.....dooosh. 50 credits ticked up. Tick tick tick went the meter. That would take years to play off....years...aeons.......I'd surely have hundreds in the bank at the end of that lot.
16p. It was devastating. A bank of 16p for a £1. Only about two features. How could this happen? My universe had shatterred. Where had I gone wrong? What had I done? I didn't understand. I knew where my hand was going next though. Pocket. Clunk.....bunk.....boooosh.
It didn't take long. Long enough for the evening to come into the mix from the hazy sounds of the late afternoon. Long enough for the stillness to become a background sea breeze. Long enough for the jet skiers to moor up and have a quick pint or two. Long enough for the Brittany ferry to leave Plymouth and disappear into the horizon. Long enough, for the water, to swallow my sandcastle.
Bonfire. Piss. Great height. Balloon. Burst. Ego deflated. I was bamboozled and dazed. A victim of a fruit traffic accident. How? Why? The answer was glaringly obvious. It was my own greedy stupid fault. Why did I think I had a ticket to eternal wealth? Why? Why? Oh why? Why did I not just leave? I had one chance, two chances, three chances and I blew them all and burnt out my holiday fund. No chips. No cones. Who needs chips? They make you fat anyway. Who needs money? Playing with sand, rocks and limpets is free. Now I understood. I could see. Things weren't quite as they seemed. I had the bigger picture, but at a cost. There was an undeniably bitter taste in my thoughts.
Not bitter enough. The whole experience had been totally engaging. Part of me had absolutely loved it. I don't want to get all full of hyperbole here, but it was totally and utterly consuming, thrilling and yet bittersweet. One thing was for sure. I'd lost the battle, but I was going to win the war. I'd make a comeback. Every pub meal, I'd be on the warpath. Every roadside cafe, service station, arcade, chip shop, next year's holiday. I'd win it all back. I had the skills. I knew it all now. I had seen the light and the game was on.
The walk back was full of contemplation. I walked slowly. I had to compound an excuse, in case it became evident my holiday money had vanished. I was steeped in thought. I had cut my teeth, yet why did I feel like the tooth fairy was still miles away? I had walked into the library, picked up The Sun and read page 3. I hadn't touched the literary greats. Why did I feel this had only just begun? As my brain churned through the new wealth of experience, excitement and adventure, I almost failed to notice the man blocking my path. I looked up, puzzled and slightly scared, who was he? He looked vaguely familiar. He spoke.
"George....I know it's you.....but this is me, you, George. Err...I don't know exactly how much time I have, but it's not much. It's a shock, but this is all making sense now, I know where we are, it wasn't a drunken man, it was me. Listen look, there will be a machine called Deal or no Deal, What's in your box? Noel Edmonds....I mean......sorry this is.....I knew this might happen because I was where you are now 20 or so years ago, but I didn't realise this would happen whilst I was driving back from work, I was in my car and now this, I'm here it's a shock anyway I don't have much time if I recall so listen it's you'll need to play like this and take this feature. You'll have the skills I know, make good when it comes up, the cash will be real helpful. Shit! I mean, sorry to swear, I'm not sure I should have wasted time telling you that. I knew I was going to waste time telling you that as I remember so clearly now that I'd say exactly this, it's inevitable, look there's something far more important you should know. In fact there's lots of things you should know, so much infact. Power 5, another Deal or no Deal, which is a gameshow from the 21st century...actually if I remember I need to say this quick, I know, this isn't making much sense, you're only young, but listen, I won't have the time to say it all, but someone will tell you Power 5 anyway....far more important is five years from now, your Dad will start pissing blood, he'll go to the Doctor, but he'll get fobbed off that's it's old age and he'll get a prescription for paracetamol for the pain, which'll be useless, you won't know this unless you ask, but what you need to suggest to nip it in the bud as it's actually can......"
The man seemed to keel over, as if he was trying to hold onto something, his hands swerving in circles violently, then steadying themself, he seemed to vanish as mysteriously as he appeared.
Words and visions blurred in his head. Gameshows, deals, fives, boxes, blood? What had just happenned? How did he know my name? Was he a guest at the hotel? had he over heard my name? It was slightly surreal. Then the lost £6 tapped gently on his conscious mind and his subconscious assigned the peculiar encounter to a drunken smuggler, giddy on moonshine. What garbage. The words mingled into nothingness. Sitting, ready to be deposited in a dark recess of his brain.
He arrived back on the beach, his parents just starting to pack things away.
"You disappeared for a long time, where did you get to?" asked his Dad.
"Oh errr, just watching the Athletics."
"How did we do in the triple jump?"
"Oh......I don't think we won very much."
The late evening sun dappled on the calm, cool waters, the sandcastles and the mysteries contained, shimmering, underneath.
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