This will hurt me...

The house generally wins. Elizabeth Street, Hobart. September 2010. I am not a gambling man. I am more a gambolling man. Punting is a game for mugs, and there does not seem a shortage of mug punters out there. There used to be a lively (if not quite happening ) music scene in Hobart. Now we have poker machines. Now I understand that not everyone wants to hear another version of Keh Sanh played at the wrong tempo and sung by a guy with less gravel in his voice than Nana Mouskouri, but it is surely better than the sound of some poor down and out pissing away his kid’s new pair of shoes in the hope of three pairs of cherries. I confess that I have no experiential knowledge of electronic gaming. As I said at the top, it is a mug’s game and I may be many things – charming, handsome, sophisticated, romantic, modest – but I am not a mug. So I turn to you, the global village , and ask what is so fun about poker machines ?

An Oasis or a mirage? Elizabeth Street, September 2010. I stand at this very spot, directly outside this den of iniquity , and await my second bus for the day to another den of iniquity, the Carruthers Building . On this bus, I can expect to find a number of regular characters, who are rapidly developing interesting back-stories to go along with the monikers that I have already given them. Take as an example “ Japara Bitch ”, so-called for the lovable combination of her fashionable raincoat and a face like a slapped arse. Opposite her is a fellow I call “ Oh we’re from Tigerland ” – or “Tiges” for short – with his tear-stained “Save Our Skins” hat from way back in ’90. At the back are the Chuckle Brothers , a trio of slack-jawed howlers who appear to have recently arrived on planet Earth with little more than the matching tracksuits on their backs. You will also find “ Sparkles ”, “ Manuel ”, “ The Princess of Hearts ”, “ Grizzly Adams ” and a whole host of others on the 7:48 am to Gle...