When I was a child I had a weakness for fruit machines. Obviously I didn’t have any money, but on the rare occasion that I went to the Seven Steps in Highbury for a ham and salad bap, or I visited the Ear Nose and Throat Hospital in Kings Cross and popped in to the Golden Goose afterwards-this was before the shoot out that closed the place down- I would whine and whine until enough coins were produced for me to have a proper run. The mesmerising illuminated strips of bells and cherries always made my heart leap. The dazzling crimson flash of the HOLD and CANCEL buttons, the captivating electronic melodies celebrating even the most modest victory, the dalek- like nudging sounds, the ecstatic noise of coins pumping out - all this made me feel truly happy and alive. Not many of my junior acquaintances asked for a day trip to Southend to cruise the arcades for their birthday treat, but I did.

So it was with high excitement this week that while writing a gambling scene in my new novel ( inspired by the opening pages of Daniel Deronda), I decided to visit my local casino with a friend of a friend. I love my life. If I had said to my husband, ‘Darling I’m going out gambling with this actor guy, you don’t know him, he’s a friend of Francesca’s’, he would have said, ‘ Excuse me? You’re doing what?’ But when I mentioned I would be researching a gambling scene at our local casino with a poker expert I didn’t know, it was all ‘Poor you. Hope it’s not too dreadful.”

I was unsure what to wear for the casino trip. The obvious reference point was Sharon Stone in pink Chanel and a heavy drug haze but I was feeling more low key. I put on an old Victor and Rolf black crepe dress that is a little Joan Crawford in Mildred Pierce and went off to one of the darker corners of Edgware Road where we had arranged to. I was expecting the entire experience to be heightened in the extreme. I drew out a hundred pounds solemnly with the understanding that I would stay until it was all gone.

We made our way to the gaming tables and observed for some time. The black dress wasn’t quite right. In fact twice an absent minded gent asked me to fetch him tea and biscuits, but I didn’t mind. What struck me straight away was quite how boring everything was. There was no glamour, no seediness, no festivity, no happy or long faces. It wasn’t even depressing. Every single person I could see was engaged in one activity and one activity alone: killing time.. I placed a few roulette bets. Nothing fancy. I chose black and black came up. I chose red and it was red. This is child’s play I thought. My money doubled, I went over to play a skill-free game that was a sort of beginner’s poker. Each player was dealt five cards and you had bet on your cards being better than the croupier’s. I took a seat at the table. This game was slightly more involving as you got a sense of the other punters: the chatty American chuckling in large checks; the elderly Japanese businessman in sage green cashmere. ‘Good luck’ the croupier mouthed at me now and then, a little uncomfortable in her midnight blue stretch velvet gown. Gradually the repeated sound of the cards being shuffled electronically and laid out before me and the small decisions that had to be taken again and again lulled me into a rather peaceful mood. The cares of my extremely difficult day- the awful pyramid of misunderstandings and recriminations that I cannot begin to understand - simply slipped away. For the first time in many many years I found myself with no thoughts and no feelings. This isn’t boring or exciting or heightened or nerve-wracking I said to myself. It’s paradise. An acute sense of wellbeing suddenly rose up in me. It was like listening to The Archers with a hot toddy and your feet in a footspa while chatting on the telephone to your favourite aunty and being in the womb, all at once.

After an hour and a half when my money was exactly what it was when I began, plus my cab fare there and back I decided to call it a day. One thing I know for certain: I will never ever go back there as long as I live.