At around this time last night, I was just settling down for my first proper bingo session. Bingo was part of the itinery for the evening set out by Steph, as it was her birthday we were celebrating.

I remember being pretty relaxed before my first trip to the casino earlier this year, but I was increasingly apprehensive about the bingo. The preconceptions about the punter demographics within the bingo hall (which were spot on) and the potential seriousness that said punters take their bingo (also reasonably well founded) seemed to contrast dangerously with us - a group of eight, slightly pissed up and giggly young 'uns. I figured that as long as we didn't win anything, we'd be safe from any physical retribution from any hardcore bingo types.

Turning up just as the main session was starting didn't help at all. I managed to get my backside on a seat and get my dabber ready just as the guy was reading the first numbers out. Sadly there was no little ducks, fat ladies or Maggie's dens - delivery of those crucial numbers were delivered in a somewhat serious and uninspringing style, although with just the slightest little hint of something that I can only really describe as 'tinpot local radio DJ camp'.

I was trying to concentrate on the six cards in front of me, and initially found it a bit difficult. I was still thinking that we'd be okay if we just played it cool, when one of our party shouted "line" in the first game. Beginner's luck? No. An strategically placed finger holding down her card hid a number that hadn't been called, and so the first shout of the night was a false call. Maybe we didn't have to win to get taken home in an ambulance.

However, we started to win. Between the eight of us we won