We drove into the night, partially through the night and, having been pleasantly surprised at how much the petrol (or, gas, apparently although it’s obviously not gas) plummeted when you got into Arizona, had our first glimpse of Vegas from a full 45 miles away. It was still on the other side of some mountain range, but sat nav said 45 miles still to go and we could see a clear, strong glow in the sky from the city lights even at that distance.

We arrived after midnight and thought the most sensible thing to do would be to head for the main strip and see if it looked like it did in the films. Not knowing where it was we pooled our Vegas film knowledge and came up with a few likely candidates to put into Ms Sat Nav. Caesar’s Palace, Planet Hollywood and Bellagio’s were our finalised list. They must be on the main strip – they’re on the telly. Caesar’s palace was acceptable to Ms Sat Nav and she directed us downtown.

Our sunglasses, having been placed in the cup holders in the doors earlier in the day when the sun had gone, came out again to protect tired eyeballs from the fallout of the sun’s explosion which seemed to have been captured and then poured over every building as far as the eye could (so long as you had sunglasses on) see. It’s like a Dulux paint shop had been hit by a sunburst and the whole lot had landed in a Fluorescent tubing factory.

Which had then been struck by an atom bomb.

Our black Jeep Patriot was just about cool enough to hold its own among the glittercarti strutting up and down the street, though it looked like the tiny baby of some of the ridiculous Hummers that towered over us. (Those, the eye-wateringly ugly cube cars and Fiat Multiplas are on my list of top three awful looking vehicles that should be banned from the roads.)

Having been well and truly wowed by the fantastic over the topness of the Strip we found a room in one of a large chain of cheap uncheerful hotels (spell check wanted to change that to cheap ‘n’ cheerful but cheap uncheerful sums it better). It was a hotel whose aspirations had long ago been knocked out of it and whose joie de vivre had become, after many disappointments and let downs, a tired, world-weary sigh.

On the bright side it had a bed and the bed wasn’t in a car.

I asked the guy behind the desk if there was a gym in the hotel. He said it wasn’t hotel policy to give out names of guests. I smiled. He didn’t. Even though I had had a very long day he looked like his had been longer. I went to search for the stairs.

While the hotel was cheap uncheerful, breakfast was included, though it wasn’t to be found in the hotel. To achieve breakfast you had to go into a neighbouring casino, in one corner of which was a tiny add-on in which you could decant a bowl of the dust that’s left at the end of a box of normal cereal when you’ve taken out all the reasonable sized bits, a glass of either vaguely orange or in another container, not quite green, and as many waffles as you wanted.

Five was the answer before I had one.

Not even one was the answer when I’d bitten into the first.

Even at 8.30 in the morning the casino was about a fifth full. Rows and rows of slot machines, many of which had people who looked like they were surgically attached, on some sort of bizarre life support machine as many of them had credit sized cards on leads that were attached to their belts while the other end was inserted into the slot machine. This joined human and machine and it wasn’t clear which thought it was benefiting more from the arrangement. Was adrenaline being pumped into the people through the wire connection, or was hope being drained out? I’ve not understood what’s going on with slot machines since the 1980s, simpler times when you simply had to line up fruit and then occasionally you could nudge wheels up or down and would peer up into the machine to try to see what symbol was three away. Now? Not a clue. There was certainly an awful lot of “winning” music blaring around – but I didn’t see anyone who looked like they’d won.

Slightly less zombified were the people playing on the craps tables (long oval tables with lots of numbers on and someone throws two dice to the other end and everyone cheers or groans at the same time depending on what’s thrown). There were, maybe, two dozen small tables for a whole variety of black jack type card games.

Add to that a smattering of roulette wheels and you had the carbon copy of every casino on the strip. Lots of drinks waitresses rushing drinks to people at the tables to keep them topped up lest they sober up and leave.

How I wished there’d been a table at which you could just have a simple game of Snap. Or a table at which 8 fancily dressed gamblers were engaged in a nail biting game of Happy Families.
People didn’t look too happy, but it was early morning and most of them probably hadn’t had breakfast yet and no one looks happy before breakfast and so we left them and went to explore the town.

Every 15 minutes the long, fancy fountains outside Bellagio’s hotel fire into life and shoot dozens of water jets high into the air to music. Some of the shows were brilliant, and the big lake also gives a great natural meeting place for people and draws in street entertainers and people dressed up so you can have photos taken with them. I had mine taken with a minion who must have been 300 degrees inside the huge sponge suit.

On the flip side, the city exposed its greasy underbelly on each and every section of pavement along the strip. For every 100 metres you walked there would be at least one and up to four individuals or in some cases what looked like entire family groups handing out business cards promising to have girls delivered to your room. Lots of tee shirts declaring the same as well as A-Frame boards, advertising trucks and stands at the side of the pavement filled with leaflets.
People had brought young children to Vegas. Are they nuts? Are they selling them? Are they in any way shape or form responsible to look after children? You know the big buzzer on Family Fortunes that sounds when a contestant gets an answer wrong. (“Uh uh!!!) That was the sound that blasted in my head every time I saw families with children on the main Strip in Vegas.

Come to Vegas. Bring the kids. Uh uhhhh!

(If the French want their tower back, Vegas have got it)

We thought Caesar’s palace was going to be way over the top in its tackiness but I think the Trafford Centre out-tacks it. (Go Britain!) We drifted around and saw the sights, some of the free shows and played a fairly long game of “find the exit”. Planet Hollywood with its “Miracle Mile” of shops was great to window shop in and we saw an awesome Turkish ice cream seller who had a brilliant routine which involved elaborate methods of taking back the ice cream cone he’d just handed someone. One of the routines lasted about ten minutes until the hapless child finally got to gobble their cornet, followed by him dancing to hyped up dance music (the Turkish guy! not the child). He had a lot of photos taken of him but I bet his boss wondered why his ice cream sales were so low.

We went to a recommended restaurant in the evening which did big plates of steak and salad for about £4. Unsurprisingly it was a little busy and we were handed a buzzer thing which would buzz when a table was ready and we were asked to come promptly when it buzzed as they had lots of people waiting. Meanwhile we were to wait, unsurprisingly, in the accompanying casino.
Well, we managed to avoid putting a single cent into a slot machine or onto a roulette table the whole time we were in Vegas. But we didn’t stay entirely gamble free. While we were waiting for our buzzer to buzz we stood next to a craps table trying to figure what was going on. Lots of numbers, lots of people, four staff, one of whom kept pushing chips round with a long stick. Dice being thrown and people throwing chips round like they were confetti. The couple to our left decided we needed educating and tried to explain the game.

I am monumentally poor at describing games to people and always make things sound far more complicated than they are. These good people were from right out of my stable. In the end they said it would be good luck for everyone round the table if a dice virgin (I think he said dice virgin – he might have had a cold) threw the dice. Gamblers are superstitious sorts, he said, and someone who’s never thrown before always brings luck. Having less than no idea what she was aiming to do, Ella was handed the dice and told to throw them to the other end of the table. She duly obliged and was allowed another throw. Whatever she threw seemed to make people happy as they all shouted “hooray”, or American equivalents, and asked her to try the same again. They said throw a nine and lo and behold, Ella threw a nine. A couple of throws later they had changed their mind and seemed to want a 10. Duly dispatched. It was becoming the table to be at. Ella, the dice machine, churning out the numbers. It was a little like on the Bond films (and she had her sparkly dress on too). Bet, bet, bet, dice throw, roll, bated breath, stop. roar!! People were coming across to see what all the fuss was about. I expected a tap on the shoulder from security accusing us of dice counting, or something equally frowned upon.

Then, disaster. The buzzer went off and we said the words that not many hard core gamblers utter in casinos in Las Vegas:

“Terribly sorry, but we have go for dinner.”

You’d have thought we had just burned an American flag and said guns were bad. Apparently when you’re on a hot streak you don’t go for supper.

If that lot were superstitious before, they’ll only be extra so now because with the buzzer of doom vibrating merrily on the side of the craps table (couldn’t switch it off), Ella immediately threw a 7 (losing throw) and the bubble was burst. The couple who had drawn us in insisted we take the winnings they had bet for us as you can’t throw without being in the game so they had apparently staked us in and placed chips accordingly. We declined but they said that everyone around the table had won from Ella’s awesome throwing. They had both won handsomely themselves and even taking back their original stakes that they’d placed for Ella she had still cleared $110 from the small amounts they’d bet on her behalf. They had own much more themselves, so we said thank you very much and went to eat cheap steak. And ended up getting through three days in Vegas 110 dollars up on the house having bet nothing at all.
And yes, it was tempting to try again. But no, we didn’t. We still have a few weeks to go and the budget’s still just about on target.

As it is we’re sleeping in cars and in hotels that smell of sadness.

Vegas. Tick. Next stop, the Grand Canyon….

(They’re probably putting this photo out all round the casinos to warn them about the English broad who’s breaking the bank, little by little…..)