Legs eleven, clickity click, two fat ladies, all the fives fifty five.
We knew what we were in for when we snuck down to the Premier Bingo Hall on Nicolson St on a Friday night. Old ladies, dabbing their numbers, the odd £5 win. It's bingo, a granny's game. Bizarrely though, visiting a real bingo hall was one of the items on our 'Before We Leave Edinburgh' list. And with my flatmate's 4th year at uni one dissertation away from it's end, it was time to get cracking.
But what we had expected couldn't have been more wrong.
'I take it it's your first time?' said the surprisingly young bloke on the door, looked bemused at us two rain soaked lasses stood in the reception. We were given two 'temporary' membership cards (our 'real' ones are in the post to us YAAAA BEAUTY) and pointed in the direction of the door to the hall itself. (It was totally free to join, which was a total plus for us two skint students!)
I was keiching my pants about going into the hall. This was their turf. You wouldn't see a group of 70 yr olds cruising down to Sneaky Pete's on their wee scooters.
It was MASSIVE. Little did I realise walking past the Premier Bingo Hall twice a day on my way to work/uni that it is in fact a converted theatre.
Checking out the competition.
There was loadsa wee tables dotted about and scuttling to one down near the front I was so surprised at the reaction to us. There was no tisking or rolling of eyes just a few coy smiles and looks of confusion. A wee lady with the most amazing beehive spun round a few tables up, cackled and said 'oh hiya hens' before pulling out a selection of dabbers and getting her game face on.
Tommy rockin' the mic.
A woman waved to us down the front behind an impressively long desk and showed us what books we could buy and advised us towards a £10 one which gave us 12 games. Being super skint we went halfers agreeing to take it in turns of being stamp master and the uber-friendly woman offered to grab us some dabbers from the 'bar.'
The 'bar' was amazing. It was a wee hole in the wall at the back of the hall that the woman in question would run from the desk at the front to when someone needed served. What did they have on offer? Brace yourself, it's a students dream.
Tin's of Tennants and Tunnocks Teacakes.
AAAAMAZING. If you wanted to splash out you could treat yourself to a Peroni or get a cuppa for 40p.
Waiting for the game to start at 7.30pm the hall slowly started to fill. We thought there would be a mix of people. We hadn't expected to be the youngest people there by a good 40-50 years. You could tell the regulars as they shouted 'hiya' to one another and 'Tommy' who was the caller for the evening. As the wee old ladies passed our table to buy their books we got a hello and a smile every single time.
Before half 7 rolled around the lady who had cackled and shouted the second we came in dotted over and gave us some tips to 'keep up,' such as all the fifties being down one line in the boxes etc so we could stamp faster.
'Keep up.' We had a wee giggle to ourselves. This was bingo, not a 400m dash.
Tommy was one of the only men in the room, shouting into his mic what page to be on from his podium on the old theatre stage. He smiled at us and went 'Good luck.' What the hell were they on about?
And then numbers started being called. This was not stereotypical legs eleven and little ducks twenty two bingo. WE COULDN'T KEEP UP. Tommy fired out the numbers rapidly, repeating them twice quickly before dropping the next number. We had a dabber each. Some of the women had 2 or 3 BOOKS EACH.
Game on.
A woman with glasses and a wicked smile told me 'oh it keeps me sharp hen.' DOESN'T HALF. I was in a hall full of old ladies going the full Usain Bolt with bingo dabbers.
Then I noticed the big electronic board behind Tommy. It showed what numbers had been called (thank god because we were flagging), but more so, the prize for each game. I couldn't believe it.
Standard game from the book where only our hall took place: £10 for a line, £20 for two lines, £30 for a house. That was a night out, a new dress, a food shop.
Then we had two or three 'link' games where a man came on over the loudspeaker over a phone line, a game in which other people were taking part in over other 'Premier' Bingo Halls. The prize for a house in one of these bad boys?
£2500.
Yup. Not even joking. If you won you hit a wee electronic button next to your table that would alert the caller on the phone line, wherever he was. Other link games had winnings of £500 for a house, but we ain't complaining.
No one in our hall won a link game but wow when it came over on the tv screens around the hall that somewhere someone else had won there was booing, heckling and swearing. Screw Bad Grandpa, this was Bad Grandma.
The weirdest bit was that we got a really big buzz out of playing, practically climbing out of our chairs when we were one number off. We never won anything in the end but I doubt this'll be the last time we make an appearance. 'We'll see you again?' a few women asked hopefully as we put on our jackets.
Now, I'm a sucker for old people, Up almost ended me, and it made me really sad to see how many seats lay empty in the hall. What other activities are out there, really, that can let different generations play against each other and mix and blether? You're not gonna find my Gran with an Xbox headset on anytime soon let's be serious.
We're gonna go back, even though we swore as we left we'd never come back after not winning a single game. Sore losers much? I'm gonna try and bring a bigger group down next time.
And anyways, my membership cards in the post.
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