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Lord, what cards I hold this evening! I am dealt blackjack on almost every round. I increase the amounts I bet and tip the dealer generously. I play recklessly, paying no attention to the dealer's cards. I have fourteen, and he has six showing.

Hit me, I tell him.

The other players at the table give me disapproving looks but are astounded when I am dealt a seven. What can I say?

Everyone gathers around to watch the big-time young card shark. I start betting two hands at once and wipe out every dealer in the place.

The pit boss comes to my table and watches anxiously. His face is blank, but I can read his thoughts. I could swear I hear him say, Go on, sweetheart, keep playing. I know your type. You don't know when to get up and leave the table. You'll end up depositing all your money here.

He's wrong, of course. My luck never runs out. The pot gets bigger and bigger, astronomical sums of money. They have to call the manager to raise the limit. The manager has been watching me through one-way mirrors in the ceiling. He signs the authorisation, and the game goes on.

Waitresses showing a lot of cleavage try to ply me with drinks.

Not right now, honey, no thanks. Only coffee for me. Sure, you can put a little Grand Marnier in it, but just a little.

A gorgeous kitten materialises behind me,