Carine Hartman
Chief sub-editor
2 minute read
4 Dec 2021
5:00 am

When life is a bit of a gamble

Carine Hartman

I hate gambling. And that’s what I’m doing. What a waste.

A team member at the 'Grosvenor Casino Leo' prepares a roulette table for play, equipped with perspex screens to partition adjacent players in order to provide a Covid-safe environment, in Liverpool, north west England on August 17, 2020. - Casinos and bowling alleys were allowed to reopen at the weekend as indoor theatres and music venues are to resume with socially distanced audiences after being shut during the lockdown. (Photo by OLI SCARFF / AFP)

Gambling is not my thing. I remember decrepit Hubby sitting spinning an online button three days before he died. I remember three days later seeing R3 000 every one of those three nights being swallowed – R9 000 could’ve buried him, nearly, just over a decade ago (it was a cheap funeral). I remember when we “looked at his estate” his gambling debts were over a million rands – in fact, closer to two. I loved him, deeply, but for years afterwards – what a word for death – I blamed him for selling his family short. That could’ve paid...