This unsteady camera shot is in one take, albeit speeded-up to get to the end of the Flamingo Hotel corridor, that much sooner. These corridors freaked out Mrs Monk and you can hear her speaking after I had calmed her down, somewhat. You can also hear the sound of the casino symphony of one armed bandits that sing-along as you walk about the acres of casino carpet. See this story.
Maxjet had honoured their promise, to provide us with a free round-trip to Las Vegas, Nevada. See the full story on Shoestringonline.co.uk.
Sadly, Maxjet are no longer with us, but this was the only other place they flew to, so we went along with their agenda, wondering if we would ever have chosen to go there, if it were not a free trip. We are not exactly into the Elton John, and Barry Manilow, Vegas thing, but what the hell.
The Flamingo Hotel is a famous place since it has been there a long time in one form or another, and the early Bugsey Malone gangster connection is commemorated by a brass plaque in the garden that surrounds the mega pool, which is far too patronised to contemplate bathing within, particularly for Mrs Monk, who swims functionally and not recreationally. (see this) (and this)
We moved to the Flamingo to escape the solitude and wilderness of the Hilton at the other end of town.
Mrs Monk moved us to the more central Flamingo, attracted by a good deal discovered on the laptop, but when we arrived, the journey to our room proved challenging to Mrs Monk who became distressed by the endless claustrophobia of the hotel corridors, and the casino symphony, and the losing.
Watch the movie, if you please.