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Margaret puts her fingers to her lips and wheels herself away, still grinning, to the familiar green clothed table. Watching her play with the diffident weariness of a seasoned roulette player, it's hard to see how she can keep smiling after, in one five minute spell, she loses roughly the same amount of money that I'd spend on a weekend mini-break in Milan. "Oh, it's only money at the end of the day, isn't it?" she tells me- a catchphrase that I feel the hilariously garish walls of the Monte Carlo casino have heard more than a few times before.

I'm the world's most honest gambler. Okay, so that might not be the most laudable or impressive claim of all time (it's rather like saying I'm the biggest pork scratching eater in Tel Aviv or the toboggan champion of Mali), but it's something that I'm rather proud of, even if it's not really the result of any deliberate effort.

Due to the more than shoddy state of my eyesight (caused by ocular albinism, disability fact fans), I'm genetically rather ill disposed to cheat at poker, black jack or indeed most other forms of gambling that you can think of. Hence I've never had the urge to topple my change into a slot machine, put a bet on the horses or even slide my chips over the green baize in a casino. There's many a disabled person, however, who does. That's why I'm staking out the Monte Carlo casino in the tax haven playground of Monaco.

With the arrival of the in the UK still looking a very likely prospect (despite the recent rebuff in the House of Lords), it looks certain that there will be many more Brits like Margaret who will be able to gamble without heading off to this Riviera tax haven. Yet unlike Margaret, there will be many a disabled gambler who won't have such agreeable husbands on hand with the readies.

has long been a problem issue to those on low incomes and, what with disabled people in the UK still falling deep within this bracket, it's surprising to learn that the forthcoming National Prevalance Survey on gambling published by the has no figures at all on the amount of disabled people who gamble regularly in this country. Commission press officer Mark Lepkowski told me that "we just haven't broken down the figures in that way at all".

Doing a bit of people watching in the Monte Carlo casino is easy. It's ten euros to get in and another ten (plus a jacket and tie for the gents) if you want access to the inner sanctum, where the atmosphere is a reverential hush and you can play with £200,000 chips. I discover plenty of disabled people here, many of them from the UK, during my Friday night visit (though no Monaco locals, who are known as Monegasques, since they aren't allowed to play).

I try to avoid getting thrown out (interviewing customers and taking photographs is strictly banned) as I try to ascertain the link between being a crip and having a love for the chips. Brian (not his real name) echoes the sentiments of many of the people that I spoke to.

"I'd always enjoyed putting a bit of money in the slot machines and on the football, but when I had a leg amputated I definitely started gambling more. It's just boredom really. I'd gone from being a successful building merchant to just sitting around the house all day. I've got no illusions about it- I know there are better things I can spend my money on. But I'm careful - this is my first time to Monaco and I'm not going to leave here too much in the red."

The issue of boredom crops up regularly as a reason to turn to gambling, either online or down at the local bookies. Few disabled Brits yet have the means to head to Monte Carlo, but the advent of British super casinos could mean that the opportunity to part with the majority of your DLA is only a bus ride away.

As for my night in Monte Carlo, I saw amputees, I saw wheelchairs, I saw blind people and I saw a hell of a lot of crutches. Rather more tellingly though, I didn't actually see anyone win any money ...