Viva Las Vegas.

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If you have never been to Las Vegas, imagine a place where every neon bulb ever manufactured since the dawn of civilisation has been forcibly stapled to a single square mile of desert, and then someone said, “Needs more glitter.” 

Las Vegas is what happens when humanity collectively decides that subtlety is for losers and that the true purpose of electricity is to illuminate a 24‑hour buffet offering prawns of suspicious origin I can confirm that it is the only city where you can see a man dressed as Elvis, a woman dressed as a flamingo, and a person who appears to be dressed as existential despair, all before breakfast. The airport alone is a psychological test. You step off the plane, and immediately there are slot machines. Slot machines. In the airport. This is like putting a treadmill in a kebab shop: cruel, confusing, and guaranteed to make someone cry.

The first thing you notice on the Strip is that every hotel is trying to out‑Vegas the others. One has a volcano. Another has a pyramid. Another has a pirate ship. I’m fairly certain one of them has a functioning black hole, because I lost £40 in there and it has not been seen since. The hotels are so large that if you ask for directions, the staff hand you a map, a compass, and a small emotional support ferret.Then there are the shows. Vegas has shows for every taste: magic shows, acrobatic shows, shows featuring tigers, shows featuring magicians who claim they can communicate with tigers, and shows featuring tigers who claim they can communicate with magicians. I attended one show where a man in sequins made a helicopter appear on stage. A helicopter. Meanwhile, I struggle to make a sandwich appear in my own kitchen.

Of course, you cannot discuss Vegas without discussing gambling. Gambling is the city’s main industry, followed closely by regret. The casinos are designed to keep you inside forever. There are no clocks. There are no windows. There are no signs that say “Go home, you’ve been here since Tuesday.” Instead, there are flashing lights, cheerful noises, and cocktail servers who glide around like benevolent angels carrying drinks that taste like fruit and poor decisions.I sat at a blackjack table next to a man who claimed he had a “system.” His system appeared to be losing money at an alarming rate while shouting “THE CARDS ARE A METAPHOR.” I asked him what they were a metaphor for, and he said, “My ex‑wife.” I decided it was best not to pursue the matter.

Outside, the streets are filled with people who have made bold wardrobe choices. You will see tourists wearing shorts so bright they can be used to signal aircraft. You will see stag parties dressed as superheroes. You will see hen parties dressed as… well, I’m not sure what they’re dressed as, but I’m confident the outfits violate at least three international treaties.And yet, despite all this chaos, Vegas is magnificent. It is loud, ridiculous, and completely unashamed of itself. It is the world’s greatest monument to the idea that life should occasionally be lived with the subtlety of a marching band falling down a staircase. 

Viva Las Vegas indeed  a place where the improbable becomes the inevitable, and the inevitable becomes a story you will never tell your family.

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