It was an exhausting day for those of us gambling on the great supercasino decision. The debate was on at the same time in the Commons and the Lords. It takes five minutes to run from one chamber to the other. Actually, running may be banned in the Palace of Westminster but that seemed the least of my problems. To begin with, I had to choose where to go? The wrecking amendment was in the Lords but the power was in the Commons. I placed by first bet on the power House.

Within seconds, I realised I had been a patsy. For I found myself watching Tessa Jowell, the Secretary of State for Gambling. As ever, when facing serious opposition, she relied on impeccable logic. It had been recommended that the supercasino be in Manchester and not Blackpool and so in Manchester it must be. The reason for this was because it had been recommended. Eyes glazed. Tessa was ridiculously tetchy. She spoke endlessly about how supercasinos will save deprived areas and poor people. This is her new mission in life: cure poverty with gambling. How does that work? Only the croupier knows, I guess.

She got only one laugh. “Manchester is, in its own right, already a tourist destination!” she cried. The Manchester MPs nodded like mad; the Blackpool MPs sat, arms crossed, mouths pursed. She accused the Tories of being antiManchester. The Tories insisted they were not antiManchester, just antiTessa.

I ran to the Lords. It felt much saner, which is always a bad sign. My attention was immediately caught by a bearded and robed figure. He looked as I imagine God to be. I speak, of course, of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Dr Rowan Williams.

In the Lords, too, everyone was pro-Blackpool but not antiManchester. It took an hereditary peer, Lord Mancroft, to note that Mark Twain had noted that he wished to die in Manchester because the transition to death would be less noticeable. “It does stretch my imagination a little bit to describe Manchester as a destination resort,” he noted. “I’ve never heard of anybody sunbathing at Old Trafford.”

There were four amendments but only one, put forward by the Lib Dem peer, Lord Clement-Jones, would stop the supercasinos. Everyone had said that the Lords would never pass this but peers pay little attention to such predictions. Almost everyone who was not on the Labour benches spoke in favour of this amendment.

Then God arose and announced that he was “deeply sympathetic” to the wrecking amendment. The angels sat up and listened. What was this? It all seemed a bit Old Testament to me. Then, in his deceptively gentle voice, God sowed the seeds of serious doubt.

“I hold no greater brief for Blackpool,” he said and, it must be said, it was hard to imagine the Almighty screaming his head off on The Big One. However, he noted, the process had “lacked that through-and-through consistency which is one of the better-known aspects of one of the better-known products of Blackpool”. I could see the headline: Archbishop Rocks!

His main point was more devastating. “My objection is rather to this sleight of hand by which the whole buisness of the gambling industry has become coupled with the regeneration theme in ways that I find baffling,” he noted. Gambling was an addiction and must be treated as such. Why wasn’t it being seen this way?

I fled back to the Commons, where the “debate” ended with a ridiculous exchange about whether Ms Jowell was a coward. At this I was beginning to see what God was saying: maybe all forms of gambling (even debates on gambling) bring out the worst in people.

The race was on as to which House would vote first. The spat in the Commons over Tessa meant that the Lords got there first. No one could believe it when peers voted for the wrecking amendment, derailing the supercasino by three votes. God rocks, indeed.