STEPHEN LEWIS pops down to York's new Mecca for a taste of Bingo fever...

'SEVEN and eight, 78!" calls Kingsley Hoffman, enunciating the words with public school clarity. In the hall, you could hear a pin drop as 150 heads bend intently over their bingo cards.

"Two and seven, 27!"

Eyes flicker over cards, felt-tip pens dab down to mark off the number.

"Eight and four, 84!"

"House!" shouts a jubilant voice, and a hand shoots into the air across the other side of the room.

There's a sudden slackening of tension. People lean back in their seats and let out sighs of relief as someone runs over to check the winning card.

Sheila Mason, 72, gives a grimace of frustration and glances at her daughter Margaret Gray. "I only wanted two for the full house," she grumbles.

It's a Thursday afternoon a week after the grand opening of the new purpose-built £4.2 million Mecca Bingo hall in York's Fishergate. That was on April 2 - it was April Fool's Day the day before, which wouldn't have been at all appropriate, points out manager Kevin Farnsworth - and the 900-seat hall was packed for a glitzy event which included an appearance by the Abba tribute band Voulez Vous.

This afternoon, it is quieter - but even with just 150 people, it manages to look pleasantly busy. Which is exactly how it was designed, says Kevin.

Nine hundred seats is fairly compact for a bingo hall - in Manchester, they have 2,000-seater halls and even the old hall in the former Rialto next door in Fishergate could hold 1,500 - but it makes for a better atmosphere. "You can easily seat six, seven, eight hundred people, but on an afternoon like this with 150 people in, it still looks busy," says Kevin.

As anyone who lives in York knows, the opening of the new bingo hall marks the end of the road for the old Rialto.

In a couple of months or so, says Kevin, once all the asbestos has been stripped out and scaffolding put up to make sure the building falls in the right direction (ie away from Fishergate) it will be pulled down to make way for a car park. On the land behind will be more new flats.

It seems a sad way for a building with such great memories to end. The Rialto, after all, is where legendary Hollywood composer John Barry, the son of former Rialto owner Jack Prenderegast, began his career.

The Beatles played there several times in the early Sixties, not to mention the Rolling Stones, The Kinks and Dusty Springfield.

Kevin says there are people who still have "feelings" for the old building. But as a bingo hall it simply wasn't up to the job. Too many stairs, for a start - which made it impossible for anyone in a wheelchair to get in - and it was old and shabby.

Christine Canham agrees. The 42-year-old needs a wheelchair to get around - which made the old Mecca Bingo hall virtually a no-go area.

"I couldn't even get in, and it was dark and dingy," she says. "But I came to look around here and I was quite impressed. It's nice, colourful and spacious - and everyone is really friendly."

She promptly joined - and thinks she may now become a regular bingo player, like Margaret and Sheila.

There are more and more people like them.

If the Rialto was the past, the new bingo hall is definitely the future.

Bingo is booming - and it's reaching out towards different groups of people.

In the past - the days when the callers wore glitzy sequinned suits and interspersed games of bingo with tired jokes - it may have been mainly the preserve of older women.

But as the recent TV ads featuring bright, twentysomething girls out for a night on the town suggest, the image is changing. Afternoons still tend to be for older people, says Kevin - but at evening sessions, where the prize money is much bigger, the average age is 35, and many of the players are a lot younger than that.

Bingo has always appealed to older people. As Sheila says, it is somewhere warm and welcoming to go when you're older and don't necessarily want to go to the pub. "And you can still have a drink here!" she says.

So it's part social activity (many people come in groups, and Sheila and Margaret come together). But then there's the added excitement that comes from the gambling.

"It is a bit of an adrenaline buzz," admits Margaret, a 43-year-old training officer for the Department of Work and Pensions. "It's enjoyable, and it is exciting when you're close and think you could have a win."

There's definitely something of the casino (plus a hint of the ten pin bowling alley and a dash of McDonald's) about the new Mecca Bingo, with its plush, deep-carpeted reception, its games room filled with fruit machines, its carpeted main hall with bar, snack counter, bingo tables and giant electronic screen along the back wall which flashes up numbers as they're called.

That's hardly surprising, says Kevin, since essentially what goes on in here is gambling, even if it is gambling at the "softer" end of the market.

As with casinos, there is even a rule that you have to have been a club member for at least 24 hours before you can play.

"It is to stop people who have had a few drinks too many stumbling in and losing their money on the way home," says Kevin.

Not much danger of that this afternoon.

For the first three months, anybody who visits the bingo hall on a weekday afternoon can play for free, with prize money of up to £300 up for grabs.

Pay £5 and the prize money available increases to £900.

The average afternoon win is more likely to be about £15, depending on how many people are playing - though of course in the evenings it's a different matter.

The hall tends to be much fuller then which in turn means bigger prize-money - and every evening and on Saturday afternoon there is a chance to compete for the national prize, anything between £50,000 and £200,000 depending on which evening you play.

It doesn't matter how high the stakes are, however - the excitement is always there, insists Margaret.

A hush falls on the room again as Kingsley begins calling out numbers. Heads bend over cards.

"All the sevens, 77," Kingsley calls, standing tall and straight, his double-breasted jacket neatly buttoned.

Pens dab at cards.

"Four and eight, 48."

Sheila crosses off a number and waits, pen poised, for the next.

The numbers follow with rhythmical regularity, the hush intensifying. Occasionally someone shifts, releasing the tension.

Then: "Two and six, 26!"

"Here!" shouts Sheila, her arm shooting up gleefully.

Someone comes over to check her winning card. She swaps an excited glance with her daughter.

"It won't be much," she says. But there's no hiding the pleased look in her eyes. She's a winner, after all.

Updated: 10:48 Thursday, April 17, 2003