I have to confess, I really don't like gambling.
Every time an advert for a betting app pops up on TV, I find myself muttering back at the screen. Usually something along the lines of, "How on earth are we still allowing this?" (or, if you’ve been in the room, you’ll know it’s something far less desirable) Before long, I'm halfway through a rant about addiction, regulation and the worrying normalisation of gambling before whoever I'm with politely reminds me that not everything needs a running commentary.
The thing is, I struggle to think of many other products that can have such a devastating impact on people's lives while also enjoying such relentless visibility. Betting adverts are everywhere. Television, football, social media, streaming services. You can barely move for them.
And then there's the National Lottery.
The awkward exception to my argument.
Because while I'm instinctively sceptical of gambling, I'm also someone who works in and around the arts sector. I've seen first-hand what Lottery funding can achieve. I've walked through buildings that simply wouldn't exist without it. I've spoken to artists whose projects were made possible because of it. I've seen communities benefit from creative programmes which would never have happened without National Lottery support.
Suddenly, the issue becomes far more complicated.
That's why recent reports about declining National Lottery sales and falling returns to good causes caught my attention.
At first glance, it's easy to dismiss this as an industry story. Sales are down. Targets have been missed. There are questions around Allwyn's takeover of the licence and whether its original projections were realistic. Important discussions, certainly, but largely for politicians, regulators and business journalists to argue over.
What concerns me is something else entirely.
What happens to the arts if this trend continues?
In Wales, the impact of Lottery funding is impossible to ignore. Since 1995, the Arts Council of Wales has distributed £287 million of National Lottery funding to more than 13,500 projects. That's not a small grant programme tucked away in a forgotten corner of public life. That's a funding stream that has helped shape modern Welsh culture.
The Wales Millennium Centre. Galeri in Caernarfon. Tŷ Pawb in Wrexham.
Those are obvious examples.
But they're only part of the story.
Lottery funding has helped support music, literature, film and digital projects. It has backed community groups, helped develop emerging artists and created opportunities for people who may never otherwise have engaged with the arts.
More importantly, it has increasingly helped fund projects that sit beyond our traditional understanding of culture.
Creative wellbeing programmes.
Arts-on-prescription schemes.
Projects supporting mental health.
Work tackling loneliness.
Initiatives helping people living with Parkinson's disease connect through music and movement.
This isn't just funding art for art's sake. It's funding programmes that genuinely improve people's lives.
Which is why we should all be paying attention.
The easiest assumption to make is that if Lottery sales fall, fewer big projects get funded. While that may be true, my concern is actually for the smaller organisations and community-driven initiatives.
The local festival.
The youth theatre.
The creative wellbeing programme operating quietly in a community centre.
The grassroots organisation helping someone discover a passion, confidence or creative outlet for the first time.
These are often the projects that feel funding pressure first.
And it raises a bigger question.
Have people stopped spending money on gambling, or have they simply moved elsewhere?
Because if we're honest, the gambling landscape looks very different to the one that existed when the National Lottery launched.
Online casinos are available 24 hours a day. Sports betting can happen instantly from a mobile phone. Prize competitions seem to appear every time you open social media. Consumers have more choice than ever when it comes to where they spend their money.
If people are choosing to spend £10 with an online bookmaker rather than on Lotto or EuroMillions, the consequences stretch far beyond the gambling industry.
One route potentially contributes to grassroots arts, heritage and community programmes.
The other largely doesn't.
Which brings me back to my original frustration.
For years we've accepted that the National Lottery should give back. In fact, it's one of the reasons many people feel more comfortable participating in it. Even if they don't win, some of their money is helping fund something positive.
So why don't we expect more of the wider gambling sector?
That's not a call to increase gambling. Far from it.
But if gambling companies are permitted to advertise extensively, generate significant profits and occupy so much space in public life, is it unreasonable to ask whether they should make a greater contribution to the communities they profit from?
Should there be a stronger expectation that gambling operators support arts, heritage, sport and community initiatives?
Could a broader industry contribution help offset potential declines in National Lottery funding?
And if the arts sector has become increasingly dependent on Lottery money, should policymakers be thinking about alternative safeguards now rather than waiting until funding becomes a crisis?
I don't pretend to have all the answers.
What I do know is this: the National Lottery has helped fund extraordinary things over the last three decades. Across Wales and the rest of the UK, its impact can be found in our theatres, galleries, libraries, cultural centres, festivals and community projects.
For all my reservations about gambling, that's something worth recognising.
The irony is that one of the gambling products I feel most comfortable defending may now be facing its own challenges.
And if the funding generated through the Lottery continues to decline, we shouldn't simply be asking how to sell more tickets.
We should be asking a much bigger question about the kind of gambling industry we want, who benefits from it, and whether those benefits are being shared fairly.
Because when it comes to supporting the arts, culture and community wellbeing, relying on luck alone feels like an increasingly risky bet.
