Through the Roof at Mansion

Once upon a time (two years ago, to be precise), I deposited £50 with Mansion poker. Not realising that it incurred interest as a cash withdrawal, I had used my MasterCard. Needless to say, once I saw the charge that had been incurred, I never used that card again, but instead proceeded to deposit funds with my debit card. This I have done several times since over the two years with Mansion, mainly to play their terrific added-value nightly tournaments. Sad to say, I've never been in the black with them - until now, that is.

Those of you not familiar with Mansion may not be aware that they recently changed their software. Naturally, they sent out e-mails advising all of their players to transfer funds to the new site. I must admit that it was a shock to find that I still had such an enormous amount with them … all of $75! Could I transfer this money easily? No way, Jose! Whilst they were quite happy to accept all of my deposits, to effect a transfer, I now had to provide them with photo ID and a photocopy of my debit card, back and front. This I did, and proceeded to play until I finally managed to get in the black. Then, things started to go pear-shaped again, so it was best to cut my losses and withdraw most of my remaining monies. That's when the fun started.

When I tried to withdraw the funds, I was told that a photocopy of my credit card, back and front, would be required. What, again? So, I sent them a curt little note, reminding them that they already had all of this information. In return, they sent me the usual automated stuff, reminding me to send photocopies. Nothing for it but to give them a call. A pleasant English voice answered and proceeded to explain that it was confirmation regarding the initial deposit using my MasterCard that was now the issue.

"I'm sorry, but I don't understand why you want photocopies of a card I used only once, when I want my money to be returned to my debit card, which I've been using since 2006. What's it got to do with a MasterCard?"

"Because that was your first deposit, and it's part of the agreement that you signed up to."

"If it's so vitally important that you confirm that I am the proper owner of said card, why didn't you ask for relevant verification at the time of deposit?"

"That's not part of the agreement."

"So, it's OK to deposit unlimited amounts of money from any old source without ID, but impossible to withdraw my own money without this performance?"

"That's what you signed up to."

By now, steam was coming out of every orifice, and if I'd been within reach of any living being, I would have throttled him. Trying not to shout at the operative, in case she would put down the phone on me, I said, "I don't have that credit card anymore."

I didn't feel like explaining that I'd left it (along with passport, airline tickets, mobile, cash, and other cards) in my handbag at a service station, and then spent a frantic afternoon canceling everything, only to drive 160 miles back to find my handbag intact.

"In that case, you'll have to send us a relevant statement."

"I may not be able to do that, as it's two years ago on a card that I no longer have."

"Well, you'll just have to get your bank to write a letter confirming that you once owned the card."

"So, because I used a card that I no longer possess only once two years ago and do not want money returned to it, I now have to incur bank charges getting you information that you could have initially asked me for, just so that I can have my own money back?"

"It's all in the agreement you signed."

With as much good grace as I could muster, I got whatever details I needed before slamming the phone down. At this point, my better half appeared with a very large whisky to try to scrape me off the ceiling.

Lucy has been playing poker for 20 years and has won more than $1 million in tournament prize money all over the world. She prefers playing pot-limit Omaha and pot-limit seven-card stud eight-or-better.