Twenty places, four points of spread, and thirty pence between one position and the next

1

Why no title is printed anywhere on this leaf

A page under this search phrase is expected to carry twenty names in an order, and this one carries none, which is a decision rather than an omission and is worth setting out before any arithmetic. The fact sheet behind this site holds not a single claim about any individual build. What it holds is regulation, claim by claim, every one carrying the source it was read from and the day somebody read it, together with the arithmetic this site works in. About which reel-based build pays what, it is silent, and it is silent because no primary source was found that says so.

That matters because an order is a claim. Putting one name above another asserts that some quantity is larger for the first than for the second, and if the quantity is unnamed, or named and unsourced, the assertion is manufactured. A site whose entire premise is that every claim about an offer is checkable somewhere or is not checkable at all cannot then print twenty positions resting on nothing. The invented figure would sit on the page beside the checkable ones and a reader would have no way to tell them apart, which is the precise failure this site was built to replace.

The site this replaces printed five numbers beside its entries on every guide page it had, the identical five on all of them, and that is what an unsourced ordering looks like once it has been running for a while. Nobody reading those pages could have checked a single one of the five. The honest alternative is not a shorter list or a vaguer one. It is to work on the ordering itself: which published quantities could genuinely put twenty reel builds in a sequence, what each of those quantities does to a reader’s money, and how much distance the whole exercise is capable of producing.

That turns out to be a more useful page than a list would have been, because the answer is small and specific. Across a band this leaf assumes rather than sources, the entire distance between a first position and a twentieth is £5.76 an hour at 10p a press, and the distance between neighbouring positions is thirty pence. Those two figures are the subject of parts three and four, and they are what a reader would be buying if the ordering were sound.

One concession, and it is a real one. Lists of this shape are not useless. A twenty assembled by somebody with access to figures nobody publishes could be perfectly accurate, and a reader has no way to distinguish that list from one assembled by picking names out of a lobby. The complaint here is about what a reader can check, not about what an author might know, and the arithmetic below is the only part of the subject that survives the distinction.

So the structure of this leaf is the ordering stripped of its contents. Part two assembles the quantities a list could honestly be sorted by and says where each one is settled. Parts three to six price them. Part seven prices an order whose criterion is withheld, which is the ordinary case. Parts eight and nine deal with what a licence pins flat and what nobody publishes at all.

2

Seven published quantities that could put twenty in order

Begin with what is genuinely published about a reel build before anybody commits anything. Seven quantities qualify, in the sense that a reader could find them without an account and without a payment. Three of them are on the stake panel or the rules screen, two follow from a rule rather than from the build, and two are presentational figures the build itself carries.

The return percentage comes first and is the one most lists claim to use. It sits in the written terms of the build, by which this leaf means the rules screen reached from the lobby tile, and of the seven quantities it alone attaches directly to the house formula’s own arithmetic. The smallest permitted press comes second and sits on the stake panel, one movement away at most, frequently visible without leaving the lobby at all.

The largest permitted press comes third, and under a British licence it is set by rule rather than by the build, which puts it in a published standard and makes it identical everywhere the rule reaches. The minimum gap between one cycle and the next is fourth and has the same property: a published floor, identical across every licensed build, and therefore incapable of distinguishing one from another.

Fifth is the ceiling a build advertises on what a single press can return, usually written as a multiple of the stake. Sixth is the count of paying lines or ways. Seventh is whatever hit frequency or event probability the build chooses to publish, which is one of the ways the disclosure duty can be discharged and is published far less often than a return figure.

Three rows there carry a nought, and those noughts are the result of the work rather than a hole left in it. Two quantities move money in expectation, one moves money only if a reader chooses to use it, and the remaining four change the shape of an hour without changing its price. Parts four to six take each group in turn and show the working, because a nought printed without a derivation is as unhelpful as a score.

3

One hour of pressing, as the unit everything converts into

Seven quantities measured in seven units cannot be compared, so this leaf converts all of them into the cost of an hour. An hour holds 1,440 presses at the quickest a licensed build permits, that count being what the published floor on the gap between cycles leaves room for, and the division is this leaf’s own rather than anything the regulator states. At the 10p press this site assumes throughout, those 1,440 presses send £144.00 across the reels.

Turnover is the quantity every ordering acts on, which is why the hour works as a unit. A return percentage multiplies turnover. A stake multiplies turnover. A ceiling on what one press returns acts on the distribution of the same turnover. Fix the hour and all seven quantities become comparable, in pounds, at the cost of nothing except admitting that the hour itself is an assumption about how somebody plays.

At the 96 per cent this site holds, £144.00 of turnover leaves four pence in each pound with the margin, so the hour is expected to cost £5.76. Move to 98 per cent and the hour costs £2.88. Move to 94 and it costs £8.64. Parts four to six do nothing but arithmetic on that trio, and no further quantity enters.

Two cautions belong with the hour before it is used. The first is that 1,440 presses is a ceiling rather than a description: somebody pausing between presses, reading the screen, or stopping for a minute does fewer, and the money figures fall in exact proportion. The second is that away from a British licence no floor on the gap applies at all, so the same hour can hold rather more presses and the costs rise with the count. Both cautions move every figure on this leaf by the same multiplier and change no comparison between them.

The hour also makes one relation visible that a percentage hides. Four points of return on £144.00 is £5.76, and that figure equals the entire expected cost of the hour at 96 per cent. A reader moving from the foot of an assumed band to its head does not save a fraction of what the hour costs. They save the whole of it, which sounds dramatic until part four puts the same quantity against the twenty positions it has to be shared between.

4

What the distance between the two ends is worth

Take a plausible band first, and label it as this leaf’s own. Nothing primary that this site can cite publishes a distribution of return rates across reel builds, and a figure of that sort invented here would be exactly the thing part one refused. So the band used below runs from 94.0 to 98.0 per cent, four points wide, chosen as a generous width rather than measured, and every figure drawn from it carries that label.

Four points of £144.00 is £5.76. That is the complete distance between a twenty’s first position and its twentieth, in the money a reader actually spends, for one hour of pressing. Over a hundred hours it is £576.00, which is a serious sum, and over an evening of three hundred presses it is £1.20.

An hour read at the top of the band £2.88 The same hour read at its foot £8.64 Everything an ordering by return could move £5.76

Five pounds seventy-six arrives from two directions that share no working, which is how every subtraction here gets its second opinion. Multiply £144.00 by the four points and the answer is £5.76. Or leave turnover out: 1,440 presses, each worth 10p, each carrying four hundredths of spread, and out comes £5.76 a second time. The two agree because the rate enters only once, which is also why the figure scales with pressing and with nothing else whatever.

Now divide it between the positions, which is the step a list never shows. Twenty positions have nineteen gaps between them. Spread four points evenly over nineteen gaps and each gap is 0.2105 of a point, worth 30p of the hour. A reader who correctly identifies the first position rather than the second has gained thirty pence an hour. A reader who gets the first rather than the fifth has gained £1.21.

30p an hour between neighbouring positions, where four points of spread are shared across twenty places

The sliver is the argument. On a bar a hundred and forty-four pounds long, the part any ordering can shift is between two and nine pounds, and a reader choosing a position in a twenty is choosing between slivers that differ from one another by thirty pence. Nothing in that paragraph says the ordering is worthless. It says the ordering is worth thirty pence a position an hour, which is a figure somebody can weigh against the effort of establishing it.

5

The quantity nobody sorts by, which moves more

Set the second published quantity beside the first and the ordering turns over. The smallest press a build will accept is printed on the stake panel, needs no account to read, and is almost never the quantity a list of twenty claims to be sorted by. At a fixed hour of 1,440 presses it moves more money than the whole return band does.

At 5p a press the hour sends £72.00 across the reels and costs £2.88 at 96 per cent. At 10p it sends £144.00 and costs £5.76. At 20p it sends £288.00 and costs £11.52. The distance from the bottom of that range to the top is £8.64 an hour, which is half as much again as the £5.76 the four-point band produced, and every figure in it is readable before a penny moves.

Dwell on the bottom row, which is the one honest summary available of what a sequence of twenty could do for a reader at the very top of its range. Pair the kindest return with the smallest press and the hour costs £1.44. Pair the harshest with a press four times the size and it costs £17.28. Twelve times separates the two, and nothing in that twelve comes from a quantity anybody has to withhold.

Why no list sorts on the stake floor is not a mystery and does not need a sinister reading. A press value is a choice the reader makes rather than a property the build advertises, and a sequence built on it would rank builds by how cheaply somebody could play them rather than by anything about the builds themselves. That is a perfectly reasonable editorial decision. It is also the decision that leaves the larger of the two quantities out of the ordering entirely.

One qualification keeps this straight. The stake floor moves the hour only because the hour is fixed at 1,440 presses. A reader who sets out to spend £144.00 rather than to press for an hour meets an identical expected cost whatever the press value, since turnover rather than stake is what the margin acts on. The two framings answer different questions, and the one this part uses is the one in which an hour of somebody’s evening is the fixed quantity.

6

Three figures that sort a list and move nothing

Four of the seven quantities in part two carry a nought in the money column, and three of them are the figures most often reached for when something has to be put in an order. Each nought has a derivation and each derivation is short.

Take the advertised ceiling on what one press can return first, because it is the showiest figure a reel build carries. A build announcing that a press can pay five thousand times the stake and one announcing five hundred may both be specified at 96 per cent, and where they are, the hour costs £5.76 on either. The ceiling decides how the ninety-six pence in the pound is distributed across outcomes, not how many pence there are. It moves a great deal about what an hour feels like and £0.00 about what the hour costs.

The count of paying lines is the second, and the derivation is shorter still. Ten lines at a penny and twenty lines at a halfpenny are the identical 10p press. The number is a statement about how one stake is divided internally, and dividing a stake differently neither adds to turnover nor subtracts from it. Two builds with a tenfold difference in the line count can cost precisely the same £5.76 an hour.

The published frequency of a paying event is the third and needs one extra step. At a fixed return, frequency and size are locked together: if a proportion h of presses returns something and the average return on those presses is m stakes, then h multiplied by m is the return rate. At 96 per cent, a build paying on a quarter of presses pays an average 3.84 stakes when it pays, and one paying on a tenth pays 9.60. A reader ordering twenty by frequency is ordering them by a quantity that has already been priced into the return figure.

The fourth nought belongs to the gap between cycles and is of a different kind. It moves nothing because, under a British licence, the floor is identical for every reel-based build, so no two of them can be separated by it. Where that floor does not apply the quantity comes loose and can differ, at which point it is the one quantity on the list that multiplies every other one, because it decides how many presses an hour actually holds. Part eight takes that up.

Those four noughts are the reason this leaf exists rather than a list. Of seven published quantities a sequence could rest on, two move money in expectation, one moves money only where a reader uses it, and four move none. A list claiming an order without naming the quantity is therefore as likely as not to have been ordered by something in the second group, and a reader has no way of telling which.

7

An order whose criterion is not given, priced

Everything so far assumed the criterion was stated. It usually is not, and the arithmetic of a withheld criterion is the sharpest part of this subject, because it produces an exact figure and the figure is nought.

Suppose a twenty is genuinely ordered by published return, across the four-point band this leaf assumes, and suppose a reader knows that. Taking the top position rather than drawing blind from the twenty gains the distance from the top to the average position, which on an evenly spread band is half the width: two points, worth £2.88 an hour. That is what a stated and sound ordering is worth per hour of pressing.

Now withhold the criterion. The positions are still in some sequence, the reader still sees twenty of them, and the expected gain from taking the top one is the gain from taking any one of them, because nothing distinguishes the sequence from any other sequence as far as the reader can establish. The expected value of the information is £0.00 an hour, and it is nought exactly rather than nought approximately.

So the difference between a list that names its quantity and a list that does not is £2.88 an hour at 10p a press, or £288.00 over a hundred hours. That is a price on a sentence rather than on a figure. One line naming the quantity the sequence rests on, and saying where a reader could check it, converts nought into £2.88 an hour without changing a single position.

Two honest qualifications belong with the nought. The first is that a sequence may be sound and simply unexplained, in which case the reader is losing £2.88 an hour to a missing sentence rather than to a missing ordering. The second is that a reader who independently checks the return figure of the position they fancy has recovered the whole £2.88 without needing the sequence at all, which is the only action this part points towards.

There is a third case and it deserves naming plainly. Where the sequence rests on something other than a published quantity, the positions are a statement about a commercial arrangement rather than about the builds, and the expected value to the reader is still nought while the expected value to somebody else is not. This leaf cannot tell a reader which of the three cases they are looking at, and neither can the reader, which is the whole of the problem.

8

Quantities a licence holds flat, and what comes loose

Four of the quantities in part two are held in place by rule rather than left to a build, and holding them in place is precisely what stops them ordering anything. That is an unusual thing for a regulation to do and it is worth setting out before the losses, because the losses are the same sentences read backwards.

Start with the ceiling, which a statutory instrument rather than a build decides. No single cycle of a reel game accepts more than £5, and more than £2 where the player is short of twenty-five, and neither ceiling reaches a casino product built on something other than reels. The larger ceiling has applied since 9 April 2025, and six weeks of transition separated it from the smaller, which began on the 21st of the following month. Put the larger against this leaf’s hour and it bites hard: pressing 1,440 times at the ceiling turns over £7,200.00 and is expected to cost £288.00, where the £2 figure gives £115.20.

Three design rules hold the remaining quantities flat. Every cycle needs its own act of commitment from whoever is playing, so nothing presses on anybody’s behalf and automatic pressing stops being a variable at all. No build may hand a player a way of hurrying a result along, which takes turbo and its relatives off the list of things two builds can differ on. And functionality letting several games run together is barred, so an hour cannot be made to hold two hours of pressing.

That is the reversal this part exists to print. Inside the licence, four quantities are flat and a list of twenty can only be ordered by the two or three that remain, each of which is published and checkable. Outside it, all seven come loose, so the number of things a sequence could be ordered by goes up while the number a reader can check goes down, and the £2.88 an hour from part seven becomes harder to earn rather than easier.

One concession keeps the comparison fair. An offshore rulebook read for this site does require a build’s conditions to be put plainly and does bar promotion pitched aggressively, so the ground is not bare. On stake ceilings, on pressing speed, on automatic cycles and on running several games together it holds nothing at all, which is exactly the set this part has been measuring.

9

What would have to be published before twenty could be ordered

Three things have to be in print before an ordering is checkable, and the last of the three is the one routinely left out. Setting them out makes the condition concrete rather than rhetorical, and it also makes plain how close the subject is to being checkable.

The first is the quantity itself, for every entry, in the same unit. Return percentages across twenty builds would do, provided each is the figure for the version actually loaded. One build can carry several specified rates at once, whichever is loaded being a matter between whoever runs the site and whoever supplied the game, with no duty on a lobby to disclose the choice. The published figure then describes a version rather than a session, and any sequence resting on it inherits that.

The second is the date each figure was read. A return figure is stable and a stake panel is not, and a sequence assembled over weeks mixes readings taken at different times without saying so. Any ordering worth checking carries a reading date against each position, in the way this site carries one against every regulatory claim it makes.

The third is the method, stated in one sentence. Which quantity, taken from where, broken which way. Part seven priced the absence of that sentence at £2.88 an hour, and it is the cheapest of the three to supply and the one most often left out. A list that publishes its quantity and its dates and withholds its method has published two thirds of a checkable thing.

Against those three, consider what is never published and would be needed for a richer ordering. The shape of the distribution behind a return figure sits nowhere in writing, so nothing supports an ordering by how long a balance lasts. The share of the return carried by rare outcomes is equally absent, so nothing supports an ordering by the chance of something large. Both of those are what a reader usually means by a better build, and neither has a published quantity behind it anywhere this site can reach.

Which leaves the honest position. Twenty reel builds can be ordered checkably by return, by the smallest press they accept, and by the version-reading dates attached to those two. They cannot be ordered checkably by anything else, and the two that work are worth £5.76 and £8.64 an hour respectively at 10p a press. Everything else a sequence might claim to measure is either a nought from part six or a quantity with no address.

10

What to do with a list of twenty instead

A reader holding a sequence of twenty names has something, and the something is not an order. It is a shortlist, and a shortlist is useful in a way an order is not: it saves the work of finding candidates without making any claim about which is which.

Step one, ignore the positions entirely. Nothing in parts two to seven supports reading a sequence as a ranking of anything unless the quantity is named, and where it is not named the expected value of the sequence is nought. Treating twenty positions as twenty candidates costs nothing and discards no information, because there was none in the order.

Step two, open the rules screen on two or three of them and read the return figure and the stake panel. Both are one movement from the lobby and neither needs an account. That is a minute of work per candidate, and on this leaf’s arithmetic the better of two readings is worth up to £5.76 an hour on return and up to £8.64 on the press value.

Step three, convert what is found into the hour. Presses an hour times the stake gives turnover, turnover times the margin gives the cost. At 1,440 presses, 10p and a four-point margin, the hour is £5.76. The whole method is three multiplications and it answers the only question an ordering was ever going to answer.

Step four, do the subtraction and print both figures. The hour at the better reading, the hour at the worse, and the difference. On the band this leaf assumes that gives £2.88, £8.64 and £5.76, and the middle figure is the one a reader would have paid for the ordering to avoid.

Two habits keep the method from drifting back towards a ranking. Write the band down as an assumption whenever a span is quoted, a span with nothing behind it being a figure nobody can rebuild. And keep the hour and the deposit in separate columns, because a cost per hour and a cost per deposit answer different questions and the second is twenty-five times the first on a balance played through at this margin.

What a reader ends with is narrow and genuinely checkable. Two published quantities, both readable before any commitment, worth a combined £15.84 an hour at the extremes of the readings this leaf assumes. No position, no sequence, and no number anywhere that somebody else had to be trusted for.