March 2012
Seventeen years ago when Camelot started running the National lottery, I bought a ticket. Not one number came up; I got the hump and refused to play again and decided I would not to buy another ticket. So I don't, but I know a man who does, in fact he was a small ineffectual, quiet and horribly smelly boy when I knew him. A few years ago I met his sister who told me he owned one of the rather swish restaurants in town.
"He's done well," I said.
"Oh," she replied, "he won the lottery."
I was pleased for him but think I may avoid the restaurant.
Not all winners fare so well; a vague acquaintance, Miranda won £1 million. She paid off the mortgage, paid off her husband's quarter million debt he owed on his art galleries, bought him two other galleries, a 85K sports car, a gaggle of diamonds, took the family on an expensive holiday, bought designer clothes, and within a year the galleries were in the hands of receivers. They owed quarter of a million and she was broke.
Someone else I know won the trivial sum of 250k. She and her partner had been together for a few years and decided to get married. Huge wedding, they took over the whole hotel, three year old flower girls had designer dresses worth £500, and diamond pendant as presents. Preparations went on for a year (longer then the marriage). In total the wedding cost a hundred thousand pounds; unfortunately the couple had failed to check if the hotel was licensed for marriages – it wasn't. It was a good party, though, and their plans to nip into the Register Office later never did materialise. They are now broke and separated.
So one way and another I think my friend Brenda has the right idea, she says she doesn't buy a ticket in case she wins. Maybe she's got something there.