Someone won the National Lottery on Saturday.

It is the first time there was a jackpot win since last summer and the prize had been capped at over nineteen million.

Nineteen million?

That is a number that is hard to comprehend. Invest it at a mere 1% and you still end up with more money that the average person could spend in a year. Your capital would still build up leaving you with even more. Assuming you live a normal life without splurging on a massive house or a yacht or whatever it is almost impossible to spend.

I would hate to win it.

It is too much. It is a life changer and frankly unless the winner is an exceptionally level headed person the change is not going to be for the good.

First and foremost it is going to attract scroungers like flies to a shit-pile. You would suddenly find yourself swamped by “relatives” you had never heard of and strangers who all think they have some bona fide reason why they deserve a wodge of cash. You may try to keep your win a secret but that amount is virtually impossible to hide. The winning ticket was bought in Castlebar and I can assure you that anyone suddenly buying a fancy car there will immediately become suspect.

I have pondered this idea in my idle moments. What would I do?

The normal reaction is to spread it out to the family. But that has its problems. Leave the Grandkids too little [in their opinion] and you will be perceived as mean in perpetuity. Leave them too much and they become soft and would probably end up with destroying themselves. Of course I would leave them some but how much? When you think about it, the answer isn’t so simple.

What would I buy for myself? Possibly a new car, but not a pretentious one, just new to make sure I avoid that irritating car test every year. New house? No. I’m very happy where I am. I would probably give the house an overhaul with maybe a small extension but then do I want to have the place filled with builders, painters and decorators? A holiday home? Nah! I’m happy enough renting, though it would broaden my scope of accommodation somewhat. There really isn’t anything I would really fancy. The only thing I could wish for is a return to youthful vigour for myself and Herself, but money can’t buy that.

In all honesty, I think I would sit down and draw out a list of charities. Animal rescue centres would be close to the top and some of the smaller ones looking after the homeless. Any charity which advertises on television would have to be crossed off the list as they obviously have money to splash out [with a couple of local exceptions]. Having drawn out my list I would bang off a million or so to each, anonymously of course.

I’d toss a few grand in the direction of Daughter and maybe set up a trust fund for the Grandkids. One way or another I would probably meet with disapproval. Even scribbling this could be trouble. If Daughter reads it – “wadya mean you’d only leave me ‘a few grand’? Ya miserable old scrote!”

I might add a couple of thousand into my Rainy Day Fund, but that’s it. Anyone who turned up after that would be told that it’s all gone. Tough titty.

I have all I really want already.