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Wednesday, January 14, 2009

Should that hand really be growing out of her head?If there's one thing I've always said, it's that I can't stand people who talk too much. Especially when I have to share a bedroom with them. Amelie woke me up at six-fifteen this morning, not by crying, but by constantly talking to herself in a loud voice. She started chatting about two weeks ago, and with each passing day she seems to find even more to say for herself. Frankly the girl won't shut up. She's jabbering on night and day about nothing in particular. Much like her mother.

But the good news is that in a couple of hours time I'll be able to build her a soundproof extension, because I plan to win the lottery tonight. Lisa and I were talking on Sunday about the need for a bigger flat, and we both agreed that rather than going down the risky route of savings and investments, we should start buying a lottery ticket every week.

Having discussed the plan, I pointed out the obvious injustice in the situation. Namely that despite deserving to win the lottery probably more than anyone in the country, I don't have any kind of psychic gift or ability to see into the future, and am forced to merely choose six numbers at random along with everyone else. Which is frankly a national scandal. So I concluded by saying that maybe fate would step in and give me some kind of sign before Wednesday night's draw.

I didn't have to wait long. On Monday afternoon we received a delivery at work from a pharmaceutical company, and there, on the side of the box, was the word 'LOTTO' printed in capital letters, next to a string of figures. Some people would say it was just the lot number in a foreign language, but I know a sign when I see one. My colleagues seemed more interested in the contents of the box; in fact there was a certain degree of ridicule when I rushed to get a pen and paper, and claimed I'd be a millionaire within 48 hours, but they'll be laughing on the other side of their faces when I'm turning up for work in a Maserati.

That's assuming I keep my low-paid job when I'm rich. Which I probably will, if only for the free cakes.

Anyhoo, I put the money down last night, so I'm all set for a life of decadence. I can't reveal the winning numbers here for obvious reasons, but if anyone wants them, they're currently in the recycled cardboard skip at Brighton General. You've got about twenty minutes to find them.


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