On Sunday night, after getting home from a drive out to North Landing near Bridlington, I decided to check my work email and there, in my inbox, was an email from the National Lottery with the subject line "Exciting news about your ticket". Every time I get an email like this I always get physically excited. My pulse races and I jump around the room like a white rabbit who is really late.
So I obviously rushed my Fox of Fire to the national lottery website to see just how many millions I had won and if I should hire a poor person to mow my 3' square lawn. On arrival, however, I was not greeted with congratulatory elation, nor by a man called Jeffery who would take my coat to a small room entirely devoted to coats and their storage. Instead I received a one sentence message which declared that "Gaming was closed until further notice".
Really?
Is it?
I could be a millionaire here son let's get this shit moving.
So I was in the awkward position of knowing that I might, just might be a multi-millionaire but had no way of knowing for sure. I actually felt I would be perfectly justified reporting the National Lottery to Amnesty International with allegations of torture.
All night I thought about what I would spend my newly acquired wealth on. Who I would be generous to and who I would aim my newly purchased Death-Ray™ at.
Turns out I'm not a millionaire. I won £10 or, as I prefer to consider it, 10 more chances to be disappointed. Awesome
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