I don't do the Euro-millions lottery. I'm glad I don't. Otherwise this week would have been unbearable.

Think about it, there you are, left clutching an utterly worthless ticket, while some bloke who once lived this side of the Bristol Channel, before moving, for obviously good reasons to live near Newport, was sharing a £45 million win.

Despair would have swept over me in waves had I paid to enter, knowing someone so close, give or take a bridge toll fee, was about to live the life of Riley.

I would have stayed in bed, shrouded in a duvet, popping my head above the flannelette sheets only occasionally to wail: "It should have been me . . . " or words to that effect.

Anyway, good luck to him and his wife, though, heaven knows, they have already had that in shovelfuls this past week.

As a consequence of their incredible good fortune, the subject of much conversation in office, pub and home, has all been about what exactly we would do presented with all that lovely lolly.

Now, wherever this debate is taking place, someone always weighs in with the "I'd give it all away" line.

Of course, you wouldn't. Yeh, sure you would.

The other utterance is "I wouldn't know what to do with it. It doesn't make you happy."

Yes you would. Yes it does. Just ask the man in Wales.

At home, musing on the big win, my wife ran through a check list which included putting non-mortgaged roofs over the heads of respective daughters and offspring, trust funds for the grand-kids ("when they're 21 definitely NOT before") and yet more trust funds for their education.

This spend, spend, spend mentality doesn't halt there. Oh, no. Mortgages are cleared for every relative around, right down to a third step-cousin twice removed.

No mention of a new car, world cruise, and all the bog standard trappings of ludicrous wealth.

Me? Well, Scrooge-like, if there was any left after the aforementioned maternal generosity, I'd just leave it all sitting in the banks, earning what laughingly passes for interest these days.

I'd deposit it in hundreds of different financial institutions, though. You don't want all those golden eggs in one basket, just in case they go bust.

Then very occasionally, say once a year, I'd demand to take it all out, in weighty bundles of £100 notes.

Bit by bit, I'd then build a giant throne-shaped edifice upon which I would install myself for the day, trying to look even more smug than normal.

I wouldn't need any trust fund. Though, possibly, after humping all those heavy bank notes around I might need a truss.