Well, it was the Euromillions lottery draw last night.
Eighty-odd million pounds went up for grabs.
After waving Hannah off on the school bus yesterday morning, I (like many others around Europe, no doubt) merrily skipped off to buy my ticket in the hope that I was “The One”….The winner!
Wanna know a secret?…
It wasn’t me *looks glum*
Ah well. Not this time anyway, but hopefully, someday soon, it could be.
And I anticipate my winnings will be significantly more than the £6.20 I collected from the newsagents a few weeks ago (I was overwhelmed with glee at this triumph, btw – it’s not exactly a life changing amount, is it? but it takes very little to get me excited nowadays!)
Actually, it appears that no-one won it, because on Friday the jackpot goes up to £95,000,000. Wowzers! (I cannot believe I just used the word “wowzers” in a post. I am so sad)
I’m fascinated to hear what other people would do with a humongous, mahoosive lottery win: The majority of discussions have revolved around people buying a big house somewhere sunny, and maybe a few fancy cars, cruising the world and purchasing tons of designer gear…oh, and maybe helping out a few family members or friends.
But then what?
All that fancy stuff might probably get a bit boring after a bit. You could swap that Aston Martin (yum!) you bought a month ago for something else…that 10 bedroomed house you purchased just isn’t big enough anymore – even though you really only need a couple of bedrooms…those swanky designer clothes are straining at the seams after all that champagne you’ve been quaffing, your liver will start to complain and all that rich food you’re gobbling down might well just take its toll on your health.
It’d probably just become a life crammed with ‘throw away’ stuff with very little substance.
If you’re really unlucky, you might throw away a few friends too, or you’ll get a bit carried away with yourself, think you’re better than everyone else and start treating people differently. That wouldn’t be good, would it?
The First Epistle to Timothy says “For the love of money is the root of all evil” – Good old Tim. He may just well have had a point there. But I suppose it all depends on how people deal with affluence.
Let’s be clear here though; no matter how much money someone has, when it’s time to shuffle off this mortal coil, their financial status will mean nothing, nada, zilch. When Big G says it’s time to go, then that’s it, take a bow because it’s curtain call time.
Blimey! Hark at me, eh?…I doubt Camelot would ever want to employ me to sell their lottery tickets, would they?
Ah well, never mind.
Now, don’t get me wrong; many years ago, I too may have considered purchasing a fancy car or a big house and it’s nice to be able to have nice things. I get it. I like nice things too. However, since Hannah’s been around, my perspective on life has completely changed.
And for the better, in my opinion.
I’ve been fortunate in that I’ve never asked anyone for financial help – apart from a mortgage, of course – although since Hannah arrived, that’s changed a bit and I’ve had to bite the bullet and ask the ‘powers that be’ for expensive equipment and other stuff that she’s needed. It feels very uncomfortable having to ask for something…I’m a very proud woman, you know! I don’t recall ever genuinely envying anyone for having something I couldn’t afford and I’ve never been interested in “keeping up with the Joneses” or felt the need to parade what I did have, but I certainly no longer aspire to investing in any of that stuff above…although I REALLY wouldn’t turn my nose up if anyone wanted to buy me an Aston Martin Vanquish (but I may need a little extra help to reach the pedals – I, like Hannah, am slightly vertically challenged!).
I see nothing wrong in us all having aspirations. It’s nice. But it’s probably not so nice when it becomes all-consuming and after all, what do we actually need in life?
We NEED our health. We NEED food. We NEED to breathe (it does help!). We NEED warmth and shelter. These are just some of the basic but most fundamental things we ACTUALLY need.
Hannah (like many other disabled kids) needs lots of other things too…she needs to be able to communicate, she needs a new buggy rather than her uncomfortable wheelchair that doesn’t meet her needs, she needs someone to watch out for her all the time, she needs therapy to help her reach her potential and so on and so forth.
Probably quite a large proportion of all the other frilly capitalist stuff we all purchase is perhaps want we ‘want’, rather than what we ‘need’. There’s a big difference.
So, after all that waffle, I suppose I’d better enlighten you as to what I’d do with a life changing amount of money.
First off, I’d sort out a few people.
Not in a gangland kind of way….although….hmmm *puts index finger to lips and looks contemplative* (kidding!). No, seriously, there’d be a handful of people I’d really like to help out; people who really “need” some help and I’d like to help change their lives so they’d never have to struggle.
There’d be a few charities I’d like to help out too.
Then, me and my tiny clan will pack up our jalopy, turn the key in the door of Broccoli HQ and mosey on down to our beloved Cornwall, never to be seen in our hometown again.
We’d live a bohemian lifestyle: I have absolutely no doubt about that!.
We’d have a plot of land close to the sea where we’d build our tiny (well, tiny-ish!) dream home. Nothing particularly fancy schmancy, just nice and comfortable. But it’d have quite a lot of land with it… I’ll get to the reason behind that in a minute. There’d be no swimming pool…but there would be a hydrotherapy pool. It’d be completely accessible for Hannah and kitted out to meet her current and future needs.
I’d have a cleaner…what an extravagance! FINALLY, I’d have a spotlessly clean house!!!
Hip Hip Hoorah!!!!!!
We’d visit the beach most days, join our friends there for barbecues occasionally and watch the sun go down with a few beers on a warm evening. I’m sure I’d still continue to aspire to take Hannah exploring in rock pools and building sandcastles together.
One day, just one day, that will be the most perfect day.
There’d be no need for fancy designer gear. Shorts, t-shirts and flip flops would probably be our dress code for warmer days whilst the skinny jeans, wellies and jumpers would venture out of the wardrobe in winter.
We’d welcome some rescue animals into our family and breed alpacas. We’d learn to grown our own organic food (I’d love a walled garden) and be as self-sustainable as we could….although I WILL put my foot down and resist having a composting loo – THAT AIN’T HAPPENING IN MY LIFETIME, BUDDY! Messrs Harrington, Crapper, Bramah et al didn’t lose blood sweat and tears in their quest to invent a decent flushing loo for nothing…and I’m not going to disappoint them. No way, Jose!
I’d be ridiculously unrestrained and fly in the most eminent specialists in the world just to help Hannah and she’d have the best possible continual medical support and therapeutic intervention.
There’d be no Aston Martin (boo!)…a practical, safe, 4 wheel drive (to get us up and down those beautiful undulating Cornish lanes) would be the order of the day.
Then, I’m going to set up a charity…and here’s where the land around our house comes in.
I’d provide holidays for families with disabled kids. There’d be swanky eco-lodges available; kitted out with all the equipment needed. Families would have a luxurious, indulgent break with staff on hand to help with the care and entertainment of their children (regardless of their needs) and they won’t have to lift a finger for the whole of their stay. The most taxing thing they’ll have to do is decide what they want to eat…and the chef would prepare it for them.
There’d be a centre that provided all kinds of wonderful therapeutic interventions and a state of the art sensory room.
Parents and carers wouldn’t need to fundraise to take their kid abroad to have operations they so desperately needed. They wouldn’t need to wait or beg or jump up and down and stress themselves silly just to get the equipment needed for their kids. It’d all be provided as quickly as possible.
There’d be respite facilities. Parents, just like me, wouldn’t need to struggle for years not having a break.
Oh, I could go on and on and on…but I’d better not!
So, watch this space, my darlings…I don’t know when it’s going to happen, but it will… One day, just one day (hopefully on Friday!).
I’m convinced of it, or, should I say, slightly deluded!?
And if it’s not me on Friday that’s “The One”, I really hope it’s you….good luck!
So, my lovely people, that’s all for this post.
Thanks for stopping by.
I have a habit of repeating myself, I know, but I really DO appreciate you reading my posts…and don’t forget to come find us on facebook if you haven’t already. It’d be lovely if you could join us – just search for My Kid Loves Broccoli.
Until next time.
This post is dedicated to Moira. Hopefully, one day soon too, she’ll move into her dream house…and I’m very much looking forward to sitting on the back of her lawnmower whilst we crazily whizz around her 2 acres of land.
I really do hope your dream comes true, Moira.
…and to Sonia and Kat…because they asked for a mention! Lol.