Photograph: MirageC/Getty Images
You’d think that if you won the EuroMillions, the news would come with a full brass band playing outside your door, the winning cheque presented to you in oversized, 90s game show style, while the street clapped and cheered. In fact, in my head, if I win I’ll be on the sofa eating crisps. My phone will buzz with a notification from The National Lottery app telling me to check my account, and there it’ll be, that life-changing moment. You’re a winner, baby. 120 million big ones – or thereabouts.
The first thing I would do is text my husband Tom to tell him we’re ordering a truly immense takeaway. Prawn toast? Yes. Extra fried rice? Yes, yes yes. Yes to the full banquet meal.
Truth be told, I’m a simple sort. But I promise you this – I will turn the dial up to 11 on everything I purchase. You know that list of items you really want to buy, but can’t afford, so you stick them on a wishlist and just sort of gaze at them every now and then? Well, I will turn my wishlist into a reality list. Firstly, a selection of colour-coordinated workout fits – the sort that women in slightly bleak prestige dramas wear when they go running in their suburbs. There will be posh running shoes too, and a personal trainer to make sure I actually use all of it. And to help counteract the effects of my next indulgence: a personal crisp chef, to make me whatever flavour of crisp I so desire.
If I become a EuroMillions winner, I won’t just want things. I’ll want things, from places, made by people. Tiramisu shipped in from Italy, made by the oldest nonna they can find. Texan cowboy boots, made by a fifth generation tanner. Spanish tinned tuna, caught by local fishermen – the kind that demands to be delicately layered on crusty baguettes, not smushed into a squidgy sandwich that’s more mayo than fish. Champagne, which is actually champagne, and not fizzy wine, because it is from the Champagne region of France. The kind that is still pressed by hand … well, foot.
I must have a campervan for road trips with Tom – the sort that is nicer than most people’s houses. Think bespoke kitchen units, live-edge wood detailing, a wine fridge, of course, a fully functioning oven, a power shower. I’ll take Tom to the Lake District. We’ll drive to my favourite spot in Keswick and spend a good chunk of the winnings on the sort of outdoor gear that doesn’t look expensive, but very much is. We’ll go to a Michelin star restaurant, partly to enjoy the food, but mostly to see the smiles on everyone’s faces when we magnanimously offer to pay the bill for everyone dining.
I wouldn’t give up work, but I would buy some office space in Manchester for the magazine I run and invest a cool million for a full print rollout. The launch of an independent print magazine these days should be celebrated wholeheartedly, so I’d organise a week-long Manchester and Stockport fringe festival showcasing writers, photographers and artists from all over the north in pubs, restaurants and bars across the area. Selfishly, I ask the best cafes and restaurants to make all my favourite foods for the event – there will be a lot of tacos, a lot of oysters – and Limp Bizkit will play at the official launch event at Castlefield Bowl. I’ll invest in art; perhaps an original Velázquez, or a couple of Monet minor works, just to brighten up the office loos, you know?
The house will need brightening up, of course. An original chandelier from the Ritz would look very elegant in my dining room, and I’ve always wanted a pink jacuzzi that’s big enough to swim laps in. Hell, let’s get a designer in to reimagine the whole place, and a gardener too while we’re at it to hack at the jungle that currently grows in my back garden. I’ll want one of those smart fridges too: double-width, with an ice machine and a robot voice that tells me things I don’t need my fridge to tell me, like the weather forecast.
But who can think too much of home when there’s a whole world to explore? I’ll book an elegant island-hopping holiday in Greece with friends to relax, adding a yacht for Tom. Nothing big, just a 24-footer for shorter voyages to pick us up when we get there. I’ll also book a month-long, state-by-state sandwich tour of the US, to finally settle the debates about cheesesteaks, hoagies, bagels, egg cheeses, and beef and pepper. And I’ll commission my dream sandwich – panko breadcrumbed chicken schnitzel, juicy pork loin, salsa verde, olive tapenade, and black truffle crisps inside, with a herbaceous chicken gravy to dip it in. A little beer to wash it down with. Come on.
