When I turn on this computer, at the C prompt I type WIN. This immediately brings to the forefront of my mind what I'm going to do with it when finally the National Lottery Jackpot is mine.

A simple pattern is emerging, fate knows that I would never be content with a mere ú8 million. No, only the biggest rollover jackpot would suffice. Say ú50 million.

Why? Because I've spent the usual weekly ú8 million so many times in my dreams it has become boring and quite definitely not enough.

That's why fate has intervened and against all the recognised odds we are facing our second rollover on the trot. This one should reach my ú50 million target.

To take my mind off the aggro of the choice of the numbers which, to achieve the target, must make up the sole winning line, I'll spend the week concentrating on the difficult part, how I'm going to spend it.

Remember I've chewed over the first tranche so all the usual needs have been catered for. I've selected the house for example. In fact I cycle past it daily on my way to work. The papers tell me that it would suit Princess Diana but she knows I'm interested so she is looking elsewhere.

Necker Island is mine when I want it and the Lear jet complete with crew is already lined up. I have emailed Alan Sugar as the Expert on the Premier League is keen to take at least a stake in his favourite club.

So now what? Should I go down in history as the man who spent his winnings wisely and saved the nation or should I follow the usual suspects and fritter the loot away in a festive and extravagant way?

It has always amazed me what differences in spending there are amongst those with similar backgrounds and financial incomings. Some spend all they have on their children, education, holidays, toys and clothes. Some spend all they have and more on their houses and even in that there are differences. In some cases the place is pristine throughout with nary a dog hair to be seen. In others the public rooms which visitors will see are splendid whilst the family rooms and bedrooms are squalid.

So it's hardly surprising that the task of handling a large sum of money creates in some minds incredible problems. I mean if you have six cars which one do you drive today? If you have 60 suits which one do you wear today? If you have 300 shirts-remember the scene in 'The Great Gatsby'- which one do you wear today?

If you are the type that makes these decisions quickly and easily on the basis that any of these questions are not material, then you won't even bother to buy the cars, suits and shirts.

So we've spent ú5 million on the house, ú10 million on Tottenham Hotspur. What next? Let's do something sensible, we'll send Lady Thatcher to the menders, get her refurbished and let her loose again. Anyone who saw her utter the immortal words 'This is no time to get wobbly George' knows she is a once off, a true Boadicea. Bugger the Nanny State, bring back the Glorious Granny State.

Then we can ship off all those pygmy politicians who presently reside in the House of Commons to the Leeward Isles where they can prattle away to their hearts content to an audience of each other and bunches of bananas. It would be interesting to see if they could recognise the difference.

This really would be a filip for the nation. Not for her the going with the flow politics of that nice Mr Major or the Emperor's new suit policies of that even nicer Mr Blair. She punches from every angle with the speed and precision of Prince Naseem Hamed.

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