I definitely wouldn’t spend it on my sodding allotment, like this chap.

I don’t understand the point of entering the lottery if you don’t have grand plans. Or a load of debt to pay off. Since I have both, I reckon yon bloke should give me at least half the cash.

Seriously though, there has to be something more he wants to do? He talks about buying houses for his family. Fair enough. A nice new car. A holiday. All pretty obvious. Where’s the ambition, squire? You’re bloody loaded! Do something mental! It makes me sad.

So what would I do? Something Godlike. I’d want to be in charge of something because, well, I like power. I’d maybe buy a really small football club and see how far I could get them up the football league before running out of cash.

Or I’d even consider blowing my cash on the media. No, not on cocaine and crap suits. I’d buy a magazine (rather than found one, I’m too lazy for all that jazz). Something sustainable like Shortlist, with potential for expansion. That’d be cool. I could put myself on the cover every week. That would boost circulation. And employ former celebrities like Lindsay Lohan to hand out copies. Good publicity stunt, that. Metro would love it.

Or I’d buy myself a fancy throne and ceremonial gear, sit myself in the middle of London somewhere, and employ Charlie Brooker as my personal jester.

Or I’d put it all on red. Be more fun than bloody carrots.

What would you do with all the wonga?

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