Thinking about winning the lottery made me ponder a lot of things, but mainly, I came to the conclusion that being handed fabulous wealth and never having to work again probably isn't as fantastic as it seems. Now don't get me wrong. A few million in the bank would be marvellous, thanks, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it wouldn't actually make me happy. It wouldn't make me unhappy, but I can't see how it would validate my existence in the grand scheme of things.
Nevertheless, the first thing I'd buy would be a house, a big fucking house in a charmingly salubrious part of central London. It wouldn't be too ostentatious though, just big enough for a huge bed, an enormous TV, and perhaps my own gym. A swimming pool wouldn't go amiss either.
Then there's the travelling part. Not long after buying the house of my dreams, I'd leave it and go back to India. It's an incredible place of contrasts, of warmth, hospitality, and experiences. But mainly, it's the land where you can potter about all day, eat rice and lose shedloads of excess fat without trying.
Then, once I'd acquired a rippling physique through zero effort and minimal lessons learned, I'd go back to my big bastard house and lie on the shagpile carpet.
I'd still complain though; of having nothing to do, of women suddenly and bizarrely finding me extremely attractive, of the dark yawning chasm of unfulfilled dreams tearing into my soul.
All of which finally led me to believe that maybe a huge financial windfall won't be the answer.
After all, what is the point of wanting for nothing? There are only so many gadgets and clothes you can buy. What good is there in having so much money that nothing's beyond your reach? What good's a Friday night catching up with friends if you haven't worked all week to get there? Where's the sense of achievement in that? What will I actually do anyway?
And that is what I've been telling myself again, and again, and again.
I can't help but feel that life is a series of acquiring bad habits and crap jobs, then spending all your energy and willpower trying to quit them.
Well bugger this. I'm going online to acquire a girlfriend. I need someone to complain to and fuck... although I currently have the sexual libido of a door at the moment, which is somewhat worrying.
So, chainsmoking, overweight miserable sack of shit seeks Amazonian goddess woefully out of my league to rub my back and tell me everything will be alright before willingly jumping into bed for mindblowingly below-par sex that lasts about fourteen seconds and ends with tears and regret.
Please form an orderly queue.