Lucky numbers...

I guess that sometimes we all dream about winning the lottery and we all have our own thoughts about what we would do with the money. Mine are simple enough; they involve a camper van, a boat and a minimalist house by the sea that has a huge attic room with glass doors that run along its entire length leading onto a hardwood and steel balcony. That would do – Oh, and I’d need some canvasses, paints and brushes, and plenty of alcohol by way of inspiration.

I could happily spend my life painting the sky and sea. So, last week I posted a request on Facebook, asking my Facebook friends to each send me a lottery number. And some did, here they are with comments:

Linda Kemp - has to be 42 - that's the answer to everything. Let's hope so Linda, let's hope so.

Janet Dykes - number: 8... do i get a share if you win? You may if you can find me Janet.

Scott Mitchell - 29. I hope you're going to share the wealth?? I shall indeed Scott, I just need to decide with which young ladies I shall share it with.

Philip Heslehurst - Unlucky for some 13. That's a bit daring Phil. I won't even write down the 'Scottish number'.

Mike King - 39. My Dad would have been 78 today and 'cos I'm a twin I divided it in two. You always struck me as sombody who was good at maths Mike, not that I'm saying that you are a geek or anything.

Paul Eddison - 23 (it has mystic powers). Mmmmm... mystic powers eh? Well it can't do any harm can it Paul... Now, look into my eyes. When you awake you will believe that you are handsome / funny / rich / none of these (delete as applicable).

And I got others, some of them predictable like Rick’s ‘69’, and others unworkable like Jordan’s ‘50’, but these were the first six to hit. Thanks everyone.

I posted the request on a Tuesday which gave me a bit of a dilemma - should I place them on the Wednesday draw, the Saturday draw, Lotto or Euro? In the end I decided on them all; well it was worth it, I could feel my luck changing as I penned my marks and parted with my four pounds. I’d soon be in that salt-breezed loft, beret on head, brandy in hand, throwing and splashing, smearing and daubing, flicking and caking, painting the storm clouds as they rolled in across the white-whipped waves.

Did I win?

Well, let’s just say that for now the beret will have to wait, and I guess I’ll have to keep painting in my cellar studio whenever I get a spare few hours… one day though, one day. Anyway - here's one I did earlier.