Or not – as is more often the case.
And I’m not talking about the Charlie Sheen school of winning here, because if having a very public breakdown, banging 7 gram rocks and successfully hiding porn stars in your cupboard is ‘winning’ – then I am very much losing at that too.
And not just because I keep most of my clothes in a suitcase, therefore the only porn star I could potentially keep hostage is Bridget the Midget.
No, what I’m talking about here is actually winning shit – you know, things, stuff, cold hard cash, glorious shallow material goods that make you really happy for about 20 minutes until the novelty inevitably wears off. Like, Michael McIntyre DVD’s. Cocaine – and hamsters. In my defence, the little fucker bit me and he came with a 24 hour guarantee, so he wasn’t exactly in it for the long haul anyway.
Some people are, much to my dismay, born lucky. You know the type I’m talking about. I am not one of these people. I suppose you could argue that I am lucky in many ways, I’ve not had a bad life so far, I have amazing family and friends, I’m in relatively good health and I’m doing my dream job. Ok, so maybe I hate where I live, and yes, perhaps at one point I may or may not have been sharing my bed with rats – and so what if the wasteland that is my love life makes Anne Widdecombe look like a slag?Not that I count myself unlucky in love, you understand – I’m just lazy at it.
God, that makes me sound like I’ve got about as much sex drive as a narcoleptic prostitute, doesn’t it…
What a way to sell myself, eh.
I’m unlucky in the sense that I never ‘win’ anything exciting, and god knows I put the time and effort in. My dedication to entering This Morning’s ‘Midday Money’ competition instead of attending college is testament to that; so is the fact that a few years back I had to have my landline phone removed from my flat because of my poverty inducing unhealthy obsession with phoning up the late night interactive TV Quiz show ‘The Mint’. Although, as I remember, I was always very careful to enter the competitions under the pseudonym Jessica Bevan out of sheer embarrassment that someone might discover my dirty little secret.
In hindsight if I was ever lucky enough to have won, then by a cruel twist of fate I’m almost certain that my actual, physical, breathing, living self would have had a very difficult time cashing in this fictional Jessica’s useless cheques.
And for those of you that don’t know me very well, I don’t think it’s even worth me going in to the whole depressing story about when I thought I’d won £96,520 on a scratchcard. All I’ll say is, if you do ever find yourself in the same situation, it’s probably wise that you don’t go phoning up your friends and family telling them that you’re going to pay off their debts and take them on a massive holiday.
You definitely shouldn’t stay awake all night looking at boats you can buy and clinics where you can get a nose job and your ears pinned back.
And if possible, do try and avoid promising your sister that you’ll pay for her to get her tits and teeth done.
Ninety-Six Thousand, Five Hundred and Twenty Pounds.
That number is etched in to my soul.
This inherent greediness is just another side of my personality that I loathe. To the point where it’s better if I avoid going to the Dogs or Horses with my friends, because I – and they – know all too well that if they win and I don’t, no matter how pleased I am for them, my bitterness will always far outweigh it. The congratulatory words coming out of my mouth never quite match up to the look on my face that’s almost certainly screaming: “I am going to knock you down in the car park and steal your wallet when we get out of here.”
I’m just a sore loser I guess. I want it to be me.
I want to be the girl holding the ‘Big Cheque’ in a Foxy Bingo advert. Me.
Not you, Alison from Stoke-on-Trent.
The reason why I was prompted to write this is because today I’ve entered yet another, probably fruitless, competition to win tickets to an intimate gig with Biffy Clyro that’s being hosted by Absolute Radio. As always, I really, really want to win it.
But, when you consider the fact that the below is pretty much the extent of my current ‘winning streak’, I won’t hold my breath for nailing this one either.
- At Primary School, I once ‘won’ a raffle for a place on the School float for the Wordsley Carnival celebrations, which turned out to be a chance for me to be paraded around the streets of our town, in an unforgiving leotard whilst members of the public lobbed loose change and coppers at us.
- Another time, I was sent a DVD in the post, a little prize as the result of a giveaway from a website I couldn’t even remember signing up to. That’s good, right? No. It isn’t – not when the DVD turns out to be Steve Martins diabolical remake of The Pink Panther.
- I won a bottle of Bacardi at a pub in Exmouth, about 2 months after I’d moved back home 165 miles away from the area; and again, couldn’t even remember being at the pub let alone entering the competition.
- And finally, not forgetting the time I went to the pub quiz with my new workmates and I won a Fray Bentos pie and a vibrator.
i can honestly say I’ve never felt lower than the moment I loaded my rucksack with the pie and the vibrator and left the pub, saying my goodbyes and muttering the words “Don’t judge me” – under my breath.
So, I NEED YOU to send me your lucky vibes please! Lucky dust, most positive thoughts, whatever it takes so that I can go to this gig.
Or, just take me with you as your plus one if you win and I don’t.
Otherwise, I WILL wait for you in the car park, and I WILL knock you down for those tickets…
Mark my words.