Life as a Lottery millionaire

Sep 27 2007 by Emma Pinch, Liverpool Daily Post

With £88m up for grabs in tomorrow’s Euromillions draw, Emma Pinch finds out how might a Lottery winner spend the day?

PLODDING blearily to work on a grey, windy Monday morning, I make a mental note to this week definitely do the Lottery. Just one million would do the trick.

I start to fantasise about how different it could all be if I won, and I hardly notice how – in low budget sci-fi series-style – my image in the mirror-fronted office starts to ripple crazily, and the voice in my head starts to echo.

Just at the spot that I’d normally turn through the revolving doors of the office, a Chrysler limo, courtesy of Bon Voyage Executive Travel, glides forward and its door slides smoothly back to beckon me in. Its dark tinted windows form an impenetrable barrier between the wage-slaves outside and the idle rich inside – today, me.

Would the newly-minted millionaire start the day frowning at a flickering computer monitor? Not a chance.

First stop, hair and make-up at Barbara Daley’s hair salon on Lime Street – a favourite with the celebrity set.

The clean bright lines of its interior are an oasis from the scene outside, where pedestrians splash grimly through the rain.

Stylist Lisa Rhead immediately intuits the prettiest and most resistant style to the quite un-Lottery winner friendly weather outside – and a cup of steaming coffee appears.

But it’s not as easy as one might imagine to slip into jackpot-winner thinking. Car tax needs to be paid. Must make sure the bank has my new address. Have I got my umbrella?

But the blissfully firm head massage by assistant Jess, who washes my hair, begins to soothe rogue poor person’s thoughts away.

Lisa expertly snips away and rollers up my hair to produce swingy-film star style curls, while I lose myself in this month’s juicy edition of Vanity Fair. Naomi Allen applies my make-up with a precision and eye for colour that I haven’t been able to perfect in almost 20 years of trying. No wonder some of my fellow nouveau riche (such as a certain Coleen McLoughlin) pop in so often.

It’s amazing the energy and confidence that good hair and make up instils. I am ready to face the day. I’m ready to splash the cash.

So, next stop, the Jaguar garage where a low-slung baby blue convertible XK8 catches my eye. It’s a snip at £66,000, with its baby-soft ivory leather upholstery, 4.2 litre engine and guttural show-off exhaust. Stevie G and Alex are regulars here, according to my sources, and there’s lots to tickle a loaded person’s fancy. But – capricious millionairess that I am – there’s no way I’m risking my new do with the hood down. Not when I’ve got an appointment to try on diamonds at two.

The natural daytime milieu of a Lottery winner appears to be marble-tiled floors, great swathes of glass and chrome, fresh flowers and – if the sun is over the yard-arm – glasses of champagne. Heaven probably enjoys the self-same decor.

Boodles, on Liverpool’s Lord Street, does not disappoint. Lottery winners and members of the public after a special gift are welcomed with the same personal touch, pink Champers and petits fours.

Sales adviser Darren Smith has picked out a couple of pretty trinkets for me to cast my eyes over. My favourite is a pair of square – or asscher-cut – diamond earrings the size of dice, a shape made fashionable by the likes of Kate Hudson and the Sex and the City gals. These beauties are seven carats each and come in at £395,000 for the pair. But earrings even beat socks for random loss rate, and multi-millionaires would require a steady nerve to step out in these babies. Instead, I linger over a five-carat single stone £180,000 ring and wonder how easily it is for the newly rich to lash out on such frippery.

Boodles hosted a recent National Lottery winners’ party, so Darren has met a few. “One lady came in with friends and they all got really dressed up and wore tiaras,” he says. “One couple did buy something and a couple came back to have jewellery valued.” Do they feel guilty spending so much money?

“No, not guilty,” says Darren. “They are more interesting to spend time with, in some ways, because they get more excited over it all.”

By now I am wilting, and direct the driver towards Sir Thomas Hotel in the city centre.

Sinking happily into one of its high-backed crimson booths, I order a luxury afternoon tea – it can all be worked off at the spa – for £20. It’s an indulgent repast that hails back to a more refined age – slivers of crustless sandwiches, fresh scones with clotted cream and jam, chocolate-dipped strawberries and a glass of champagne.

After a morning spent tripping round their hunting grounds, I’ve finally caught up with the young, moneyed and glamorous.

In the booth in front is the new Liverpool FC showboat signing, Fernando Torres, sipping coffee with his Spanish girlfriend. The paparazzi lurk outside, where, I notice, the weather has brightened up considerably.

The sun shines on Lottery winners, it seems. What a great day to be a millionaire. Hang on . . . anyone hear that echoey noise ...?