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112: JUNK MAIL TELLING ME I’M A MILLIONAIRE

Getting a letter is always exciting, isn’t it?  Assuming of course that it’s not a bill or a letter from the tax man.  But you’re never going to guess what news got delivered through my door the other day…

I have been reliably informed by a rather colourful piece of post that I am now a millionaire.  Exciting isn’t it?  And the crazy thing is that I didn’t even have to do anything to win such a life-changing prize.  At first I thought that maybe they’d got me mixed up with someone else, but my name was on the envelope in a huge, gold font surrounded by shooting stars.  It’s definietely me alright.

So anyway, I’ve been thinking about how to spend my winnings.  I think I’d quite like a yacht or something – there’s something about the sea that i find quite relaxing.  I’d also like a holiday home somewhere like Barbados.  And I’d be half-tempted to buy a shabby non-league football club and help turn them into a British Barcelona.  Plus there’s it would be great to upscale my home and maybe move out of Bow to more quaint surroundings.  I suppose I should sort my family and friends out too.

Yep, I’m pretty pleased with all this.  I am pretty, pretty pleased.  In fact… oh.  What’s that?  It’s a load of old bollocks?  I’m still skint?  Oh.  Oh great.  Oh. 

Thanks a fucking bunch for sending me more shit to my home then.  Thanks a bunch.

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About Twenty8Later

A brand new podcast mocking news, sport & entertainment in handy 28-day chunks. Good times in a terrible, terrible world.

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