One can dream...

WE'VE all got one. We all know what we'd do with it and how it would change our lives. In those quiet moments when you've nothing much to think about, there's nothing better than turning your thoughts to The Lottery Daydream.

WE'VE all got one.

We all know what we'd do with it and how it would change our lives.

In those quiet moments when you've nothing much to think about, there's nothing better than turning your thoughts to The Lottery Daydream.

Often when I'm travelling home in my little blue Polo from the office to my compact flat with sea views (distant) in the Edwardian resort of Felixstowe, I'll switch off the radio and let my mind wander.

The cares of the day disappear as I imagine myself rich, thin and handsome - its pure escapism into another world.

What would you buy? What's your ambition to own? My list includes all the usual - a big house, a cook, a crisp factory - but I also want a classic car. They've been an interest of mine for years. Jaguar, Bentley, Aston Martin, Hillman, Riley, Wolseley, Triumph - they are all names that hark back to the hey day of British motoring when a cocoon of polished wood and leather would transport you through England's green and pleasant traffic-jam free lanes.

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Naturally at a mere 31 I'm far too young to remember the days before everything became plastic and Japanese, and our roads became little more than stressful and slow moving car parks.

Indeed I barely remember the A45 before it became the A14 but I have always thought a classic car would be an ideal form of transport for a newspaper reporter with an eye for style.

So far it hasn't happened, but at Helmingham Hall on Sunday I managed a taste of what might be if my numbers come up.

Walking through the line up of motors complete with shining paintwork and dazzling chromium, I fell in to conversation with Felixstowe man Peter Barratt , owner of a prize-winning stunning Alvis speed 20.

“Why don't you try it for size?” he said, as he saw me drooling over his running board.

I slipped into the driving seat. Well that's not entirely accurate, you see, when I say slipped I really mean squeezed. My legs, chunky at the best of times, only just fitted underneath the steering wheel.

“You might have to lose some weight,” said Peter as he saw my predicament.

Once I was wedged inside, cushioned in luxury and sitting up high, I decided that one day I shall realise my ambition to drive a classic.

“You'll note that the pedals are in a different order, the accelerator is in the middle and the brake on the right.” explained Peter.

I'm not sure how I'd get on with that, but I reckon I could learn.

So all I've got to do is win the lottery, well, and maybe shed a few pounds too.

Meanwhile I was shocked to see somebody more famous than me at the event. BBC East weather presenter Julie Reinger was buying homemade fudge at a sweet stall. She didn't spot me though…


Have you seen my website? Well I say 'my website', what I really mean is You can not only catch up on all the news but also have the added bonus of seeing me by clicking on Columns. Marvellous isn't it? I'm potentially in every living room in the western world.


Do you know next week's lottery numbers? Do you remember pleasurable motoring? Were you at Helmingham Hall on Sunday? Drop me a line do.

GOSH aren't kitchens complicated?

It's taken weeks of choosing - there are just so many different things you can have.

I've just ordered a new one. What must be one of Suffolk's smallest galley kitchens, will soon be on my doorstep flat packed in no less than 56 boxes.

It's only a few cupboards and an oven, so I cannot imagine what it is going to be like trying to fit it.

I can't begin to think about it. I'm looking forward to stocking the posh new wine rack though.

A LITTLE win on the horses has put me in the right frame of mind just recently.

I managed to scoop a nice 11 to one punt on a horse called Fat Boy - rather fitting wasn't it - at Newmarket Nights the other evening.

You can't beat the thunder of hooves and the roar of the crowd.

I had three pints of lager to celebrate, and then the world went a bit woozy.

Should Gordon call a general election?

I rarely venture into the world of politics but today I reckon he should.

I love an election, the polling, the campaigning, the swingometer, staying up late and choosing our great nation's leaders.

You simply can't beat a night in with a glass of Canadian Club and David Dimbleby, and for us journalists there's nothing more exciting than a dramatic count.

Go on Gordon, go and see the Queen.

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