Tag Archives: winner

1956. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt

Tonight’s lottery is worth fifty million. Fifty million! Imagine that! The things I could do with fifty million!

The first thing I would do would be to make a substantial donation to the local Food Bank. This group of volunteers work so hard trying to scrape together food to give to those in the town who are hungry and poor. Nothing could be worse than having to do without food, so I would love to be able to provide a little security to the Food Bank people. They know who deserve to be helped and those who are simply selfish scavengers.

The second thing I would do would be to buy a house for the local Fijian family who live down the road. He works on the wharves, but there is nothing left over at the end of the week – what with five children and all. They are the loveliest family and I know the parents make huge sacrifices for their children. How wonderful it would be to be able to knock on their door and say “Go pick a house and I’m paying!”

I think I would keep about five of the fifty million just as security for myself. But there are so many people with needs. I wouldn’t give too publically; just quietly help out as the needs arise.

You what? What’s that you say? I won? I won the fifty million? Oh my goodness! I just won the fifty million! I just won fifty million!

I wish all those bloodsucking scavengers would go away. There’s a Fijian family just down the road and they came along and asked if I could give a hand. Of course I wouldn’t give to them. If they worked a bit harder and had fewer kids they’d be able to afford things.

Then the Food Bank asked for a handout. A hand out to feed those lazy vagabonds who think life is a free ride on a bed of roses. Why on earth would I want to help them out?

If there’s one thing I’ve learnt in winning the fifty million it’s this: it doesn’t take long for the vultures to come out of the woodwork. People think money grows on trees or something. I told them, yes I got fifty million. I worked hard all my life and most of that money I’ve put away for a rainy day. I’m not a charitable organization.

1828. Who’s the lucky fella?

No sooner had I hung up the phone then there was a knock at the door. The phone call had been from the local supermarket saying I had won a $500 grocery voucher for entering a competition to write a jingle advertising spaghetti. The money would be put automatically on my supermarket card. Of course I was excited, because I was practically skint, and then came the knock on the door.

There stood a man and a woman who said “Congratulations!” I said “What for?” and they said I’d won a car. Well I was completely over the moon because to be honest I hadn’t had a car for eighteen months. The last one had died – utterly died – and I had been unable to replace it even with a beaten up old bomb.

Well, I got into my car as soon as those people had gone and went off to the supermarket to get some much needed things and a couple of not so important things like some chocolate and some coconut cookies. They say things come in threes! No sooner had I stepped out of my car at the supermarket than I was approached by a woman, I’m guessing around about fiftyish.

She said “Good morning!” and I answered “Good morning” and then she said, “Excuse me, I don’t mean to barge in but…”

“But would you like a house? I was recently diagnosed with a terminal problem and the only thing I care about in the world are my chickens. If you would like my house when I go you can have it provided you care for my chickens.”

Goodness! My first thought was coq au vin, which is what you can do with tough old chickens, but I said out loud instead, “Goodness! What a fabulous thing! Of course I will see to your chickens!”

So the woman arranged to meet with who-ever-it-was to officially hand things over, and when I got out of the car this man approached and said that he’d just won forty-eight million in the lottery and he knew it would destroy his family, so would I like the ticket? I said I had little or no family to destroy, so he gave me the ticket.

The handover of the house went without a glitch, and I’ll sell the house once the old lady kicks the bucket. On the way out of the building there was an old guy asking for money, probably for drink like always, so I said “Get a job you last lazy slob instead off bleeding off other people.” I like to tell it like it is. Some people would take the shirt off your back if you gave them half a chance.

1701. Natural-born loser

Mavis took a ticket every week in the Lottery. She had done that for forty-two years and not won a thing. Every week she had prayed to God that she would win the Lottery.

“It’s not the money,” she would say, “it’s the security”.

But God never answered her prayer. Week after week it was “Dear God, please may I win the Lottery.” And week after week God ignored her petition.

After forty-two years Mavis had had enough. “I know what I’ll do,” thought Mavis. “I never have a prayer answered. I’ll pray to God that I DON’T win the Lottery. That way when I don’t win I can say my prayer was answered.”

But she won! She won! Mavis sighed deeply.

Some people are natural-born losers.

Award 20: The Terrible Poetry Contest

This is not an award as such but the writer of this blog has won the Terrible Poetry Contest three times. My special thanks to Chelsea who initiated and manages such a fabulous event.

Each time the poems seems to get badder and worser. Such inspiring brilliance emanating from my writing device perhaps stems from an anonymous poem which was my favourite in my teens (and possibly still is):

What a wonderful bird the frog are
When he walk he fly almost
When he sing he cry almost
He ain’t got no tail hardly either.
He sit on what he ain’t got almost.

Being thrice the winner of such a notable thing as the Terrible Poetry Contest has prompted me to reflect upon other highly successful moments in my life of seventy years. There have been so many fabulous successes that I barely know where to start.

1. Rugby coach. Many years ago, when I coached rugby, the team had won every game in the rugby-playing season. There was only one game left to play to make it an “unbeaten season”. We arrived at the playing field to compete against Newlands College. My team came to me and protested: “They’ve stacked their team with better players who are not in their usual team.”

“Don’t worry,” says I. “Just beat them. Victory will be so much sweeter.”

After a very long game no points had been scored. And then in the last minute, Newlands College scored some points. Have you ever driven a bus home with 20 or so eighteen year old men bawling their eyes out? “Don’t be silly,” says I, “it’s just a game.” But on arrival home I shut the door and had a good cry myself.

2. Just recently my local village ran a competition. The village is called “Stratford” so every street is named after something from Shakespeare: Prospero Place, Romeo Road, Ariel Street, and so on. Four new streets were waiting to be named. There was a monetary reward for the person who came up with the best suggestion. Not only, the blurb said, should the name be connected with Shakespeare, but it should also if possible have something to do with the history of the village.

I came up with the perfect suggestion! In fact, it was so perfect that I spent the reward money on firewood ahead of the winning announcement.

My suggestion was “Arden Street”. Not only was Mary Arden William Shakespeare’s mother’s name, but “As You Like it” was set in the Forest of Arden, and a hitherto unknown-authored play – “Arden of Faversham” – had just been declared as “now known with certitude to have been written by the Bard”. On the local front, an early settler in the village here was Joseph Arden whose landscape paintings hang in galleries up and down the country.

I had certainly thought up a winner. Anyway the local town council chose Midsummer Street. Thank goodness I’m not a bad loser. They can shove their stupid midsummer pile of crap up their noses for all I care, the bat-poo infested, snot-ridden creeps.

3. Around about 1957 the local rural schools of the area held a combined festival. There were all sorts of categories that the primary school students could be involved in. I chose the event “Design a carpet pattern”. I drew on paper around several things from my school bag and coloured them in. And there! On exhibition day! The twenty or so entered carpet designs were pinned on a large display board. There was 1st place, 2nd place, and 3rd place – with two “Highly Commended” designs. Mine was highly commended!! I never saw that they made a carpet out of it but I wouldn’t be at all surprised.

Years later, when I lived in St-Victor, Quebec, a number of my friends worked as fabric designers for curtains, bedspreads, and so on. I never told them they were talking to an award-winning carpet designer. They would’ve been so jealous.

That about takes care of all my successes in life. Thanks again to Chelsea for initiating and keeping the Terrible Poetry Contest. Do visit.

And as an Addendum: If you have sort of enjoyed reading this, don’t hesitate to nominate me for any Blogging Award that comes your way, deserved or not. Despite the naming of Midsummer Street, it seems to be raining here a good deal of the time and I’m stuck inside with little to do other than create terrible poems and compose award acceptance blogs such as this.

I hope your days are as filled with stunning accomplishments as mine.

1459. A hair’s breadth

Astrid was very community minded. She wasn’t neurotic about it, not obsessed, but if there was a bit of discarded trash on the sidewalk she’d usually stop, pick it up, and drop it in a waste bin.

On this particular Wednesday she did just that. It was a discarded ice cream paper. Clearly some child had torn the cover off their ice cream and dumped the screwed up bit of paper on the ground.

Astrid’s picking it up and placing it in the street waste container added three seconds to the mission she was on; and that was to go into the shop and purchase a lottery ticket.

Those three added seconds meant she got a different set of numbers than those she would have got if she had been three seconds earlier. And the numbers that she would have got but didn’t were the numbers that came up.

She would have won one hundred and twenty-seven million. Of course, she’ll never know she missed out by a hair’s breadth.

1259. An insidious thing

Diana won first place at the local agricultural show for her pansies in a pot. The citation citated: First place goes to Diana for her pansies in a pot in the Pansies in a Pot section of the Potted Plants Section of the Flower Section of the Gardening Section of the Agricultural Show.

Diana was enormously proud of her achievement. “It’s not everyone,” said Diana, “who is awarded first place for her pansies in a pot in the Pansies in a Pot section of the Potted Plants Section of the Flower Section of the Gardening Section of the Agricultural Show.”

When she walked along the street Diana knew that people were looking at her. Jealousy is an insidious thing. She could feel their spite as they stared. They were talking about her behind her back in a disparaging and offensive manner.

“Not everyone,” said Diana, “can be a winner.”

“When she went into a plant shop she always asked if they had any pansies in a pot. She didn’t want to buy any, of course. She was simply using it as an opener to tell the shop keeper of her stunning triumph.

The shop keepers declared each time that they had never even heard of such an award – let alone the winner.

Jealousy is an insidious thing, oh yes, is it not? said Diana.

1199. Garden trolley

It was Magdalena’s lucky day! She had driven to the garden shop to get some petunias. As she pulled into an empty car space she suddenly braked. A shopping trolley had been left carelessly in the parking space. Magdalena backed out and parked in another empty space.

On her way to the shop she thought she would take the trolley and put it in the trolley stand. It was such a nuisance taking up a valuable parking space.

Oh wonder of wonders! Oh rapture! That was the secret trolley. Everyone else had walked past it all day. Magdalena was the one to return it and she got a five hundred dollar shopping voucher from the garden shop. Even a photographer was there to record the event for the local paper!

“I’ve never won anything before,” said Magdalena.

Magdalena got lots of things with her voucher. She got some plants and some seeds, but also some weed killer, and some netting to stop the birds from eating her blueberries. She even got a new hoe to replace the one that had seen better days. And of course, she got a new garden hose. The hose was top of the range! This hose wasn’t going to kink like every other garden hose Magdalena had owned throughout her entire life.

When she got home Magdalena put all her wonderful treasures in the garden shed.

A few days later her little grandson went into the garden shed, drank the weed killer, and died.

(Footnote: Hi everyone – These days, generally speaking, I can use the internet only between midnight and 6 a.m. (New Zealand time). I generally go to bed at 10 p.m. and get up at 5 a.m. (used to be a dairy farmer hence the old rising habit!) However, by the time I’ve made the coffee and read the news, there’s very little time for reading your blogs. Some blogs I can sneak a peek during the day, provided they don’t have many pictures. My own blog is posted and scheduled until mid July 2018 (except for a couple of poems) so I will continue to appear as if I’m posting daily – but in fact my participation in the blogging community is going to be rather limited. So until further notice I’m going to be a pretty secret reader! I enjoy our blogging community and will be fully back as soon as I can – but my daytime internet has a daytime limit, and daytime online work-from-home has to come first. Bruce)