Wendyl Nissen: Braced for a windfall

My son has been encouraging me to buy a Lotto ticket. His mantra is "you've got to be in to win", and it's hard to argue with that reasoning.

My husband, the world's greatest sceptic, tells me that I have as much chance of winning Lotto as a Mongolian refugee stuck on a leaky boat in the middle of the Mediterranean.

I'm not sure how the refugee could have got a Lotto ticket, but it's best just to let him have his say, otherwise you could be stuck in the conversation for several days culminating in the highlights of the works of Proust accompanied by Wagner's Ring cycle.

And so I bought a ticket. It had been so long I had no idea what to do when my turn came at the Lotto counter.

"A Lotto ticket please," I said pleasantly.

"What kind?"

"Oh you know, the $5 one, Lucky Dip or something."

"The cheapest you can get is $6 but most people add Powerball and Triple Dip."

She may have said Triple Strike or Ballpower, I'm not sure, because by then I was flustered and could feel the snorts of impatience from the 20 or so people who at that moment had decided to claim their prizes. So I just waved $6 at her and she gave me a slip of yellow paper.

It didn't win and my son informed me I had bought the wrong one.

But as it turned out I didn't need to. Because on opening an old bank account which is really only still in existence because I can't work how to close it, I discovered some funds. In fact, it was a small Lotto-win equivalent, about $4000.

It came from my former publisher. I presume it is royalties for a book. I'm sure they'll send me a letter in due course to explain.

Meanwhile, the duty falls upon me to work out what to do with my windfall.

"You can buy me an iPhone," said my husband, repeating a phrase which has been uttered approximately 127 times since the new iPhone 4 was released. He reels it off whenever there is any discussion of spare money lying around, which isn't often.

"I was thinking a couple of airfares to Europe, or perhaps just one, and some spending money for me as it's my money," was my response.

"I think you'll find that it's our money. There's no 'I' in Paul and Wendyl."

"But there's an 'I' in iPhone. It's not exactly something we can share, like a holiday or a couch."

I went into the office, pulled up the bank statement and stared at the money. There was a credit card which needed paying off. At least five repair jobs to be done on our crumbling villa.

A fridge spending time at fridge hospital. And a new lounge suite I desperately wanted. And then there was the overwhelming urge I had just the other day to hop in a taxi, drive to the airport, hand over my credit card and get the next plane to Venice.

I did the right thing. I transferred all but $1300 on to the credit card and then I typed into Google "problems with iPhones". I vaguely remembered reading about faulty antennae and battery issues.

I watched Apple co-founder Steve Jobs defend his product and wondered how someone so uncool could be associated with a must-have brand. Who wears belted, high-waisted baggy jeans with tucked-in skivvies and white trainers? The man is stuck in an episode of Seinfeld. And then I poured a drink for my husband and smiled in his direction.

"What?" he demanded, so unused to the situation he found himself in. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I've had a think and despite the fact that the iPhone is quite obviously a technological disaster promoted by men who wear skivvies, I can see that it is important for a man of your age to run with the Mac crowd. I'd like you to use my royalty money to buy one."

Silence.

"You can say thank you any time you like."

"It's our money, but thank you. I was just about to say you should buy that couch."

"Oh lovely. I'll just go and get a Lotto ticket."