In it to win it

 

The local Spar is owned and run by the Parry brothers, Gary and Harry, they took it over when their dad Larry and his brother Clarry retired 10 years ago. There were three brothers in that family, the other being known as Harry snr, and they had one sister – Dot, the last to be born and named as such, a message from her mother to the world that this was the end of the sentence.

It wasn’t always a Spar, for years it was just Parry’s but I think they got a better deal on dry biscuits and flat pop so they bought into the name, the family have been in residence for so long that it’s more like a community gathering house than just a shop. There is a seat in the corner by the till and Tom often sits there between 11 and 12, spreading gossip that is a concoction of a third truth, a third purposeful embellishment and the final third a result of his hearing difficulties which leads to his own interpretation of events.

Anyway, the reason I’m wittering on about this is because Gary and Harry run a local lottery syndicate and this week they won.

The first person to spread the news was of course Catherine Morgan, I knew something was afoot by the speed at which she came along the road, I’ve only ever seen her move faster than that once before and that’s when she had heard that Prince Charles was visiting the street; of course as usual she got it wrong and it was in fact a man called Charles Prince from Highways to consider the need for speed bumps.

Anyway, her mac was flailing out wildly behind her as she scanned the street for someone to tell, Mrs Misery at number 11 happened to be leaving her house just at the wrong time and she was accosted by Catherine desperate to impart the big news. I haven’t seen those two in conversation before and I had to twist my body to get a better view. They would never be classed as natural companions, Catherine being big on 80’s shoulder pads and pencil skirts and Mrs Misery being big on baby sick on her shoulders and a pencil case by way of a purse. As usual Catherine’s loud tones travelled well and she was talking about millions, and how she hoped they wouldn’t be paid in euros as she wasn’t sure of the exchange rate and didn’t want to lose any money in conversion.

It was the first time I felt a hint of envy, I don’t do the lottery and quietly snigger at those who have already made mental lists of the things they will do with the money once they win. Catherine was doing exactly that now, she didn’t know where millionaires’ row is but she

would find it and bag herself a rich husband, now that she could naturally fit into that way of life; personally I think she was getting confused with death row and I don’t think she’ll find the chap she has in mind there.

I looked out every day to see if there was any more indication of the big win but it all went very quiet so I checked with Gary when I was in the Spar for my wholemeal baps. As it turned out they hadn’t won the lottery but they had got a batch of Millionaire’s Shortbread in, which Tom had said was one euro a box in the French hypermarket.

Catherine’s ability to knit a golden future from a few cast off words is beyond me, but the good news is she has realised that waiting for a lottery win is the wrong way to go about finding a partner, she has instead signed up with a dating agency called Millionaire Match. I hope she hasn’t got the wrong end of the stick, today I heard her ask Mand if she could recommend a beautician that does a heavy duty wax at a reasonable rate, apparently she has ten years of body hair to remove by next Tuesday.