I DON'T know why I bother entering the National Lottery. If I really want to win I should just apply to join the board of directors.

The news that the executives have awarded themselves fat cat pay increases of up to 90 per cent is as disgusting as it was inevitable, despite the fact that ticket sales have dropped by 10 per cent on last year and and contributions to good causes have dropped by £143 million.

Richard Branson has, quite rightly, demanded that Camelot should be included in the Government's windfall levy plans. He has also said that all the money should be used to fund good causes, not line the pockets of those lucky enough to have won the race to run what he calls 'a government-sponsored licence to print money'.

Camelot's current contract to run the lottery is set to end in 2001- and when it does I hope it is awarded to an organisation with a bit more concern for the people who pay for it.

And what about those who win it? Did you see the man who won £12 million the other week? The most dull, insipid, wearisome bloke under 90. He's probably going to spend the money on insulating his potting shed and going on walking holidays in Padiham.

If I ever DID make it on to the board at Camelot, or even win the lottery, I'd make sure it was money well spent.

For starters, people would be paid to open my yoghurts so the days of being squirted in strawberry-flavoured dairy products would be at an end. Even better, I'd put up a reward for the brilliant scientist who came up with a non-squirt opening system.

I'd employ a team of ex-SAS crack commandoes to guard the cat flap so the fat feline from the next street would get the shock of it's life next time it tried to slink in for a crafty nibble.

I would Teflon coat the toes of my shoes so that even the most determined efforts of the local dog population would deflect harmlessly away, and grass verges would be spared the irritated scrapings of my innocent footwear.

Of course I would live in an unfeasibly large house with ridiculous heating bills and entertain Judith Chalmers and Eamonn Holmes and all my other new found celebrity friends in the evenings in my massive conservatory.

But as for now, I'll just have to make do with Lenny Bennett in the shed.

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.