If I were a rich man...

Image courtesy Al Jazeera

I don't want £76 million, writes Mike Bodnar...

Money. Wealth. Ooh those words, they conjure up some great images don't they? Being debt-free, travelling first class, living in a mansion. Or, if you're more philanthropically inclined, helping the needy, supporting education and welfare. Perhaps giving anonymous donations to people and causes. Surprising a busker with £100 in their hat.

Well unless your name is Bill Gates, Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos or a few of the other obscenely wealthy people in this world, you will be just like the rest of us – dreamers. And it's the dream of wealth that makes lotteries so attractive. But there's a problem. Whereas Bezos et al have gained their wealth through commercial enterprise (and let's not go into the ethics of that here please), the rest of us struggling to make ends meet on salaries or benefits need a short cut to wealth.

As with wealth, so there is greed. The more you have the more you want; witness the world's largest and wealthiest companies and individuals with their funds 'offshore' to avoid paying tax. But I'm not here to moan about tax avoidance or evasion. It's the use of greed by the lottery organisations themselves that disturbs me.

As I write this I can, within the next few days, win £8.5 million on Lotto, £76 million on Euromillions, and if I have New Zealand residency, NZ$50 million (a smidgen over £25 million in sterling). Last week I missed out on having £44 million deposited in my bank account, despite using my favourite numbers.

The so-called 'jackpotting' of prizes means that small prize pools eventually, over time, can become huge prizes, which drives the deprived and desperate into a frenzy. They buy even more lines in the draw, spending more money on the increasingly remote possibility of becoming unimaginably wealthy. (And when I say 'they', yes, I am excluding myself because not only can I not afford to indulge in lots of lines or tickets I don't actually want £76 million. Seriously. Read on...)

What happens when prizes become salivatingly enormous is that common sense goes out the window. People forget that the more tickets the population buys the more diminished the chances are of winning. (I will tell you how to increase your chances of winning in a moment. Meanwhile the rant continues...)

Look at it from a simple church fair raffle perspective. If the vicar is selling raffle tickets for a picnic hamper and they cost a pound each, and there are only 200 tickets being sold, then if you buy one ticket you stand a one-in-200 chance of winning. Buy two and your chances double, and so on. Buy all 200 and you've won (but you've paid £200 for a £40 picnic hamper, duh). At that local village scale it's easy to understand, plus the number of tickets is capped.

With a national lottery, tickets will be sold right up to the last minute to as many desperadoes

Hmm, what would you buy? (Image: Wikimedia)

as want them, thereby reducing your chances of winning the major prize as each minute ticks buy until the draw is closed. But the lotteries people use this massive jackpot prize to whip up a frenzy of buying.

But let's get to my main gripe: who wants £76 million anyway? (Okay, hands down, don't be silly. Maybe the word isn't 'want' so much as 'needs'). 

As I've said, I don't. I wouldn't know what to do with £76 million quid. Maybe buy a small village in the Cotswolds. No, I would be very happy with one million, even a lot less. A win large enough to pay off the mortgage and get the family together for a holiday somewhere nice would be perfect. Oh, and maybe a bit more to make up for the fact that I don't qualify for a pension, but that's another story.

So, my plea to the lotteries organisations is that they stop appealing to our greed by marketing the attraction of massive jackpot prizes and instead cap all monetary prizes at £1 million pounds per winner. I think we can agree that if you won a million you'd be very happy, right? Then by all means let the prize jackpot to £76 million, but let's have 76 people become millionaires.

That way your chances of winning a substantial amount of money increases, there are more winners, and the country would suddenly have 76 new millionaires contributing to the economy. No individual needs £76 million quid, but I'm one of at least 76 who could do with one million. Lotteries people take note.

Now to the bit you've been waiting for: how to increase your chances of winning in a lottery. I learned this from someone who worked for the New Zealand Lotteries Commission and it makes sense to me.

Let's say you spend £5 a week on buying a lottery ticket. That means that each week you have maybe two or three lines of numbers, which is the limit of your chance of winning. If you had more lines you'd have more chances, but you don't want to spend more than five quid a week because you know your limits.

So don't spend five quid a week. Instead, save it, and the next week, and the week after and so on for six weeks. Then you have £30 which you spend on the one lottery. Now you've got six times the chance of winning something in that lottery, and you haven't spent any more than you usually do. Simples, as a meerkat might say.

Of course there's always the chance you'll just end up with one of those silly 'lucky dip' tickets as a prize, or unlucky dips as they should be called, but that's another gripe and I think we've had enough for today.

Good luck.

The Lost Goon Show Script of 2020

What would a modern-day Goon Show radio script be like? 

What follows is purely a musing on my part. 

I have aimed to maintain the 'spirit' of The Goons while

referencing contemporary mores. (I know, dangerous
territory, but then the Goons broke rules back in
the 1950s...)

Milligan, Sellers and Secombe
(Image courtesy of the Goon Show Site)

Announcer

This is the BBC

FX

Rioting, fighting noises, general mayhem.

Neddie

Coming to you live from the BBC canteen!

Announcer

We’d just like to apologise for the offensive material, 

upsetting scenes, tears, chaos and despair this evening…

but that’s what you get in every night’s news. 

Instead, it’s The Goon Show 2020!

Music

Opening theme

FX

Mournful wind

Announcer

We present: The Cellphone Tower of Doom or, 

for our French cousins, The Tour de Farce. We open 

on a windswept heath. Clouds scud across the sky. It is 1652.

Grytpype Thynne

Ah good, almost tea-time.

Announcer

Suddenly a strange figure approaches…

Neddie

Hello folks!

Grytpype Thynne

That’s one of the strangest figures I’ve ever seen. 

I say, you there sir.

Neddie

Me there sir?

GT

Yes you. Who else is there?

Neddie

Well, there could be a whole army behind me!

GT

Given your girth that’s true. I shall walk around 

you to make sure.

Announcer

Two weeks later…

GT

There, I’ve circumnavigated you.

Neddie

What, what, what, what? But I’m not Jewish!

FX

A mobile ring tone of Lady Gaga or similar

GT

What’s that ridiculous noise?

Neddie

It’s my mobile phone, you upper class idiot!

GT

Don’t you use that ring tone with me! Who could 

be calling you out here in the middle of nowhere?

Neddie

Well, let’s see, I’ll just scroll through my contacts. Er, gee… 

gee…

GT

Only 2Gs Neddie? You need a better network than that. Now then, 

where were we?

Neddie

What's that? Huawei?

GT

Not so much who are we as who were they. I saw some Chinese technicians checking a new cellphone tower near here.

Neddie

You mean…?

GT

Yes, they were Chinese checkers.

Neddie

And I suspect you sir are working with them, aiming 

to take over the world by spying on everyone and 

noting down their most intimate details.

Eccles arrives

He wouldn’t get much from me. I don’t tink I’ve got 

any intimate details!

Neddie

Eccles my man! And I use the term loosely. Why on 

earth are you wearing that tin foil hat?

Eccles

It stops naughty invisible microwave radiation from 

entering my brain and making me stoopid!

GT

It’s not working…

Announcer

Meanwhile, not five miles away. In fact not two miles 

away. In actual fact, quite nearby, the custodians of 

the 5G repeater tower are preparing their weekly report…

Henry

Min…Min… It’s time for our call on the interthingy. Min, 

have you taken everything down?

Min (flustered)

Oh Henry, this is no time for naughty shenanigans. 

I am keeping everything on until after our report Henry, 

you naughty modern man!

Henry

Oh Min, you... you snowflake!  Now climb to the top 

of the tower and send me the readings. Here, take 

this talkie-walkie…

Min

Don’t you mean walkie-talkie?

Henry

No, I put the batteries in the wrong way round

FX

A ‘ping’ noise

Min

Oh Henry, you have a text message! What does 

it say?

Henry

It says, ‘Someone will knock at the door’

FX

Knocking at door

Henry

Ah, it must have been predictive text!

FX

Door opening

Min

Oh! It’s a woman Henry!

Major Bloodnok

Only on Wednesdays madam. Underneath my 

disguise I am in fact Major Denis Bloodnok, DIY, 

MOT, LGBT.

Henry

What about the Q?

Bloodnok

There’s a queue? Then let me be at the 

head of it!

Henry

Min, Min, make way for the military gentleman. 

Or woman. Major, what pronoun do you prefer?

Bloodnok

I’m a ‘them’ or a ‘they’, but only partly because of my size.

Henry

Min, make way for them!

Min

But there’s only one of him…

Henry

Min you Generation XXS woman, are you not 

woke to sexual preferences?

Min

Of course I am Henry; but we’ve no time for that now!

(Min and Henry make saucy noises together)

Bloodnok

Enough of this! I’ll not have any sex on my watch! 

Get off him woman! Now then, I’m here to help defend 

this cellphone tower from invasion. The entire manpower 

of the Queen’s Own 14^th Fuchsias have the place 

surrounded. They’re nervously fingering their pistils 

as we speak.

Henry

Min! Cover your ears so that you don’t hear any of 

this floral-type talk!

FX

A knock on the door, it squeaks open

Bluebottle

Bluebottle enters stage left. Waits for applause. 

Not a sausage. Not even a computer-generated 

sausage. I have a massage for the Major.

Bloodnok

A massage? You mean a message my little 

asylum seeker!

Bluebottle

Am I seeking asylum Major?

Bloodnok

Yes, and there’s one just nearby. I’ll make sure you 

are fast-tracked into it as soon as you’ve delivered 

the message. But first, give me that massage…

FX

Slapping noises, Bloodnok moans in ecstasy.

Bloodnok

I say, I don’t suppose a chap could expect a 

happy ending?

Bluebottle

Thinks to himself… but has no idea what he 

means. Alright then! ‘Hip hip, hooray!

FX

Everyone claps.

Bloodnok

Hand me my stockings and dress. Now then, 

what’s the message?

Bluebottle

Your man on the inside is outside with another 

man, who he says is on the inside of the enema.

Bloodnok

You mean enemy!

Bluebottle

All I know is he told me where I should stick 

the message in case I got caught. 

You’ll never find it!

Bloodnok

I’m not even going to look. Bring them in!

FX

Door opens, shuffling of feet as Neddie, Grytpype 

and Eccles enter.

Neddie

Ah Major Bloodnok. Neddie Seagoon reporting 

sir/madam/other. I have uncovered the spy who’s 

been planning to overthrow the mobile phone network!

Bloodnok

Excellent work Seagoon. I can see he was astute, 

devilishly clever, a master of disguise too. Alright you 

scoundrel, we’ve got the measure of you!

Eccles

Yup, about five foot two. But you’ve got the 

wrong man – and I use the term loosely.

Grytpype Thynne

Alright all of you. You think you’re all so clever…

Bluebottle

I don’t!

GT

Stay where you are and put your hands up. 

On my mobile phone I have a 16 mega pixel jpeg 

of a gun, and I’m prepared to use it!

Neddie

Not so fast! Before we came in I tweeted you 

a gif of a ticking time bomb!

GT

Yes Neddie, I received it and Photoshopped it 

into a bucket of water, thereby rendering it harmless. 

Now turn around and face…

FX

Bomb explodes, noises of things falling and crashing

GT

Curses! I thought I’d defused it!

Henry

You did. That was my Min imitating a bomb 

through the talkie-walkie. Min… Min… you can come 

down from the tower now. Just mind the bucket of…

FX

Min falls from the tower, her scream getting louder, 

ending in a large splash.

Bluebottle

She’s fallen in the water!

FX

Theme music.

Announcer

That was The Goon Show 2020, starring the 

late Harry Secombe, Spike Milligan and Peter 

Sellers, with material (corduroy mainly) by 

Mike Bodnar. Any complaints should be

addressed to someone else. Goodnight.

Image from Wikipedia

How I almost went to the moon with Spike Milligan

The problem with meeting one of your heroes is that they might just turn out not to be the idol you’d expected. Or that they are but you’re hopelessly ill-prepared for the encounter. In my case – in meeting and interviewing the great Spike Milligan – it was a bit of both.

Flashback to the mid-1980s when I was working as a regional TV newsreader in Wellington, New Zealand. I presented the news on Today Tonight every weekday evening following the national news, but also got to go out and about with film crews doing short features and, if not in the studio, interviewing visiting noters ‘in the field’ as the jargon has it. It was a great job.

Spike Milligan. I copied this image from the Internet
years ago but have no permission to use it.
If you own the rights please let me know

So one day we had the opportunity to interview the great Goon himself, Spike Milligan, who was in town for – as far as I can recall – no particular reason. His great ex-army pal Harry Edgington did, however, live just up the road and it was well known that whenever Spike was in New Zealand he would go and visit Harry, presumably to talk over old times, or listen to jazz records. Maybe he was just there for a catch-up.

Anyway, once we knew we could interview Spike we discussed in the newsroom how we should do it. Obviously we knew Milligan had a reputation for being a comic genius, but he was also known for suffering mood swings; anecdotally we’d heard he hated air conditioning and that it could affect his moods. So we decided to do a field interview, outdoors and well away from any aircon.

His agent and partner Sheilagh had told us Spike would be based at a house in Hobson Street, Thorndon and that we would be slotted into the interview schedule. We arrived in the crew van and ahead of us were Radio NZ and the local newspaper the Evening Post, but we were quite prepared to wait.

Sheilagh came out and asked what we’d like to do and I explained we’d prefer to take Spike just a hundred metres up or so the road and interview him in a leafy park area. She said she’d tell him and departed.

Spike on another park bench, without me.
(Spike Milligan memorial bench, garden of Stephen's House, Finchley
(Image: Wikimedia Commons)

We were feeling quite pleased with ourselves: an interview with the great Spike Milligan, in a park on a nice day where air conditioning wouldn’t be a problem. Perfect.

Suddenly here was the man himself, leaping energetically into our van through the open sliding door. ‘Hello folks!’ he said in his endearing Goonish manner. I introduced myself and the crew and then Spike, still in Goon mode, said, ‘So, what’s happening?’

I told him we’d like to nip up the road and interview him in Katherine Mansfield Park. His face clouded, the Goon disappeared, and he said, ‘Why does every fucker want to interview me in a park?’ So much for air conditioning being a problem.

My heart sank. I could hardly say, ‘Well, Spike it’s so we don’t set off a mood swing’, so I mumbled something about it being a nice day and if we were outside we wouldn’t have to use lighting so it would be quicker. He calmed down after that, and within minutes he and I were seated on a park bench while the cameraman and sound op set up.

I had with me a list of questions, but before the camera even rolled it was Milligan who was interviewing me. He wanted to know what I thought about the Elgin Marbles and whether they should be repatriated to Greece, and what my opinion was of sending men to the moon and “wasting all that money”.

From the cover of 'Monty: His Part in My Victory'
which Spike signed for me

To my shame I had at that time no idea what the Elgin Marbles were. I had a definite opinion about lunar exploration though, which we discussed for a short while. And then the camera and sound were ready and we roll-recorded, at which point I referred to my scripted questions and interviewed Spike Milligan.

To this day I can’t remember what my questions were. I recall Milligan responded well enough, but in hindsight I should have picked up on the nuances and followed the leads he’d given me while the crew was setting up. I should have thrown my script away and said, “Spike, as we were setting up you were asking whether the Elgin Marbles should be returned to Greece. Why? Is that something you’re passionate about?” and we could have had a meaningful discussion about one of the great comic’s many causes, something incisive, in-depth, interesting.

But I didn’t. I was a slave to my script and was guilty of the ultimate sin for an interviewer: not listening to your interviewee. Not long after that I realised that you don’t need a list of questions for an interview, you need only one – the first one – and providing you listen to the answer you can build on it from there.

One of my most treasured possessions

That’s not to say research isn’t important; it is, and it pays to know as much about your interviewee (we called them ‘talent” in those days!) as you can, but really an interview is nothing more than a conversation conducted on behalf of the viewer at home.

And so I did my duty as the programme host and Spike did his duty as the visiting talent. I think we parted friends (he willingly signed one of his Military Memoir books for me), but it could have been so much more interesting had I just been a bit more experienced. I feel I let him down, and I certainly let myself (and the viewers) down, and Spike himself didn’t get the chance to talk about what he was really interested in.

Spike, wherever you are now: yes I do think the Elgin Marbles should be returned, but no I disagree that space exploration is a waste of money. But, too late to discuss that now. Curses, foiled again.