Robert McNeil - When you're a winner, everything in the garden centre is rosy

WIT'S end

I WOULD like to address my remarks to you today on the subject of winning twenty-five quid. Yes, I – that would be me, the unluckiest man in the history of the world – have actually won something. You'd never have put money on me winning anything, would you? Because you'd have lost.

I don't mean winning at badminton or football, or any endeavour that requires sublime skill, consummate flailing and fiendishly tricky little dinks. No, I mean winning in the great game of luck, that crass system devised by an odious deity who favours the few at the expense of the many. And when I say "many", I mean me.

But, on this occasion, I won. And just to remind you, since gloating is the noble duty of any winner, the sum I won was: twenty-five squids! I was not, I hasten to add, the main winner. I was, as it were, a runner-up. But my name was still chosen. The gods, for once, had favoured me. They had said: "Give Rab the twenty-five squids and see if that'll shut him up."

Let me explain how my most excellent victory came about. I was shopping in the garden centre, trying not to buy whimsically, as usual. Me: "Surely, that water-feature with the statuette of Richard Nixon would look well up by the yellow lilacs."

Burd: "To use one of your own well-worn phrases, if you do not screw the nut, I may be forced to summon a constable."

Anyway, after several hours of browsing among the unattainable and unnecessary, I wheeled my barrow-full of plants and associated knick-knackery to the checkout, but not before giving five quid to a children's charity raffle. I hadn't thought of the transaction as an investment, and would probably give more to charity if thought I was going to get a 500 per cent return on every donation. I had thought the five pounds a mere gift, and planned to regain the sum through a sly visit to the Burd's foolishly unpadlocked purse.

Then, later, the phone-call came. It was the garden centre. At first, I thought they were trying to make me reconsider my decision not to buy the Richard Nixon fountain. I had noted their crestfallen faces at my announcement and, later, learned that the interesting water-feature had lain unpurchased for 41 years.

But it was not about that. The burden of the announcement was as follows: "We are pleased to inform you that you have won twenty-five quid. Not in cash, like, but in plants. Well done. With another £120, you could purchase an excellent Richard Nixon water-feature. It is reduced from £599.99."

I put the phone down in a daze. I had won something! I can't remember it ever happening before, except on the Grand National works sweep 32 years earlier. I'd never placed a bet since, believing you should quit while you're ahead. I think on that occasion I won £2 which, in 1976, could buy you a house and a car.

My mind flitted forward to the occasion of my turning up to claim the prize. Would I have to wear a suit? Would there be a photographer? Bunting? I composed a short speech, containing just a few details of my life to date and my hopes for a more peaceful world.

I imagined my trolley at the garden centre brimming with greenery – all purchased for free! Not a spare inch of my little suburban garden would remain unplanted. I pictured it brimming with colour, with butterflies and bees flitting gaily under the rainbow that arched from the front gate to the back fence.

Of course, the reality was a little disappointing. That's what reality is: a disappointment. No welcoming committee greeted me. A slightly bewildered girl on the till went off to get a manager, who declined to come out, but dispatched a form for me to sign saying I wouldn't spend all the money on chocolate or alcohol.

There was no bunting, no photographer. The press release I issued was used in none of the papers, except the London Times, which ran an editorial expressing fears that such unmerited windfalls could undermine the deserving rich. On top of that, I only managed to get four plants for my voucher.

But it's not the taking part that counts. It's the winning. I am not a greedy man. If I won a million pounds, I'd give at least twenty to charity and, apart from moving to a sunnier climate and giving up my job, would not change my lifestyle in any way. But that is not going to happen. I gambled once, at the garden centre, and got away with it. I've no intention of riding my luck a second time.