THE cheque was always in the post for my grandfather. He would rifle through the letters in search of good fortune.

He knew for certain that one envelope would contain money from the will of a forgotten relative or a pools cheque he didn't know he'd won.

He did this until he died and the hoped-for riches never arrived. His fool's gold optimism seems to have skipped a generation and landed on me because I'm just the same.

That's why I was suckered into entering one of those Readers' Digest prize draws - you know, the ones that tantalise you for months, getting you to fill in this and that, tear off this bit, post this bit back. I never heard a thing so I can't have won.

Then again, perhaps there has been a dreadful computer glitch and the cheque will be in the post. Memo to self: check when you get home.

My grandfather would have loved the lottery, at least I think so. He's not around to ask, but I like to think he would have rolled out a hopeful pound every week, just as I do, and looked in wounded puzzlement at the results, with one number right on a good week. What he wouldn't have done is said to himself, "Well, what with odds of 14 million to one, that's hardly surprising" - because there always has to be hope.

My other grandfather wouldn't have approved of the lottery, being a Methodist lay preacher. He would have seen gambling as not quite moral, at least I think so. He too is not around to ask.

Funnily enough, the money was on his side of the family. His brother suffered polio as a child but still gathered a fortune as a baker, builder and developer.

Even in old age Uncle Harry couldn't resist a bargain and his large riverside house contained stockpiles of goods - sugar, biscuits or chocolate come to mind - which he bought in bulk because they were a good deal, although less so once the mould had set in.

My cousin once remarked that it was wise to visit Uncle Harry because he had plenty of money. In the event, Uncle Harry changed his will shortly before he died, leaving most of his estate to charity. Sadly, my lovely cousin is long gone too, having died in his thirties.

When it comes to lotteries, I am pleasantly haunted by both my grandfathers, the one saying with a smile, "Well, you never know", and the other, also with a smile, wondering if it was quite right to gamble in this way.

In this case, grandfather Jim wins out over grandfather Bill because I still do the lottery every useless Saturday, idiot hope alive and wishing.

For all that, I'm glad I haven't just won £77 million in Europe's biggest lottery like that woman in Limerick, Ireland. Dolores McNamara has gone into hiding and she may well have to stay there for the rest of her life.

It may seem odd, especially with a bank balance such as mine, which is shot full of holes and leaking fast, but that much money sounds more like a curse than a blessing, although that could be a whispered caution from the ghost of grandfather Bill.

Dolores is now No 70 on Ireland's rich list, wealthier than Roy Keane and Colin Farrell, and all she did for it was spend two euros on a ticket. Perhaps I am being stupid here, and heaven knows some of that money would be useful, but such great good fortune seems madly irresponsible.

It cannot really be wise to give one person that much money. Maybe I'm missing the point, but wouldn't it make more sense to give 77 people a million apiece? I'd be up for that and no questions asked.

A million would buy a house, a car, a holiday and presents for loved ones, but it wouldn't pollute your life with outrageous good fortune, merely take away the debt-dented struggle and replace it with something more comfortable.

Updated: 09:13 Thursday, August 04, 2005