As hordes of people clamour for tickets to win the massive £85 million Euro Millions jackpot, I have, more than a decade after the National Lottery came into being, some luck to report.

At last - the Lotto syndicate into which I have paid my subscription for four years came up trumps. And what a fantastic feeling it was. As I checked the results on the internet my heart raced. I could barely focus on the screen. Eight, 14, 28, 29... the excitement mounted. Not six numbers, unfortunately, but a healthy four. I immediately got on the phone to the other syndicate members - all two of them.

There's only my friends, Lesley and Sue, and me, ploughing about 70p a week each into the pot and planning our lives on the back of our imagined winnings: three detached Georgian properties in the country, with adjoining gardens - or should I say land - and a flat each in London. Oh, and lots of holidays, lots of wine and lots of fun.

Whooping with joy, we arranged to meet that day and pop to the local Londis to claim our cash. "Will they hand such a lot over?" I asked, perhaps a little naively. "It won't be that much, maybe around £90," Lesley informed me over the phone. My husband chipped in - someone in his office with four numbers won £70.

Hastily withdrawing the letter of resignation I was about to email to work, my mood became a little less upbeat.

Then Sue rang. "It's £26", we've just checked on the computer. "What each?" I asked. "No altogether."

We still made a little expedition to the shop, where I collected the wad and we split it three ways. Far from securing a rambling rectory, it paid for a week's school meals for one of my daughters.

But while our win wasn't a champagne-popping job, it was a useful exercise. Our syndicate is based on trust. We have flown in the face of advice and have no legally-binding contract, no signed statements, nothing to prove that we are all in it together and should win it together.

Time and time again we read of fall-outs among friends over winnings on either the lottery or bingo. Of people claiming that the win was theirs alone and who have gone to court to fight for it. Many a friendship has been severed after verbal agreements turn sour.

Our meagre windfall was shared without even a hint of discord. We sat around Lesley's dining table and divided the sum into equal portions. I believe it would be just the same if we were sorting fifties rather than fivers - only we'd probably have had a couple of bottles of vintage claret close at hand, and maybe, in the full realisation that ecomony grub was a thing of the past, a few bags of Kettles crisps.

When we celebrate the big win - and we all believe it is a case of when, not if - we will do it together. There will be no-double-crossing within OUR close-knit syndicate.

But I can't say for certain it will never happen. Even best mates fall out. If my pals suddenly arrive in a pair of pink Rolls Royces to drop their kids off at school, I'll be asking questions.

Updated: 10:34 Tuesday, January 31, 2006