If we had no hope - for a cure, for winning the lottery, for falling in love, for the end of war, for being free of abuse, or for having food, warmth, clothing, and shelter - we would have no reason to go on. What you hope for doesn't matter, but rather the essence of hope itself. - Bernie Siegel

In certain circles there is much derision of people who buy lottery tickets. “A tax on the poor, the stupid and the insanely optimistic,” they say. Or maybe that should be “on the innumerate”. We all know the numbers, and the vanishingly small chance any individual has of winning; that there is more chance of being hit by a passing asteroid than of winning the jackpot. But then, every week someone somewhere sees their numbers come up, but when was the last time we heard about an asteroid fatality? 

There are plenty of other reasons people have for this haughty disdain:

·         Gambling is wrong.

·         The stewardship of our money is a moral issue; the money could be spent in much more beneficial ways

·         It is a dangerous vice to set one’s hopes on something with such an unlikely chance of being realised.

And yet, viewed another way, spending a couple of quid on a lottery ticket is the ultimate win-win situation:

A road trip around the UK will give plenty of proof of the ways in which your two pounds here and there have helped to give young actors and athletes a better chance of success. At least this “tax” is paid willingly.

So why do so many people spend so much energy on getting out of this civic duty? The answer goes back to our original cave-dwelling ancestor, let’s call him Adam, and his desire to better his chances of leaving a genetic footprint on this earth, even at the expense of those around him. OK, so our instinct to grab the best.

If I won*, I tell myself, I would set up some right-on charitable foundation, having first helped to sort out all the financial worries of my nearest and dearest, and then have a rather large party.

These are nice thoughts, positive thoughts. Like the modern day spirit of Christmas: a chance to show generosity and kindness to loved ones and spoil oneself at the same time.

Buying a ticket gives licence to think along these lines with the hint of a chance – a homoeopathically small memory of a chance – of those dreams coming true. But it is greater than zero, so in mathematical terms, the chances have increased “infinitely”.

The National Lottery Show is arguably the most dullest and pointless thing on TV if you have not bought a ticket, but in the same way that watching sport becomes a whole lot more engaging if you have a partisan interest in one of the teams, the drawing of numbered balls from a Perspex bucket can suddenly become the most riveting thing.

For most of the cheering public, the excitement dwindles at the drawing of the first ball and continues steadily as each unwanted number is called out. But even this process can be a constructive experience: dealing with disappointment is an important life-skill, and practising on something with such a low chance of happening is good training for the bigger disasters that will come along.

Disappointment, like relief, is inversely proportional to the likelihood that the event was ever going to happen.

An interesting exercise is to think how your life would change – for the better – if you were to win big on the lottery, accept that that “if” is never going to happen, but then make up your mind to go and achieve that dream anyway. What is stopping you? Is it really the lack of the thirty-eight million pounds, or is it more the will?

Many Lightning/Eye Books authors have something in common: they decided to do something life-changing, not because of a big money win, but in spite of not having one.

*If I won, however, it would be beyond a mathematical ultra-longshot, it would literally be a miracle as I don’t buy tickets!