I guess you could say I did the impossible. I won the lottery. I won't bore you with the figures – but let's just say I'll be set for life.

Some people say money changes a person, but I'm confident that won't apply to me. Every day will be exactly the same as it was before. I'll still go to work and walk my dog and fall asleep in front of the TV. I do think I might treat myself to a new car, though. Just an upgrade. Probably a low-end BMW. It's something I've always wanted. Maybe I can get a vanity plate that says "LTRY WNR" so people will know it's me when I drive around town. They'll say, "There goes Jon. He hasn't changed a bit." And they'd be right. I'm still the same person I always was.

I'll still go visit my family for all the major holidays just like I always have. I'll fly private, I think. I'm sure you're wondering why I don't just fly commercial first-class and the reason is commercial first-class passengers. If there's one thing we can't stand it's people without money pretending to have it. Don't even get me started on coach.

I'll arrive at my folks' "quaint" bungalow late in the evening – the very same house filled with all the usual dinner smells. I'll cover Mom's eyes, like I always do, and say "Guess who?" and she'll respond with "My rich son?" and I'll say "Wrong. Your wealthy son." The whole family will get a kick out of it. I'll greet the rest of them vocally as to not wrinkle my tailored bespoke suit and they'll update me about their kids while I lazily scroll through stocks on my iPhone 12. I won't be able to stay long since I'll have to leave to get dinner. As much as I love my mother's home cooking, it's just not cage-free, farm-fresh, grass-fed, antibiotic-free, hormone-free and frankly, her dinnerware is a tad gaudy for my taste. As I leave the house in a leopard-print Bentley I rented for the evening, my dad will turn to the rest of the family and say, "That's my son. Grounded as ever."

No, sir! Getting bumped up three income brackets won't influence my actions one iota. I'll still go to the bar with friends on weekends. I mean, it will probably be a yacht club instead of a bar and my friends will be named Carter or Linden now, but we'll still talk about regular stuff like sports, and place friendly wagers on our favourite teams. One of the Lindens will say something like, "If Argentina spanks Uruguay in Polo this quarter, I'll gift you my doorman!" and I'll say, "You are too much, Linden!" We'll shake hands and laugh until our cigars go out and the yacht's quartermaster has to re-light them with a custom lighter from Egypt with a gold inlay.

Still: I'm a creature of habit and no amount of money will change how I act. The boys and I will still take our annual hunting trip. You can't get any more wholesome than that. We'll dock on an island which I can't technically mention to someone of your pay-grade and get geared up for the hunt in our only-very-slightly-upgraded garb: antique pearl-handle duelling pistols with engraved rose-gold bullets. I can't exactly tell you what we're hunting, but it's been referred to as the "most dangerous game." It's not like someone will miss a mail carrier. Some good old fun like I used to have back in the day. It may sound illegal to someone like you, but when you have this kind of money the term "off-limits" is removed from your vocabulary and every judge is in your pocket. Once we've stamped out our prey, we'll bask in the pale moonlight, disclosing our darkest secrets and swearing blood oaths while praying, naked, to the unnamed pagan gods of wealth. I'll still be the spitting image of the man I was before my windfall. As you can plainly see I don't fit the standard description of a lottery winner.

By the time you read this I'll have already transcended the internet and been added to some sort of virtual super-highway where I blink to make phone calls and burp to send texts. So leave comments if you must, but there's no guarantee I'll read them. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to the gas station to cash this $1,642 Monopoly scratch ticket cheque.