What I would do with £45 million

So yes it is a Thursday, a whole Thursday too late, I know how totally rubbish I am, just skipping a week of blog. I am useless, I don't need telling. But sometimes even us divinely beautiful, talented, fashion bloggers need a holiday especially when birthday cake is calling!

(Last time I wrote my blog)

So this week I know I said I was going to do fashion hangovers but that was way back in the land before time when I was still writing my blog so that idea is a little bit past it now. I am still following requests and house mate requests this week was what would you do if you won the £45 million euromillions jack pot. So here we go.


We've all had this conversation, 'well i would give most of the money to charity' or 'I'd put it in the bank and live off the interest' or 'I'd pay off all my debts and just be happy and live inconspicuously in my normal routine.' I'm sorry, let me just hit snooze on my alarm because you just bored me to sleep. Yeah ok you can do that stuff if you won like a couple of mill but we're talking about £45 million. I would definitely be showing off my ridiculous amount of wealth as best I can to display just how friggin special God must think I am to have selected me to win.


So here's how I'd start off. I would get a solid gold, fully working, hippogryth shaped jumbo jet to take me to Paris where it would drop me in L'avenue de Montaigne where I would make a trip to Dior and buy the most outrageously ridiculous dress in there (I think I may have mentioned this in a previous blog but here's a reminder, I'm getting deja-ecrit.) I would put this dress on and where it out of the shop (like you did with shoes when you were kids) after kindly asking the shop assistant to dispose of my rags, and I would parade down the street wearing that dress.

(Oh hi I just won the lottery, how do you do?)

Next thing on my list would be to see the Queen naked. I don't care how it happens it's just gotta be done because I'm pretty sure not any old bum can see the Queen naked. I would do this whilst eating the worlds biggest burger with Kermit the frog, because I can. I would then order the world's most expensive cocktail (Movida's 'flawless' coming in at £35,000) and throw it in Robbie Williams' face.

(Flawless-a large measure of Louis XII cognac, half a bottle of Cristal Rose champagne, some brown sugar, angostura bitters and a few flakes of 24-carat edible gold leaf. And at the bottom of the crystal glass is an 11-carat white diamond ring and it's going all over his smug face.)

Moving swiftly on I would request Jeeves, as in Ask Jeeves, to order me the most expensive gigolo, maybe even Hugh Hefner just purely to tell them they were bad in bed (even if they weren't), and then tell the Guardian, because no one believes the Sun. Or maybe I'd hire Robbie Williams to have sex with me, then shave his eyebrows off while he was sleeping, then tell him he was bad in bed and then ask for my money back and then get Heston Blumenthal to make me breakfast.

(Shocking performance Hugh)

I would employ lots of infants to spring random love children on previous lovers, celebrities and generally people I don't like. 


You may be thinking that I am being totally selfish in my spending of my millions but no I haven't forgotten about everyone else. One friend once asked me if I'd still remember him if I won the lottery. I do still remember him and to prove this would buy him the most expensive and more importantly, most inconvenient present, such as a giant Japanese robot rabbit I once saw that was about £1000,0000 and could fill a house. He couldn't possibly return it. That would just be rude.

(Happy 'I won the lottery'!)

I suppose if I wasn't being a total psychotic bitch I might do some nice things as well. Like hire Robert Patterson to just go and sit next to my house mate in her lecture or get George Michael to sing for my mum (if he can.) If I'm feeling particularly generous I could pay off a few debts here and there.


So there you go, that's what I'd do with £45 million. What would you do? You don't have to tell me, just thought it was polite to ask.


If it all goes tits up then I could just buy this flat in Chelsea and pretend I'm Blair Waldorf without the eating disorder. 

(£32,500,000 for a flat, impulse purchase)

Maybe I should buy a ticket.