‘Forget bloody bingo, Ada. I’ll reveal all tomorrow.’
‘Wow, Bert, a posh detached - 347 Wickham Road - for us? How can we afford this?’
‘My numbers came up on the lottery, Ada.’
He hoped she’d swallow that. Telling her he’d found a magic lamp and discovered there were wish-granting genies would go down less well with the practical Ada.
‘Bert, you don’t do the lottery.’
He waved a ticket. His second wish was to have a plausible story for Ada.