For a few minutes, just before the wrecking ball of reality returns, we will dare to dream

Nation lost in reverie of winning EuroMillions jackpot

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IT is an extravagant fantasy, of course, and one destined to be ambushed by reality's stormtroop-ers within seconds of the EuroMillions ticket being unfurled for inspection.

Like Neville Chamberlain after his ill-fated meeting with Hitler all those years ago, I will have in my hand a piece of paper.

And as with the UK's infamously gullible prime minister, the one who believed he was flourishing the document that would avert World War Two, history will most likely prove any optimism deluded and render said piece of paper utterly worthless.

But for a few dreamy moments this morning before my numbers are checked against last night's record-equalling draw, I will indulgently imagine myself as a Rich List gate-crasher, a mini-Musk, the custodian of some €250 million.

That, to attempt a Dunphy-esque flourish, is 250,000,000 big ones, baby!

Enough to build a dozen Leinster House bike sheds and still have a few shillings left over for a spot or two of mischief.

So, for a few moments this morning, many of us will mentally relocate to Millionaire's Row, in our minds claiming the deeds to a few properties on streets we ordinarily can't afford to approach even while playing Monopoly.

See yourself now, sticking on the indicator and swerving into life's fast lane. Destined for days without end answering the questions that matter: "Where would sir like his yacht docked? In Monte Carlo or Saint Tropez?"

Spraying money about like buckshot, an entire colony of genies leaping from their bottle towers to grant their master every conceivable wish.

Voltaire - imagine him as the Mbappe of 18th century French philosophers, albeit something of a killjoy - regarded lotteries as a tax on stupidity.