Tuesday, 10 November 2015

The time the bank gave me $50,000



The other night I had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that I was at the ATM one morning, about to withdraw my last $50. Then the balance on the screen read $50,000. Confused, I went into the bank and asked one of the clerks about it, and he went out the back to get the boss. 

The boss came over, smiled at me and said: 'Today the bank is randomly giving away $50,000 to hard-working mums everywhere. Congratulations Ms Laney. Not only are you a brilliant mum, but you seriously have hardly any wrinkles.' Then he told me that the only catch was that the entire amount had to be spent by midnight. Any remaining money would be reclaimed by the bank. 

I didn't need to be told twice. I took my amazing skin out of there and popped to the ritzy shop next door for the new handbag and shoes I'd been eyeing off weeks. Then I raced home to tell Mr Laney the news. 

'But how do we go about spending this sort of money?' I asked.

'We're going to the Melbourne Cup,' said Mr Laney, who was already on the phone organising a helicopter flight to Melbourne through his best mate who has a mate who has a brother who knows a mate who has a helicopter business. 

Meanwhile, I'd had a brilliant idea about who should look after our kids for the day, given that we had money to throw around. Within the hour, The Wiggles had pulled into our street, tooting and chugging along in the Big Red Car, which they parked in our driveway. Emma Wiggle jumped out of the car and gave Miss P a cuddle, while the rest of the kids stared as the other Wiggles got out of the car. 

'We'll take it from here,' said Lachie Wiggle, who headed into our living room, followed by Simon and Anthony, where they immediately launched into a rendition of Do The Propeller for our mesmerised children. I wanted to stay and sing as Do The Propeller is a seriously awesome song, but the clock was ticking.

Mr Laney and I left our numbers on the fridge and raced out the door, jumping into a waiting cab. 'Our helicopter will be here in two hours,' said Mr Laney. 'That's enough time for a new suit and a beer. I'll meet you in the pub.' He jumped out at the formal hire place at the top of the street, and I told the driver to take me to the fancy dress shops in the next suburb, where I got all dolled up myself. 

An hour and a half later, we were dressed and suited up, sipping drinks in the pub while we waited for the helicopter to arrive, which landed in the loading zone at the back of the pub. It was quite a commotion.

It dropped us right outside the Flemington Racecourse in Melbourne, where we tipped the pilot a ridiculous amount and asked him to pick us up again in four hours. Then we strolled through the gates with Bec and Lleyton Hewitt, who had also just arrived, and to be honest, they looked a little jealous of our helicopter. 

We spent the afternoon betting big money and losing absolute wedges of the stuff before the main race started. We didn't know the first thing about betting on horses. The we ended up at the bar with Hamish and Andy, who although looked a bit older than I'd imagined, were still seriously funny and after we shouted a few bottles of champers, we were all best mates. I can't remember what we talked about, but I know we laughed A LOT. 


Then our helicopter arrived to take us back to Sydney, where we were booked in at Aria, in their private dining room. On the way in, we spied Noel Gallagher in there with a few of his friends. Mr Laney told him we were huge fans of his and fairly cashed up. The next thing we knew, Noel was performing a private gig for us in our dining room, where we all drank Long Island Iced Teas and sang along to our favourite tunes. 

For all the alcohol we were quaffing, we were in surprisingly good shape. My hair and make-up had miraculously stayed in place and Mr Laney...well at one point, I looked over at him and he'd morphed into a young John Travolta, which was weird. Actually, maybe Mr Laney wasn't there anymore...I can't remember. 

Anyway, after dinner, John Travolta and I went with Noel and his friends to a little club that I never knew existed, where me and John cut some shapes on the dance floor. I'm fairly certain John was making moves on me. It must have been my youthful skin. Luckily, Mr Laney turned up, and after a bit of tension between him and John, the three of us decided to call it a night and head home for a nightcap.

We got home in time for a brew with The Wiggles and before they left, they sang Do The Propeller again, just for me (and the sizable tip Mr Laney offered). By the time the Big Red Car tooted and chugged out of our driveway, we were knackered. 

It was just after 11pm and I was pretty sure there was enough money left for a few more purchases, so I jumped online and ordered enough staple groceries to last us six months. Then I sent every mum I knew I bottle of plonk. I thought it was only right. Then, as it was late and there had been no room in the Big Red Car for John, we let him crash on the couch. 

The next day I woke up and for a second I thought it had all been true. I checked the couch to be sure - but there was no John Travolta there, just Mr B, watching cartoons. I felt kind of relieved. What would I say to John Travolta in the cold light of day? Plus, if the dream was real, I'd have a messed up hangover that day.
 
Still. I made a point of nipping to the bank that morning, just in case they had any special offers going on. You never know.
 

 

Now, over to you: if you had $50k to be completely reckless with, what would you do with it? And who would you choose to perform a private gig for you???

 

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