I had to resort to buying packets of Love Hearts as a final attempt to earn tips of the ever parsimonious St Valentines guests. It's a cheap move but you never know. If quality service, magnificent food, free flowing wine and the general romance of the day doesn't do it (make them dig deep into their pockets for the humble waiter that is) then there is nothing like sweets from your childhood to bring a smile to your face. Obviously it failed. The miserable, tight fisted shite hawks. Fuck I hope they all get genital warts and their bits fall off.

I was convinced I wouldn't have to bother with work this weekend or any weekend ever again as I, like almost everybody else in Europe, had bought tickets for the EuroMillions Lotto draw on Friday night and I was sure I was going to win it. £113m eh, ooh baby that's a lot of money. I could really have done with that cash too. I had plans for it - an island named Waitropia, a dog for every day of the week, a hit on Adam Sandler and a chain of Morrissey themed cafes with food items such as Suedehead muffins and the Ouija cheese Board. But the Viva Hate Cafe and Soy Milkshake Bar will have to wait.

The Cousin said that he would have been happy with a million, I said I'd have been a hell of a lot happier with £113m. Little Miss Manuel chimed in with, 'money isn't everything and it doesn't buy you happiness'. Arse. You can buy your own island with money and thus be as happy as a waiter rolling in shit on his own island. 'That sort of money would change you too much', insisted The Cousin from the luxury of his single bed in the Trolls Kingdom - tea in one hand, muffin packet of muffins in the other whilst watching illegally download episodes of Breaking Bad. It's hard to take life advice from The Cousin.

But what's the point of doing the lottery, any lottery, if not to obtain significant life/waist changing wealth? All these altruistic types that say they'd give most of it away get on my moobs. Seriously? Give it away? My ass! You'd never find me let alone get any off me. Plus it easy to say you'd give it away from the comfort of your relative poverty. Oh  don't get me wrong I say the same too, even promising to open The Manuel. T. Waiter home for the Waiterly Infirm but I'll never do it. The cash, when I win it, is coming with me to Waitropia and the rest of you can screw off.

But, like I say I'm currently unburdened by the supposed guilt of being fabulously wealthy. Actually if I am burdened by anything it's an overdraft and lack of my own island. That said I did manage to secure a late night pizza delivery on Friday night after discovering that I wasn't a multi millionaire. Life eh, it's all swings and roundabouts.

But Waitropia, like earning any decent tips on St Valentines Day, are just dreams for another day...