Just when I thought Santa Claus didn't exist, he came unexpectedly to my house last Friday.

He didn't call himself Santa, of course, and he didn't scramble down the chimney.

No, he called himself Ernie and he arrived through my letterbox . . . yet I knew the Bearded One was behind it all.

But enough of the waffle. In plain, simple English, one of my premium bonds came up trumps.

After three years of ownership and not a sniff of a prize, I'd almost forgotten I had them. So when I opened the envelope - thinking it was yet another Christmas card from someone I couldn't remember - I squealed with excitement when I saw the cheque inside and rang a friend to tell him the news.

"Merry Christmas!" I shouted. "My premium bond has just won £50."

There was a silence. He was obviously absorbing the news before congratulating me on my good fortune. Then he replied: "I expect this will lead to some big changes in your lifestyle," he said. "A word of advice - don't let it go to your head."

Okay, £50 may be financial peanuts in this world of multi-million pound Lottery winners but it's better than being hit in the face with a wet haddock, as my old grandma used to say.

Actually, for someone who's always whining they're unlucky, except when it comes to booby prizes, I've not had a bad run during the past 12 months.

At the start of the year I won $500 to spend in a New York shopping mall. When I win the flight to go with it, I'll be off. A few weeks later I won a splendid gorilla (all right, a soft toy but extremely realistic) that sat on my knee all the way from Victoria to Brighton and was a great way to start several unwanted conversations.

Then came the pice de rsistance - a hideous brown and yellow plaster picture frame decorated with animal skulls, rifles and saddles, which I won in a raffle in Canada. Before leaving the country I abandoned it in a lavatory at the airport. And guess what?

"Hey lady, you've left this package in the washroom."

"Oh, how silly of me. Thanks very much . . . "

Of course, if I'd been more quick witted I would have said: "Finders keepers - it's only fair."

But Christmas provided the perfect solution; it was the ideal gift for a friend who has a nine-year-old cowboy-mad son. What pleasure I got in wrapping the parcel.

It was this particular friend (minus child) who came round on Sunday when we exchanged presents.

"Don't you dare open this till Christmas Day," I said nervously as I slipped the package into her bag.

Then we had our usual coffee and gossip, joined of course by The Mother.

"Guess what?" I said. "My premium bond's won £50."

"Well, that's better than being hit in the face with a wet mackerel, as my old grandma used to say," the friend replied.

"Yes, she's been very lucky this year," said The Mother. "She won that $500 shopping spree in New York and that sweet little gorilla as well."

She paused: "But then there was that horrible picture frame covered with animal skulls. Ugh! Whatever happened to that, Vanora?"