Peter Bromhead: The Bromhead conglomerate

Illustration / Peter Bromhead

It's been an unusual week for the Bromhead Conglomerate board of directors, preoccupied with what sort of financial dividend will be awarded to them tomorrow night.

As chairman, I've been assuring my fellow board members that our solitary issue in a speculative venture will definitely return some sort of profit to our portfolio investment file, aptly named "Dreams are Free".

The board - consisting of the caregiver, two children and a small dog - agreed any return would be a noteworthy addition to our depleted reserves, and full credit has been offered for my diligence as chairman in purchasing the original confirmation certificate.

But there is uncertainty over how any profits will be re-invested. I've also noted that it has been difficult for members not to indulge in a spot of daydreaming since learning that an unusually high, tax-free monetary return could be heading their way.

One of the board directors has proposed re-investing in the construction industry with some sort of Minecraft Lego kit, while the youngest member has suggested that a stuffed animal spotted in a toyshop would satisfy his demands for a more flexible approach by the board's more senior members.

Unfortunately, before any dividends can be transacted, there are humiliating hurdles to be crossed, including a pre-broadcast presentation of the chairman carrying out his normal penurious occupation as a cartoonist, with comments by fellow board members on the vagaries of living with somebody who doesn't have a real job.

As I am experienced in the tedium of television production this is a trifle, but for the remaining board members there appears to be an unaccustomed level of apprehension over appearing live on the box.

The caregiver is also concerned that as board chairman and elected spinner of the mechanical device, I should, at the very least, don an Armani suit, instead of turning up in my usual torn jeans and faded pink sneakers.

She has also instructed me to cut my nose and ear hair, apparently unaware that facial irregularities can be disguised by a bevy of cosmetic experts, before we're dumped into the green room to await the bright lights.

Once facing the camera, I'm encouraged to say a few words before the real business of the night.

I'm wondering whether quoting "And now lies expectation in the air", from Shakespeare's Henry V, might come across as a bit intellectually uppity for what is, after all, merely my chance to spin Lotto's winning wheel.