Peter Bromhead: First class club member

Illustration / Peter Bromhead

An email marked "Urgent Personal Notice" arrived, inviting me to join an exclusive "First Class Club". The invitation also suggests I could win $125,000, once a member.

While unclear about the club's location, the correspondence displays an exciting "First Class Club" banner in a script more in keeping with a Las Vegas casino, an inscription edged in purple and filled with glittering stones, thus confirming the swanky nature of the establishment.

There's also a background of high-rise apartments in what looks suspiciously like a Sydney location, but I'm not nitpicking.

The fact is, I've been selected, suggesting somebody's done a bit of homework, sorting out the chaff from the wheat.

When I casually mentioned this exclusive offer to the caregiver, she responded with hollow laughter, suggesting I was again being sucked in to making another foolish purchase.

I sullenly admitted that when I clicked on the invitation to join, I was immediately offered a free overseas flight and hotel accommodation, plus a chance to win a luxury car or $50,000 in cash, on top of the original offer that placed me in a draw to win $125,000, in exchange for agreeing to buy a series of books on healthy food and lifestyle improvements.

The caregiver continued to give me the pitying look usually reserved for our children when they demand iPhones for their birthdays.

"Do you seriously believe that purchasing books on healthy food is going to change your dietary habits?" she asked, adding "I don't think you'll find many recipes for roast pork washed down with a cheeky little Pinot Gris, or T-bones served with French fries."

Once again, I felt the caregiver had sucked all the oxygen out of the room and I was finding it hard to think.

"What about the prizes?" I morosely responded. "Even if the healthy food books are a bit light on treacle pudding recipes, what about the money and cars? After all, I must have a good chance of winning because only a few people are participating, it's all very exclusive."

"Yes, you and probably 10 million others," my loved one sneered.

"Well," I concluded, "I don't think an organisation like Reader's Digest would try to bewitch me with tempting offers without substance. After all, look at their headquarters' address in the US.

"A corporation residing in a place called Pleasantville is surely a company one can believe in."