I bought a lottery ticket today - the first for 10 years.
There's a chance, perhaps quite slight, that I could win £100m.
They can't have a roll over so the money has to go tonight, said Kate.
If no one wins it'll be shared out.
She touched a nerve.
The whole office brought tickets and discussed briefly what we would do with the winnings over a fish lunch from Taylor's.
Then our own thoughts (silent pleas for relief from individual moneymares) took over and the conversation bled into worried silence.
Dave and Kate bought pork scratchings from the pick and mix to take our minds off it, and we walked back to work.
I've purchased a raffle ticket to win a house with its own lake and hut for fishing, said Dave as we wandered.
It was £25. The house is worth £1m. I'll take half for a quick sale if I win.
1 in 40,000 chance we worked out as we made our way up The Goffs, where the cash could be exchanged for several broad townhouses.
Better than the lottery, we agreed.
But still, not great.
Bankers should be left to rot in their own financial sewage, Paul said as we ate rare burgers in the Dolphin later. He was animated. I was out of my depth and getting board of endless money speak.
The gloom is everywhere. Stifling.
I'm waiting for it to swallow the business while preying it might turn instead to a glorious Arctic dawn.
If I win £100m we may just survive.