Can anyone get rich quick? Simon Peevers decided to try his luck on the 'cheese and onion lottery' and with 59 bags of Walkers crisps, set out in search of those elusive £20 notes...

I'm no slouch when it comes to tucking into a good lunch now and again, but 59 bags Walkers crisps, the equivalent of Rick Waller's mid morning snack, made even my eyes bulge.

However, speculate to accumulate, and I reckoned on making back the £20 I spent on various flavours of Gary Lineker's favourite, more than once.

So having raided the stock of several shops and garages in the Clifton area, I sat down to the mouth-watering task of eating my way through more than two kilo of crisps.

Presumably the £20 would come in handy for the taxi to get me to hospital after somebody forces a wafer thin mint down me to finish off.

But ever the optimist and aware that the money could come in useful down the pub, I reached for my first packet with an increasing sense of anticipation.

I had that same excitement I get every time I fill out a Lotto ticket and foolishly tell myself that this time it really could be me.

So I go for a bag, any old bag, don't want to make too much fuss, just as likely to be in a bag of beef and onion as the more popular salt and vinegar.

I prize open the foil, but don't look straight in. I want to savour this moment.

Out of all the bags in front of me, I know I've picked the right one first time. But I've also been there before.

So I peer into the silver-lined treasure chest, and there, right in front of me, crisps!

But wait, what is that shiny thing at the bottom of the bag? I rummage around a bit, which doesn't take long, but find nothing more valuable than the bottom of the bag and a few green crisps.

Not to be deterred I reach over for the seductive prawn cocktail. There is always something a bit glitzy about that flavour.

Again I rip open the bag and find nothing but air and few fish-smelling potato chips. Not a problem. With 57 bags to go, my luck has to be in soon.

The next one, salt and vinegar, Gary's trade mark flavour. The same ritual, bag open, look inside - nothing, other than what you would expect.

Okay, I'm starting to feel a bit full.

There are only so many crisps you can eat in one sitting. Unfortunately, I had 58 times that many in front of me.

Come on cheese and onion, don't fail me now, even a token for another bag of crisps would be better than, well, just more crisps. Open, peer, no luck.

And as far as ready salted goes, well, I never pinned much hope on that one anyway.

So after five false starts I stopped trying to eat them and decided that simply ripping them open and pouring them out on the floor would be a more efficient way of playing hunt the treasure.

It might also burn off a few of the calories I had just piled on in my otherwise fruitless search.

Then I remembered the age-old playground system for opening crisps quickly and just started stamping on them.

Ten bags went down in the first wave, creating a mini salt mine for me to work at. Still nothing.

Twenty bags. Bang, bang, bang.

Nothing, except crumbs mysteriously appearing in my pockets.

Is this what it has come to? I had to ask myself. Is life at the print face so hard these days that I can justify manically stamping on hundreds of crisps which could so easily have been better appreciated by the homeless.

Well, frankly yes.

And through the haze, the salt in the wounds, the blood and yes, the tears, my efforts came to nothing, zilch, nada.

Just a vague sense of nausea and a hatred of Lineker's smug face.

With these odds, by the time I do find £20, I will have been bankrupted after spending every penny I have on crisps.

Oh well, back to the Lotto and blind delusion.

Still, probably more chance of winning that than seeing Elgar's 'tache smiling back at me from the bottom of a bag of smokey bacon.

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