Fire up the Bugatti, Rich Uncle Pennybags.

I always thought that a double six on the dice was a portent of good fortune. 

There is a certainly a feeling of great satisfaction on seeing the tumbling cubes forming the distinctive matched pair. It is as though there is a perfect alignment of the universe and all is calm and right with the world.

There is one exception, however ,which I certainly found out to my cost.

A throw of twelve places from Vine Street on the classic Monopoly Board lands you square and banged to rights in jail.

The rest of my family whooped and hollered with delight at my misfortune. It meant to them that there was, for a short time at least, more property and assets for them to claim and carve up for themselves.  

We always end up finding that board game in the dead space between Christmas and New Year even though, without fail and every year it is a catalyst for unhealthy competition, petty squabbles, ruthless dealings, bad morals and doubtful ethical practice.

Lifting of the lid of the game is metaphorical in bringing out into the open  any gripes and longstanding grumbles between our otherwise generally harmonious unit of 5 persons.

There is always the initial clamour and scramble for our favourite game pieces. Statistically I am led to believe that the boot is the most popular of the distinctive miniature metal ornaments although I tend to go for the racing car, battleship or the top hat to reinforce masculinity and to show to the assembled competitors that I mean serious business.

I get excited when the cash is doled out and would quite happily do a runner at that point but for the fact that it is only legal tender within an arms length of the game board.

We are then ready to begin with the ceremonial roll of a single dice to see who is to go first for proper. We are prepared for the inevitable fact that the game will go on for a few hours thereafter. No one seems to mind placing individual and collective lives on hold for the duration. 

Monopoly may have been intended as a game for all of the family but it is in fact an endurance event, a struggle of immense proportions and a pitting of wits and nerve against those you love the most in the whole wide world. Things can be said around the board that stay with the board even though in any other setting or circumstance people could easily be hurt and disillusioned.

I have spent my working life in the property sector but this does not equip me in any way to excel in the battle of attrition around the four sides of the thick overprinted cardboard playing surface. I am usually the first to be declared bankrupt after finding myself flitting between the massed housing or hotel sites on the most expensive streets of Mayfair, Park Lane or next best for extortion of fines of Bond Street, Oxford Street and Regent Street. Suffice to say these are in the control of my wife or any of my three children. My own sacrifices to nurture and bring the kids up wanting for nought are completely overlooked if I owe money for trespass or any other incursion on territory.

Skint I am sentenced to ridicule and scorn by those still in the thick of the action. I have not only lost all of my precious cash but have left, for any sorry dependants, a trail of mortgage debt, failed promises and a small stack of hastily scribbled IOU’s, the latter being my own very personal introduction to the game.

If only there was a bank, one of those no questions asked types, to solve my financial deficiency. Perhaps Wonga or Amigo could sponsor a space on an updated version of Monopoly to reflect the reality of modern life.  The salary payable on passing go is hardly a living wage and only encourages opportunism, speculation and risk taking in order to supplement income and social standing in the cut throat environment on the dining room table in our house.  

I am expelled from the game by virtue of my destitution. There is no safety net or social provision in place. I have no access to debt counselling or legal advice to try to claim back my losses after being mis-sold the idea of Monopoly as something wholesome and indispensable.  My former co-players have obviously no need for a property consultant and definitely not one from a failed business. There is little opportunity to find  gainful employment apart from one sorry place.

I find myself, once more, in the kitchen preparing drinks and snacks for the new  found  tycoons and magnates in the living room.  If I charge say, £100 for a cup of tea, £200 for a sandwich and £350 for a baby leaf salad I will soon be able to return and wreak my vengeance on those assembled.

Either that or I will propose that next year we just have a non-aggression pact or opt for something less harmful, like Russian Roulette.