MONEY. MY attitude to it has always been the same right back to my first salaried position, which was restocking the shelves at the Six Bells Pub in Northfleet when I was 14. I did then and I do now gauge my total financial standing by the amount of real money (plastic not included) in the pockets of the trousers I'm wearing at the time. I have never felt the need to go home at the end of the day with any cash, but once it's gone, I'm broke.

Therefore, my first sober move after winning the jackpot - the first unsober one would be buying the Six Bells - would be to purchase some special combat trousers with expanding side pockets - you can request anything when you're rich.

Aware of the minor hiccup that outwardly I would appear to be suffering from chronic water retention in the thigh area, inwardly I would be secure in the knowledge that in my mind I would be feeling as good as it can get because I had vast pockets of money. The main disadvantage to this stupidity is that no matter how large my fantasy pockets are, I would still have a fair wedge in the bank.

Top of my list of beneficiaries come my parents, Tom and Jean, the most supporting, unselfish couple on the planet. Consequently, material wealth has passed them by and a cheque would be useless; they would keep returning it with a note saying, "We can't think of anything we need." So gifts it would have to be. Mum has been ill lately, so completion of her treatment would have to be administered by George Clooney and the ER team.

For Dad, a fully restored Mark 1 Capri, the dream car that eluded him. We could then take the wheels off his rusty Nissan Stanza and turn it into an exotic flowerbed of shrubs for Mum.

Closer to my pocket comes my partner, Assia. As hard working and kind as she is, she is still a bit of a princess, so perhaps we could buy a title in eastern Europe, followed by a walk-in wardrobe complete with aquarium-style bar and private patio. She could then borrow my special trousers - fully loaded of course - for a special one-off shopping spree.

Moving on, there is Amy, my seven-year-old daughter, who already seems to be aware that you can buy a small electric Mercedes 500SL Sports. On second thoughts, she'd also be happy with a private All Saints concert. After all, I wouldn't want to spoil her.

Finally, as a jeweller, I would like to treat myself to a pair of my cufflinks, and a couple of shirts to go with them. And that will mean a new suit (large pockets) ...

Stephen Webster is UK Jewellery Awards `Designer of the Year' (view it at Harrods or by appointment at 1a Duke Street, London, 0171-486 6575). Interview by Diona Gregory