If I become Birmingham’s next Lotto millionaire I’ll get straight to work

So often when people win the Lotto jackpot, they keep their win private, their luck only obvious to close friends, family and nosy neighbours who wonder how they've been able to afford a new patio as well as two holidays a year and a M&S Food delivery every three days. If I won the Lotto jackpot, there wouldn't be subtle signs; I'd shout it from the rooftops.

Well, one rooftop in particular. If you walk to the bottom of the big staircase at Birmingham New Street station, you'll be standing opposite a historic space that I'm dying to see open again.

The Crown pub is known as the place where Black Sabbath began their career as one of the most important bands ever to come out of our city. In the loos, graffiti from Brummie punks of the past is still scrawled on the walls and, despite thousands upon thousands of thirsty train travellers passing by every year, its taps are dry and its gig room lies silent.

Read more:The Crown pub should be 'Birmingham Cavern Club' now it's listed

I'm not a big pub-goer, but if I were to win a cool few million on Lotto, I'd snap The Crown up in a heartbeat.

I imagine it being, in part, a museum of heavy metal, a destination where people from all over the planet could come and celebrate Sabbath with a pint (or a pop) and see special Brummie memorabilia. Hunting it all down would be so much fun!

I envisage interactive exhibitions where Brummies could come and connect to the music this city gave to the world, rocking out with a hologram of Ozzy Osbourne and eating bats. OK, perhaps bats for dinner is a step too far. There would be bar snacks in The Crown though, I’d make sure of it. Cheese and onion cobs, probably.

In the building next door, which I'd have snapped up too, I'd create a cool little heavy metal-themed boutique hotel with a few rooms that have secret passageways, theatrical decor and record players in every room. Maybe that’s where I’d have a posh restaurant, with little bat-shaped chocolates served up with every bill.

Right at the top of my new hotel, in the penthouse suite, is where I’d live, ordering takeaways from the city’s best restaurants and living like a queen. You’d see me flouncing through town with bright yellow Selfridges bags on my arms and you’d say: “There she goes, that old moneybags Kirsty Bosley who brought The Crown back to life!”

In my spare time, I’d go to shows down the way at the Old Rep Theatre whenever I could and, hopefully, I'd be in a prime position for when the Electric Cinema finally reopens. In my heart, a big injection of cash in the historic Crown would lift the fortunes of every building on the historic street. My name would be remembered in perpetuity and perhaps I’d have a bronze bust of myself at the end of the bar, like Queen Victoria in that famous boozer on Albert Square.

While The Crown would be a classic, proper pub, I’d have the best sound system my budget could buy to hold gigs a stone’s throw from the train station, and I’d have open mic nights in the gig room to inspire the next generation of Birmingham musicians. The whole world would know about The Crown and everyone would want to visit our hotel for heavy metal afternoon tea and sleepovers.

That’s what I’m dreaming of when I stick a Lucky Dip on. Writing my name in Birmingham history forever. Is that too much to ask?