Lottery results and numbers: Lotto and Thunderball draw tonight, August 13, 2025
Could tonight's £2million jackpot see you handing in your notice, jetting off to the Bahamas or driving a new Porsche off a garage forecourt?
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You can find out by checking your ticket against tonight's numbers below. Good luck!
Tonight's National Lottery Lotto winning numbers are: 01, 16, 27, 41, 50, 55 and the Bonus Ball is 54.
Tonight's National Lottery Thunderball winning numbers are: 02, 05, 17, 30, 36 and the Thunderball is 08.
The first National Lottery draw was held on November 19 1994 when seven winners shared a jackpot of £5,874,778.
The largest amount ever to be won by a single ticket holder was £42million, won in 1996.
Gareth Bull, a 49-year-old builder, won £41million in November, 2020 and ended up knocking down his bungalow to make way for a luxury manor house with a pool.
TOP 5 BIGGEST LOTTERY WINS ACROSS THE WORLD
£1.308 billion (Powerball) on January 13 2016 in the US, for which three winning tickets were sold, remains history's biggest lottery prize
£1.267 billion (Mega Million) a winner from South Carolina took their time to come forward to claim their prize in March 2019 not long before the April deadline
£633.76 million (Powerball draw) from a winner from Wisconsin
£625.76 million (Powerball) Mavis L. Wanczyk of Chicopee, Massachusetts claimed the jackpot in August 2017
£575.53 million (Powerball) A lucky pair of winners scooped the jackpot in Iowa and New York in October 2018
Sue Davies, 64, bought a lottery ticket to celebrate ending five months of shielding during the pandemic — and won £500,000.
Sandra Devine, 36, accidentally won £300k - she intended to buy her usual £100 National Lottery Scratchcard, but came home with a much bigger prize.
The biggest jackpot ever to be up for grabs was £66million in January last year, which was won by two lucky ticket holders.
Another winner, Karl managed to bag £11million aged just 23 in 1996.
The odds of winning the lottery are estimated to be about one in 14million - BUT you've got to be in it to win it.
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The Guardian
3 minutes ago
- The Guardian
‘Animal Farm was my parents' teamwork': Orwell's son on 80 years of the satirical classic
As the second world war reached its height, the winter of 1943-4 was one of the coldest of the century. My parents were living in a poorly heated flat in Kilburn, north-west London. My mother was working at the Ministry of Food. She was deeply involved in BBC Radio's Kitchen Front which tried to help people conjure nutritious meals from their rations. My father became literary editor of Tribune magazine in November 1943. He was only required in the office three days a week, which gave him the time to write Animal Farm. Every evening, my father would read what he'd written to my mother under heavy blankets in bed. It was the only warm place in the flat. They would discuss the developing story and where it might go next. Lettice Cooper, the novelist and my mother's Ministry of Food colleague, remembered my mother updating them every morning with the animals' latest adventures. That my father and mother worked together so closely is no surprise. My father respected my mother's talents greatly and later told a friend she had helped plan Animal Farm. Indeed, for some years, my mother had been typing and copy-editing my father's writing and offering him detailed corrections and revisions. She was probably more deeply engaged with Animal Farm than with his previous work, perhaps even suggesting it should be a 'beast fable' rather than the originally planned political polemic. The result of my parents' teamwork, by the time Animal Farm was finished in February 1944, was one of the most beautifully written books of the century. On one level, Animal Farm is an ever-relevant satire of the Russian revolution and its betrayal into Stalinist autocracy. That was an evil my father and mother knew first hand. During the Spanish civil war they had witnessed the Stalinists slander, imprison, torture and murder dozens of their friends and comrades who did not slavishly follow the Soviet party line. They even had to flee Spain themselves under threat of Stalinist arrest and execution. Nothing dispels political illusions quicker than being pursued by fanatical murderers. These experiences, and the endless darkness of Stalin's famines, gulags and purges, convinced my father that Soviet Russia was the very opposite of true socialism. He believed fervently that if democratic socialism was to flourish in the west, then the 'myth' that Russia was a socialist state had to be debunked. But there were profound challenges that had to be overcome before Animal Farm could be published. There was a deep-rooted institutional reluctance to allow any criticism of Soviet Russia while it was a British ally leading the destruction of Nazi Germany. This attitude was compounded by relentless Soviet government lobbying and the comprehensive infiltration of British institutions by Soviet agents. Peter Smollett (AKA Smolka, Soviet agent codename ABO) was head of Soviet relations at the Ministry of Information and the now notorious Cambridge spy Guy Burgess was a BBC producer. Everywhere, negative stories about Russia were quietly downplayed or suppressed and positive ones megaphoned. In this climate, five major publishing houses (at least one of them advised by Smollett) turned down Animal Farm as an inappropriate attack on a vital wartime ally. Even Faber, following its director TS Eliot's advice, doubted 'that this is the right point of view from which to criticise the political situation at the present time'. Finally, in July 1944, Fredric Warburg of Secker & Warburg, known for courageously publishing controversial leftwing books, agreed to take it on. Even then, paper shortages and possibly ongoing reluctance to offend Britain's ally, meant Animal Farm was not published until 17 August 1945. When it finally appeared, my father was surprised at how little fuss there was about his bold satire of Stalinism and dictatorship. But relations with Russia were by then rapidly cooling and, as my father said, people were 'fed up with all [this] Russian nonsense'. Animal Farm's time had come. Since its first publication 80 years ago, it has sold more than 11m copies and never been out of print. But Animal Farm is more than just a satire of the Russian Revolution. This 'fairy story' (as my father called it) is an eternal warning against political leaders who hijack potentially noble movements for their own selfish purposes. My father thought all politicians should be watched hawkishly, confronted truthfully (whatever the price) and kicked out when they put their interests before those of their country. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion Animal Farm has had a remarkable life story, playing its part in democratic protests behind the iron curtain and more recently in Myanmar, Zimbabwe and Ukraine. It remains an unforgettable inspiration to all those fighting for freedom. In a world where authoritarianism, nationalism, xenophobia and political lying are all on the rise, we need Animal Farm by our side more than ever now.
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Telegraph
33 minutes ago
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Lady Glenconner: ‘People used to laugh at the King for talking to his plants, but I do it all the time'
The 93-year-old Lady Glenconner, née Lady Anne Coke, was born in 1932, the eldest of three daughters. Her father, the 5th Earl of Leicester, inherited the 27,000-acre Norfolk estate Holkham Hall, where Anne grew up after the Second World War. She was a maid of honour at the late Queen's coronation, and lady-in-waiting to Princess Margaret from 1971 until the Princess died in 2002. In 1956, she married Colin Tennant, later Lord Glenconner, and they had five children. In 1958, he bought the Caribbean Island of Mustique and transformed it into a holiday destination for the rich and famous. Two of the couple's grown-up sons tragically died, and their third son suffered a serious head injury following a motorcycle accident. Tennant died in 2010. At the age of 87, Lady Glenconner published a bestselling memoir, Lady in Waiting, followed by Lady Glenconner's Picnic Papers and Other Feasts with Friends in 2024. Where do you live? For the last 45 years, I have lived in an old farmhouse in north Norfolk, quite close to the sea, and very near Holkham Hall, which is my father's ancestral home. The garden is at the back and covers about an acre. The sitting room, where I do all my writing, looks directly out onto a terrace where I keep my potted pelargonium and agapanthus collections, a large lawn with flowering borders and a very old walnut tree. When I arrived, the lawn was divided into two by a long rockery, which I hated, so I planted a row of beech and a row of yew in its place, which now break the strong north-east winds that come in from the sea. Nestled into the beech is my gazebo, which has a green tiled floor and a small table and chairs. I sit there every day to drink tea, read the papers and do my crossword puzzles. What are your favourite jobs in the garden? It wasn't until I started living here that I began to garden much more myself. I do have a gardener who comes in one morning a week to mow the lawn, and one of my twin daughters, Amy, is very good at pulling ivy off the trees. I'm more of a housemaid in the garden, clipping, pruning and deadheading, but my big thing is weeding… I have a vendetta against them. I just love that sense of pulling out all the bad stuff, it's very therapeutic. I actually broke my back a few months ago, but I'm up and about again, encouraging plants to get a move on wherever possible. People used to laugh at the King for talking to his plants, but I do it all the time. If a flower is looking limp, I'll say: 'Come on now, pull yourself together, for goodness' sake.' If it's a weed, I offer a stern: 'How dare you come up again.' Which flowers grow well in your garden? There's nothing like watching flowers grow from seed and I'm fortunate enough to have lots of self-seeders. There's always that wonderful anticipation and magic of seeing them come back every year, whether it's the primroses and pansies in winter or the foxgloves, poppies and forget-me-nots in late spring. Then, of course, come the perennial summer blues – ceanothus, eryngium and trailing geraniums. When it's warm, I also sit in a summer hut that's surrounded by lavender and rosemary – they thrive in the sandy soil we get around here – and has a vine and a Rosa 'Rambling Rector' climbing all over it. I have another rambler called 'American Pillar', which was here when I arrived. It's a very bright and in-your-face pink, but I didn't want to pull it out, so I just renamed it Trump. Did you have a garden as a child? My father was in the Scots Guards, and both before and after the Second World War he was equerry to the Duke of York, later King George VI. During the war, he was posted to Egypt and fought at El-Alamein. My mother went with him, so my sister Carey and I were sent to stay with great aunt Bridget and her family in Scotland. I was seven, Carey was five, so my parents engaged a governess. I tried so hard to be good, but she was very unkind to me, so I'd climb trees to hide from her. At night, she'd often tie me up. The castle also had a children's library and it's there that I discovered a very special book – The Secret Garden. It's about a sad little boy whom I could instantly relate to. That awful woman was eventually dismissed, and we got a wonderful governess called Billy Williams. She could see how badly affected I was and, one day, she said to me: 'Why don't we have a secret garden? We can grow flowers and we won't tell anyone about it.' So, we did, and it really helped me to recover… it made me a happy child again. Did either of your parents love gardening? My family moved back to Holkham Hall after the war, where my father carried on being equerry to the King. Following the Queen's coronation, my mother became lady-in-waiting to the Queen and, as Holkham is near Sandringham, our families became very close. In fact, I've known King Charles since he was three; it was my mother who taught him pottery and let him drive her Jaguar. She was a very creative person, but neither she nor my father were into gardening. The grounds were large, very formal, with manicured lawns and clipped hedges, and the gardeners did everything. We also had a huge kitchen garden with glasshouses and heated walls, where peaches, pineapples and nectarines grew. My sisters and I would go down to see the head gardener, who would give us fruit to eat. Can you tell us about your garden at Glen Castle? When I married Colin Tennant in 1956, we had a home in London, but in 1983 he also inherited Glen, in Scotland, so during the holidays we'd head up there with the children. Glen is on the border, so it was always a stop-off point for friends who were heading up to visit other big houses. In August, we'd have big parties every weekend and flower arranging played a major part. Glen was a castle with big rooms, so you needed big flower displays. We had a flower room where everything was prepared, and where all the vases were kept – I loved all the Wemyss ware. I'd tell the gardeners what flowers to pick, they'd prepare the vases and take them up to the bedrooms and bathrooms, and I'd finish them off. It was important to have flowers in all the rooms. Has the garden brought you comfort over the years? My garden has been a constant companion. It has seen me through so much sadness, so much grief. The most difficult time of my life was losing two of my sons. Henry died of Aids in 1990, Charlie died of drugs in 1996. My third son Christopher had also been in an appalling motorcycle accident. At one awful point, I thought I was going to lose all three. When I got home from nursing Christopher, I would sit in the garden. In dark times, it became a place of solace, of peace. Seven years ago, Henry's wife Tessa came to see me… it was just six weeks before she died of cancer herself. They had inherited Glen, and she wanted to give me some of the beautiful blue irises that always grew there. It meant a lot to me, and we planted them in the garden together. What brought you back to Holkham? When I got married to Colin, my father soon realised he was going to be a bit flaky. And he certainly was! Right up until the end, when he left me nothing in his will. My father said: 'Anne, you ought to have something up here at Holkham.' In those days, a lot of the farmhouses were becoming redundant because the farms were getting bigger. When two of the houses became empty, he offered one to me. Over the years, I have planted some very special trees. One is a fig, another is a mulberry tree that was a cutting taken from the Chelsea Physic Garden in London. The original tree is no longer there, but apparently it was planted by Charles II. There are also the trees planted in memory of my sons. For Henry, a red beech because he had beautiful red hair. For Charlie, a horse chestnut because he loved collecting conkers as a little boy. They've grown so tall now. I look up and say hello to them every day.
