My e-Lottery Lifestyle

Next to good health Time-Freedom I believe is the best thing that anyone can be blessed with. e-Lottery has enabled both myself and my partner Pam to enjoy a Time-Freedom lifestyle. We don't need alarm clocks - we get up when we've slept enough. We go where we want when we want and enjoy at least four holidays abroad every year. Our advice?...Think it, Dream It, Do It, Live it. Take a look at our website and discover what this great business can do for you too!

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Money Money Money

This is just a brilliantly funny video-clip that I found on YouTube!

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Women fight on beach as sea-drama unfolds!

Well...Here we are in sunny Spain for another well deserved holiday! Who said 'Not another?'! Come on...Pam & I work really hard on our business. Success doesn't just happen you know (well..rarely anyway).

Pam booked the holiday some months back and the rather startling title that heads this post was just one of many events which happened to us, for us, or around us during the week-long break with Pam's daughter Caroline and husband Steve not forgetting the delightful bundle of 2-year old fun who answers (occasionally!) to the name of Jack.

We stayed in a fabulous villa within a small complex and apart from one other family we had the whole place to ourselves including main pool and smaller Jack-type pools. This was just a 10-minute walk from the splendid nearby beach and facilities of Javea.

This, believe it or not, was my first visit to mainland Spain and I was desperate to discover whether the Paella was as good as the occasional one I've been known to cook back home. I wasn't disappointed - my first foray into the yellow sticky gunge was disgusting! My own attempts I'm pleased to say being infinitely better. But then we were just in a bar on the front so we weren't exactly expecting the very best in Spanish cuisine.

Pam decided to play safe and ordered a plain omelette. Did I say 'safe'? What subsequently arrived looked for all the world like a dead canary slapped between two huge pieces of dry, stale bread. Now I realise that with it’s beak and little feet removed this is a much sought-after delicacy in some Chinese provinces but this was Spain!

It wasn't at all helped by the tiny hand that served it which belonged to a pretty little thing of a waitress from Bath who was in her first week and appeared somewhat bemused presumably by the fact that she'd been given the chance to prove herself in this delightful role. The dead canary was presented to Pam by our 'waitress' with all the air and panache of a fisherman landing a 30 foot Conger eel!

Pam simply looked at said dead canary, looked up at said 'waitress' and with that rather endearingly inquisitive facial expression that Pam is famed for asked 'What is it?' The girl with a mix of indifference and embarrassment answered 'It's an omelette'. Pam's face was now a picture; astonished, incredulous and totally amazed that a young lass from Bristol could recognise this as an omelette.

Pam turned to Caroline 'What is it?'

Caroline, ever the informative one quietly said 'It's an omelette'.

This reminded me of the game we often play at family reunions where we all sit in a circle with one person holding an apple. This is passed to the person on the left and told 'This is a horse'. The recipient then has to say to the giver 'What is it?' and the giver says 'It's a horse'. The 'horse’ is then passed left again for the same procedure. Meanwhile the person sitting to the right of the 'horse' instigator passes an orange to the person on the right and says 'This is a cow' prompting the response 'What is it' and the orange person repeating 'This is a cow'. This continues in much the same vein until the horse and cow cross over when everyone falls about laughing. I know it sounds silly. Its supposed to be.

However, this was a Spanish 'restaurant' and Pam had just been served a dead canary sandwich so I said to young lass (who by now had told us her name was Becky) 'Could you please take this back to the kitchen and ask 'chef' to kindly mix two eggs together lightly and pop them in a pan for a couple of minutes and serve it on a plate’. Off she duly trotted like an obedient toy poodle returning 2 minutes later still clutching the dead canary with the unbelievable words 'Chef can't do that'. When I asked why she shrugged her shoulders and simply said 'He's Spanish'. It's like Fawlty Towers when Basil passes off every complaint about Manuel with the excuse 'He's from Barcelona'.

Back home I have several cookery books with recipes for a Spanish Omelette so I was rather surprised to find that this particular Spanish chef couldn't actually cook a Spanish omelette or even simpler just a plain one. I made a note of the 'restaurant' with a view to photocopying a recipe on my return home and posting it over to him.

Pam wisely I feel decided she was no longer desirous of an omelette and stated she would go without. Steve complained of feeling sick and couldn't eat his burger and Caroline suddenly lost all appetite. Meanwhile my Paella arrived. To be fair - it looked OK but on sticking in my fork I realised there would be a race against time here. The texture was that of freshly made pebble-dash which was very quickly setting. The bottom half of the rice was already stuck to the pan in much the same way as a super-glued finger does to the inside of a nostril (this by the way is made even more difficult if it's your finger and someone else's nostril - don't ask me how I know!).

The race was on: could I eat the Paella before it set solid? The answer was a definite no! The Paella won to see no doubt another day.

Little Jack, however, completely oblivious to what was happening with his fellow-diners was tucking happily into whatever it was he was presented with but then there's little he won't eat when hungry refusing only wet sawdust and Paper Mache and only then because there’s little taste. I've no idea what the little fellow ordered but looking into the remains of his pelican bib afterwards it appeared to be a mix of everyone else's meals including the dead canary along with what can only be described as mashed-up antelope poo.

Anyway...enough of this. We reluctantly paid the bill making a note of the name of the so-called restaurant in order to warn others away. Sorry Becky but I'm sure it's only a temporary job anyway!

My search for a true Spanish Paella continued the next day when aided by Pam’s memory of her guide book and the list of recommended authentic Spanish restaurants we settled ourselves at a table at a place where no-one else was eating (always an ominous sign I feel) and as we were convinced this was where we would get a taste of real Paella Caroline and Steve ordered a sea-food version whilst Pam and I went for the mixed meat.

We were served by a very efficient waitress who seemed to working at least 4 restaurants simultaneously. Having presented us with our cutlery she dashed off to take an order at a table 8 restaurants up, on the way back she opened and poured wine at another restaurant before returning to us to take our drinks order and then moving down to serve starters somewhere else. Now that’s what I call initiative – a freelance waitress! Brilliant!

Anyway to cut a long story short we were duly served with 2 pans of steaming Paella looking very appetising apart from some dubious looking tiny sea creatures with bulbous black eyes lurking in the yellow rice of Caroline and Steve’s Paella. I’m afraid I can’t eat that stuff; sea horses and things with tentacles and suckers I find totally unappetising and entirely indigestible.

Our first taste of what looked like a promising meal was disappointing. It might have been alright had it not been for the excess of salt. It was dreadful and drinking copious amounts of water didn’t help to reduce the salt content. The more we ate the more sore our mouths and no doubt our stomachs became. In fact it was dreadful. Needless to say we failed to complete the task of satisfying our appetites. Is this normal? Do the Spanish really use this amount of salt or was this a mistake on the part of an over-zealous salt-indulging chef? I have my own theory. Chef doesn’t actually add any salt at all – Paella is made in coastal resorts using sea-water! It has to be – there’s really no other explanation. Why would you want to spoil a dish with 2 kilos of Saxo?

This theory was in fact proved to be entirely true in my eyes when the next day I spotted two white-clad kitchen staff on the quayside filling a huge stainless-steel container with saucepans full of sea water!

The only way I could now see that I would ever have a Paella that I could eat was to travel inland far enough from the sea and hope that true Spaniards sprinkle rather than pour salt in their dishes. I live in hope.

Most days were spent on the beach. It never ceases to amaze me how much paraphernalia parents need for one small child on a day trip to the beach. There's an hourly change of clothing required, 37 disposable nappies, several sun-hats, buckets full of factor 210 sun cream, bibs - plastic and cloth type and a push-chair to take everything excluding Jack - there's no room for him so he has to be carried. This push-chair by the way is no ordinary push-chair - it's so large you could transport an entire army to the front line and return with captives! It folds up quite small but I start to shake with intrepidation when Caroline asks me to fold it up. I've been battered, bruised and all but lost several fingers and toes not to mention my sanity on the contraption before so I now claim that I would love to help but my finger's super-glued in someone's nostril somewhere.

We were just leaving the beach one day when Caroline decided she'd pop over to the nearby supermarket to get an ice-cream for us all so we waited. Caroline by the way is the world's greatest shopper. I know that's a claim that many others hold - but that's a claim recognised by themselves only - Caroline, however, is regarded globally by thousands of people as THE world's best shopper. Only Caroline could 'pop into town to get Jack a new top' and return 4 days later with tops for the whole of Birmingham, flight tickets for their next six holidays (they’re both e-Lottery members too of course), a new car, a new three-piece suite, an entire new wardrobe for Steve, new mobile phones and a brand new - just built - cottage on the side of the River Severn to put everything in. And all for the cost of a large bag of hard-boiled sweets! I’m always amazed and very impressed at her skills. I though Pam was a fantastic shoperiser but Caroline puts her to shame!

Steve is always amazed at Caroline’s shopping prowess too. Apart from anything else he just wonders how she manages to do so much in so little time (but then 4 days is like an hour when you're engrossed in the latest football tournament). Jack doesn’t notice either as whilst dad is super-glued to the TV screen he's broken into the crisp, cake and pop larder so is entirely happy for a few days.

I've absolutely no idea how Caroline manages to find all these bargains - she just has a natural flair as anyone who knows her will testify. This was once again demonstrated when she returned from the supermarket with two dozen rapidly melting ice creams - 'I couldn't resist the bargain; buy one box of 12 and get another box of 12 free!'

You see...I must have a shopping gene missing because I've never quite grasped this. How can you save money on bargains if either you never intended to buy whatever you’ve bought anyway or you buy so many you can never use them all? I don't get it.

Caroline was beaming 'Isn't it fantastic?' she exclaimed. I think it's something to do with the excitement of the chase, beating all the other shoppers, coming out with the very best deal and all that sort of stuff. Pam looked at her in amazement - she noticing first the dilemma we suddenly all found ourselves in.

'What?' said Caroline. 'Why are you looking like that'.

'Caroline?' replied Pam – ‘what on earth are we going to do with 2 dozen raspberry cornetto's?'

Caroline hesitating only slightly answered 'Well...Jack will have one, then there's me and Steve, you and Pauley'.

'That's five' said Pam, not even reaching for her calculator. 'What do we do with the other 19?'

There was now a definite hesitation from Caroline. Which is unusual because in a crisis she normally thinks quickly and actions even quicker (sometimes the action comes before the thinking but it normally works out OK anyway!).

We wait patiently for her reply.

'Well...erm...well...Steve will have two and erm...well there’s no problem we just put the rest in the freezer back at the villa’.

This time I immediately spot the flaw in the suggestion 'But we're ten minutes away from the villa - they will all have melted by then'.

We all look towards Caroline for the next suggestion. It came about 20 seconds later; 'We'll give them away to people on the beach'. As she says this she's opening the boxes and thrusting 3 or 4 now soft cornettoes in our hands and turning us all round to face the beach. So there we were feeling like aid-workers in a drought-ridden third world country handing out food parcels to the needy. The recipients of this highly benevolent action were not needy though - in fact they just looked at us in bewilderment as we went around offering cornettoes and saying 'Would you like one - we just bought too many'.

This little episode even days afterwards keeps popping back into my head. How can that have been a bargain? The unit price of each ice-cream was certainly cheaper than buying 5 single ice creams but if you then have to give 19 away where's the bargain? Such are the workings of the mind of a woman and although I have a great respect for the fairer sex and I love them all to bits I resign myself to the fact that I've never really understood them and I guess I never will.

One of the pleasures of family holidays I guess is finding out what makes the little people tick. Whilst the others were relaxing after a meal one evening Jack and I went off to play our 'stones to the sea' game which during daytime revolves around Jack throwing two carefully selected stones into the sea whilst I paddle, swim or borrow someone's dinghy to retrieve them. It's not playing the game if I bring back a stone not thrown out. They have to be the same two. Jack's face would beam and he'd be jumping up and down as I returned each time with the correct stones. I would throw them back to him but if they landed at a distance from him that would necessitate getting his knees wet I'd have to come further in to hand them over.

And so we wiled away many a happy hour until Jack tired and sleep overtook his enthusiasm for our 'stones to the sea' game or I collapsed utterly exhausted.

On this occasion though it was evening, the sea was not that accessible due to slippery rocks guarding the sea and of course we were both fully dressed. And it was dark. And in places the sea would crash against the rocks lightly spraying other rocks. Not really 'stones to the sea' conditions.

But Jack was adamant that the conditions were in fact perfect if we slightly adapted the rules of the game. We would simply throw stones in the sea and I would not be required to retrieve them.

Simple enough. However, we first had to negotiate the large slippery rocks come boulders - some overhanging and in the dark. Almost immediately I slipped, cricking my back and wetting my shorts in the bum area. Jack thought this was hilarious until he turned and walked into an overhanging and sharp boulder. A scream and flurry of tears was just about to come forth but I think I have this sort of situation well and truly sussed for if you use that look of horror and fright and say 'Oh Jack. Are you alright my precious?' the screams and flurry of tears will certainly flow. No question!

BUT...and here's the trick; if you just simply laugh then the little person will laugh with you. Of course this depends on the severity of the injury sustained. A little knock on the head is not quite as grave as running straight into a tree and sustaining mild concussion as he did the previous night on one of our little expeditions. This was one of our little secrets and we both promised not to tell anyone else about the incident but it started when once in his giant pushchair (along with the entire army and captives brought back from the frontline of course) we developed a game whereby I would run towards a tree or lamp post and stop suddenly just as we made contact almost jolting the little chappie out. He was in tucks shouting 'more pompa, more pompa!'

Incidentally, he's starting to get to grips now with the English language having been brought up for his first 18 months on the odd but well-loved language of Pingu'. Pingu of course being a TV penguin who has developed his own language that only little ones understand. This allows them to converse fluently with Pingu the penguin and between themselves in a way that us 'biggies' have no chance of fathoming.

The downside of this of course is that at some point they realise that no-one older than 18 months understands them and so they have to start learning a new language which in Britain is of course English. This must be extremely confusing for little people; having learnt the whole Pingu vocabulary and fully grasped Pingu grammar they now have to ditch it and learn something else.

One wonders why we don't all learn Pingu and adapt it as a global language. Things would be a lot simpler. If an 18-month old can learn it I'm sure we all can. Food for thought I reckon.

Anyway, I digress.. and so our 'crashing into a tree' game continued until the little person wanted to walk a little. He held my hand for a few minutes and then let go to run as fast as his legs could carry him straight into a nearby tree! Contact was made. The tree resisted and jack was knocked on his back. There was a second or two as he lay there looking at his own stars along with the stars in the night sky whilst I was coming to the terms with what he’d just done!

Anyway, as Jack came round, this was a situation that was almost certainly going to be a ' screams and tears' opportunity and keen not to attract attention in case people thought I'd just tried to kill the little mite I felt I should just pick him up and cuddle him as you do but managed instead what appeared to me to be a very forced laugh.

Jack looked up at me from his recumbent position and through a tear just forming in both eyes - he laughed. He pulled himself to his feet somewhat dazed and dizzy and we both just stood there laughing. Brilliant. I fully understand the little people! By the way if you ever meet Caroline please don't tell her about this I doubt she would ever forgive me. Best to keep quiet. What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't grieve or something like that.

Anyway, back to the original plot...where were we? Ah yes...clambering over the boulders to reach the sea's edge in the dark in order to throw stones in he sea. Fully clothed in our best posh stuff. Got the picture? Can you guess what comes next? Yep...! Little Jack bent down some distance away from me to pick up his carefully chosen stones when a large wave crashed against a nearby boulder and cascaded down in a torrent not too disimilar to Angel Falls in a storm! And all over Jack's head. Being one so small this bowled him over and drenched him from head to foot. My first thought was not actually whether Jack had survived but how I was going to disguise the fact that his brand new lime-green Timberland suit that his Nana had just bought him was soaking wet and yet I was totally dry!

We looked at each other and laughed and all was well apart from him dripping and leaving little puddles behind as we struggled back up to the top. I decided in my infinite wisdom that it might be best if we just went for a stroll to dry off a little in the warm evening air before returning him to his parents to no doubt face the music. And so it was some 45 minutes later that we arrived back at the restaurant table to exclamations of 'Where have you been, we thought you'd got lost and...oh my god why's Jack so wet?' I needn't have worried - they all thought it was funny. Jack and I were relieved and felt we'd probably be allowed to play together again after all.

Thursday was a slightly cloudy day - still hot but the sun wasn't showing his face much so it was a day for a stroll. Now my strolls can sometimes be like Caroline's shopping expeditions where she goes out to buy a jam-spoon and comes back 3 days later with everything but a jam-spoon.

Likewise, I’ve been known to take a rucksack, compass and map on Monday morning and return on Saturday afternoon. But this was just a stroll. So whilst Caroline, Steve and Jack went shopping and Pam chose some quality time with a good book I set out to walk to the headland and climb up to the lighthouse at Cap de Sant Antoni. It was a perfect walking day and a delightful path that slowly climbs the 650 feet to the top with wonderful views overlooking El Port. Large bright-yellow butterflies and wild flowers were abundant. It was a place of solitude, peace, sheer bliss and magic.

I then meandered along the top and found a way back down through delightful little streets and lanes with some very expensive looking houses all with their own hi-tech security systems, massive gardens and swimming pools.

But do you know what I found really odd about these houses? I saw no-one around anywhere. No-one in the pools, no-one in the gardens, no-one anywhere. Where do they all go? Why are they not all enjoying their gardens and their views. People who can afford these huge and grandiose places can’t surely work for a living? I imagine they are all retired and some perhaps earlier than they thought they would due possibly to their e-lottery commissions!

Or maybe it’s because of the noise? Quiet and serene it should be in this beautiful part of Javea. But unfortunately, quiet and serene it is not. The hillside appears to be in a process of continuous development with the sound of cement mixers, cranes, earth movers and the insistent and relentless banging of pile drivers. In fact I now know the source of this thumping that has awoken me very early in the morning some three miles away back at the villa. The noise is horrendous as you get closer. It must start very early and finish late. That’s why there’s no-one here. They’ve built there paradise but unfortunately scores of others want the same. It may never end – it’s a huge hillside. Such a pity.

Anyway returning to the beach I found Pam on her own looking somewhat agitated. Someone had just thrown a dirty nappy at her! ‘What? Why? Who?’ I asked. ‘It was Caroline – we just had a little argument and she threw one of Jack’s very used nappies at me and stormed off’. Apparently Steve and Jack had wisely slipped away before it reached this demonstrative point. ‘What was that about?’ and she related the ‘discussion’ they’d had about what coloured’s can be to put into a washing machine together. Mole hills and mountains are words that immediately sprung to mind but similar exchanges apparently had been going on all afternoon and there was arm-pinching, biting, hair-pulling as well as nappy-wanging. Hence the title at the top if you recall.

As always in similar situations I keep well and truly out of it and refuse to comment lest on patching things up later I find that I’m the bad guy for agreeing or disagreeing so over the years with similar situations I’ve learnt to keep totally stum and not offer an opinion!

This prudent move I feel is the sole reason for me only ever being beaten up in a street brawl once and once only at the tender age of 18. It was in the battling days of Mods & Rockers and I have to admit to not being that good at following trends and conforming to fashion as in my mind, my hairstyle and my clothes I was a true mod – yet I had a motorbike when clearly I should have had a Vespa. This is why I believe I found myself one Friday night in the centre of Leicester being attacked first by a gang of rockers and then as I sat there licking my wounds and crawling towards my Panther 200 was promptly set upon by a gang of mods. And I hadn’t even offered an opinion about anything. I was just there being me. Fashionably challenged and confused.

So where did my title for this Blog entry ‘dramatic Sea Rescue’ fit into all this? Well actually this was a little later when we met up with the Binggy's again (Caroline, Steve and Jack’s surname being Bingham) and remarkably - despite 30 minutes earlier drawing large crowds on the beach whilst attempting to scratch each others eyes out - Pam and Caroline greeted each other as if nothing at all had happened! Isn’t it just amazing? The love that exists between mother and daughter. All was well. And Jack wanted one of those little rubber balls that you get out of those little machines. It was only One Euro but I could see Caroline struggling to keep in a comment like ‘Let mummy have a look around Jack there may be another machine with a buy-one-get-one-free offer’.

Anyway, ball was duly acquired and we all had great fun trying to prevent Jack from throwing if off the unwalled quayside into the sea 9 foot below. He would run with no fear or sense of danger dodging nearly everyone’s attempts to stop him and almost throwing himself off as well as the ball. For some time the game continued with neither ball nor Jack falling into the brine until we were all exhausted and had to return to our seats and drinks to recover.

It was at this moment whilst simultaneously sipping a Sprite through a bent straw that Jack casually threw the ball across the way and we all watched it as it plopped over the side and drifted away from us. Despite the fact that Jack had done this he was somewhat disappointed to see his new toy bobbing out of everyone’s reach. Drastic action was needed. A dramatic sea rescue. I promptly took off my t-shirt and jumped in. Wow – it was cold here. Really cold.

In the rush to rescue the ball I’d left my sandals on which had now soaked up half the sea in Javea bay and were now bent upon dragging me under. I survived and managed to rescue the little One-Euro rubber ball. Everyone was relieved and I felt quite proud that I’d done my good deed for the day. Steve placed the ball on top of the menu A-board at the side of our table and we chatted and drank more wine and beer.

And then disaster…the ball had disappeared. Where did it go? We couldn’t see it anywhere. Steve ventured to the quayside and said ‘It’s here – it’s found it’s way back in the sea’. Jack looked unimpressed. Steve to the rescue. He too found the water very cold in the evening light. Like me he struggled to pull himself out. So there we were dripping seaweed and slime – two grown men risking life, limb and hyperthermia to rescue a little rubber ball. Such is the stuff of memorable holidays.

Ironically the next day we were all involved in a real-life sea drama and rescue. Not so insignificant as a little rubber ball this time but an old Spanish guy who had swum quite some way out then suffered a heart attack and was left floating unable to move. Steve and I were in the sea at the time playing with a large plastic blow-up ring that we’d brought down to the beach for Jack who in fact showed very little interest in it. So we took it into the sea ourselves.

Whilst we were messing about we noticed four life-guards walking quite casually but with some obvious mission and purpose along the water’s edge towards the quayside all the time looking out to sea and shouting in Spanish to people who were swimming some distance out. I thought they were being called in probably because of adverse tidal conditions (in the Med?) or a shark warning or perhaps a school of Portuguese-Man-O’-War heading this way. Anyway there didn’t appear to be that much urgency so we carried on trying to climb on board our plastic blow-up ring that wanted to do no more than spill us back out again.

The life-guards followed a little path alongside the quay all in single file and looking very pretty in their fluorescent orange tops and black shorts and all carrying what looked like a pillow on a piece of string again in fluorescent orange and black to match their attire. They were all very young and handsome – early twenties I guess. There was a bit of hesitation before starting along the path as they had to decide who was to lead. I suppose the danger being that the chosen one might have to make some life or death decision and none wanted to put themselves into that situation. Anyway someone was elected (pushed) and the orange snake trailed along getting further away from the people in the sea but they continued to shout at them anyway.

It was then we realised there was just one guy shouting back and near to him was someone we thought was just enjoying floating around in the sea and sun. This dialogue went on for some time and we still couldn’t understand what was happening.

Then an odd thing happened; the leader of the orange boys threw his pillow into the water, climbed down off the quay path, dipped his toe in and then quite gingerly slipped slowly in following his toe.

He started to swim (in a fashion). I’ve never seen a ‘life-guard’ so inept at swimming. I thought ‘any minute now he’s going to need rescuing’. Anyway, spurned on by his leader the second-in-command (second in the line) also tentatively and carefully slipped into the water with his orange pillow and followed his ‘leader’. He actually headed for a sandbank en route to the rescue area so he could walk and not have to swim. I couldn’t believe this. What on earth was happening? Steve and I were convinced it was some sort of life-saving drill by a bunch of young lads who had obviously been given the jobs of life-savers without having to admit they couldn’t actually swim and would have no idea what to do should a crisis occur.

Things slowly unfolded. The man in the sea shouting back had now reached the man who was floating. It was then that it dawned on us that there was a problem. Leaving Steve in charge of our plastic blow-up ring I swam out to see if I could help somewhat concerned that when the two ‘life-savers’ arrived the guy who was in some sort of trouble would be in much bigger danger once they were on the scene. Meanwhile the other two orange rescue people who were left on the side and had obviously only paddled in the sea before now slowly walked back to the sea-front to assist in the rescue attempt from dry land. This actually would have been the best place to start the rescue rather than walking the half-mile along the beach and than traversing the quayside. Heaven only knows what the reasoning behind that was – it would have saved 20 minutes of rescue time had they just swam out from the beach.

I arrived at the scene the same time as the two’ life-savers’ and what turned out to be the guy’s friend. The poor chap was blue, struggling to breathe and incapable of movement. It was obvious to me that he’d had a heart-attack but no-one seemed to know what to do. Now I can’t speak a word of Spanish and no-one else spoke English. I just indicated that we needed to get him back to the beach as quickly and as safely as we possibly could. This we did and in a few minutes we were on dry-land.

Unbelievably it wasn’t until we’d arrived that one of the two dry orange boys thought they’d better call for an ambulance! What are these guys on I couldn’t help thinking. There’s a man here obviously in distress, possibly dying and there’s no urgency. The poor guy by this time was shaking uncontrollably with cold and getting bluer. I summoned Pam and Caroline to bring towels and blankets and together we kept him warm until the ambulance arrived. In the meantime an English nurse arrived whilst one of the orange rescue boys dashed off to get a matching orange box containing medical supplies, oxygen mask etcetera.

It was obvious that they had no idea what to do with anything in the orange box which was clearly demonstrated by one of them holding up a mask with tubes dangling and turning it round and upside down to determine first of all what it might be and secondly what he might do with it. As I was thinking please choose the right orifice in the right person the English nurse took over and coped extremely well under very adverse conditions. Cool. Calm. And she knew exactly what to do.

The man was duly stretchered and taken away by ambulance along with all our towels still wrapped around him. Ah well…small price to pay. I couldn’t help thinking afterwards how much quicker the whole operation would have been had the little orange boys not intervened. Had I been able to understand Spanish I like to think that I would have grasped the severity of the situation straightaway, shouted to someone to call an ambulance, got him back to shore and administered first aid even before the English nurse arrived.

Beware of the little orange boys on Javea beach – they’re not what they purport to be.

That was our last day.

We’d had a great time with some interesting experiences along the way and all that remains for me to say is thank you for reading about our holiday. I hoped you enjoyed it and if so you might want to email your friends with our Blog link which is so they can all have a laugh too at our expense.

Oh…and if you ever find yourself in Javea and come across a place where they serve edible Paella without seahorses and an excess of salt please let me know. We intend to re-visit Javea but unless we hear from you before we go we’ll be taking a few packets of Tesco’s finest!

And please visit our Blog regularly for more life-changing events and fun! And if you'd like to see how we fund our somewhat lavish lifestyles we'd love you to take a look at our website - please turn up your speakers for a very short movie-clip, sit back and enjoy...

Saturday, April 08, 2006

A very useful list-builder:

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Vegas Pics

Thanks to e-Lottery we live the dream!

What a fantastic time we all had in Vegas. The Wynn Resort is just fabulous - it's the biggest, smartest most luxurious hotel in Vegas and is not yet 12 months old!

Our room was on the 50th floor with panoramic views (wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling) of the famous Vegas Strip. It's a city that truly never sleeps ever - it's actually busier through the night than it is during the day.
View from our room

This hardly does it justice but it's a pic of the front of the hotel - around the back there's a huge waterfall with accompanying light and sound effects and of course the magnificent championship golf course. The 17 restaurants cater for every taste bud. There are two full size theatres and a huge casino (I (Paul) managed to win £150 on Blackjack.

Don't ask how the halo got there!

We were here for business though not purely pleasure although I have to admit as far as we were concerned there seemed to be far of the latter than the former!

On the Monday was the day our business meeting took place where we were given all the info on the new game and all we can say at the moment is that it really is going to be fantastic. We see now why Tom Brodie and Mark Davies have been saying that this will double, triple and quadruple incomes over the coming months. It's a non-lottery based game that is so compulsive players will just want to go back in time and time again and every time they do we get paid! Isn't that fantastic?!

The Gala night on Thursday was dressing up time for all of us. The food was truly superb served very professionally in our private dining room at Bartolatti's Restauarant. Here we tasted the freshest sea foods we've ever had along with a huge selection of main courses and deserts. Everything cooked to perfection and magnificently presented.

Here's just a small selection of pics we took:-

Thursday, November 03, 2005

Not another win??????

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Ajaccio, Corsica. Sept 2005

Well...what's the point in having winnings and
commissions if you can't enjoy them?!