If you've come here after reading my "Soap Box" comment, this is what it was referring to.

If you haven't, this is an extract (not the beginning) taken from an early chapter of a SEQUEL to an earlier story.

Truth Stranger then Fiction is not ALWAYS just somebody's imagination .....

Extract from "The Island of Her Dreams"

"Let's see if there's anything worth watching on the box tonight" he murmured, waving the remote in the right general direction.

"It's Saturday, Phil: what chance have we got of that happening?" moaned Kate in a lugubrious, melodramatic declamation.

Phil grinned as the screen filled and the speakers howled the overhyped screams of the captive audience in the National Lottery studio.

"Doesn't it just make you wonder, sometimes: where do they find all these sad people, prepared to sit and scream themselves hoarse on a Saturday night when they could be down the pub instead?" said Phil as he plucked their ticket from his pocket. It comprised the same six numbers each which they'd used every time they remembered to enter since the Lottery began. This was far from being every week: they were what could fairly be described as "occasional players" rather than week-in, week-out addicts or dreamers.

They'd turned on just in time to avoid all the "extras and add-ons" which had been introduced over the years, and which Phil habitually referred to as the "come-on" ploys of a fairground huckster. The irritating nasal whine of the current presenter, Eamonn Holmes interceded for the final time with what was (mercifully) his last unfunny 'joke' of the evening, and in less than 60 seconds the Main Draw was over. Phil and Kate sat staring at the screen in disbelieving silence. The numbers drawn

                        23        37        44        13        4          28        bonus 36

were rearranged in ascending order, but stubbornly refused to alter themselves. However you looked at them, they were unquestionably the six numbers Kate played every week.

Eventually Phil stirred, broke the silence.

"Well, at least I've got the Bonus Ball: d'you think that counts for anything?"

Kate shook herself as if returning slowly from a faraway dream, and swatted Phil playfully with a cushion. In silence, they mirrored each other's movements as they reached with perfect but unintended timing for their wineglasses, Phil with his left hand, Kate with her right. Their eyes met and locked over the rims of their respective goblets: still without speaking, they toasted each other and drank deeply.

The strident tones heralding the start of "Casualty" penetrated their calm, introspective silence: Phil stirred, hit the "Mute" button, shook his head in amazed disbelief.

"I really don't care how many tickets share the prize: from a 'Rollover' we’ve got to be talking a minimum of a couple o' mill, here!" he said, smoothing the ticket between his fingers.

He stopped, suddenly.

"Of course, they are your numbers: it's not my line, after all ………. "

Kate stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language.

"I'm not hearing this, am I? What sort of person d'you think you married, Phil? Say you don't mean it, please …!!"

An everlasting moment blossomed between them, wiped its sweaty brow and heaved a sigh before continuing its journey from here to eternity. There was no mistaking the sincerity of Kate's protestation of Phil's momentary doubt, irrespective of the legal ins and outs of who had actually placed the bet. Phil relaxed, sat back down and enveloped Kate in his arms.

"Houses in this area seem to fetch between £100 - £150K: I'm guessing we stand to get considerably more than that from this Lottery win, no matter how many ways the… what was it, fourteen million? – has to be split!"

"I'm sure you're right there" Kate agreed. As an artist, and working most days from home rather than travelling around, she had had time and opportunity to make the initial contact with estate agents in the area, also place adverts and arrange times for people to collect the furniture and other goods and chattels they'd decided they could manage without. This had also given her the opportunity to sound out letting possibilities, and she'd independently come to the same conclusion as Phil in this respect.

"Renting will give us the best of both worlds – and now we won't be short of a bob or two, anyway!" he said, hoping he sounded a lot more casual than he felt inside. He took the remote and clicked the "Mute" button to silence the inane screams of the over-hyped captive audience in the Lottery studios, then drew Kate even closer (if that was possible). Seconds later the screen faded and changed to the BBC station signal. A few lines of writing   appeared, summarising the rest of the evening's programmes Phil glanced at Kate as the first of the advertised programmes, "Casualty", threatened to invade their home: Kate's slight shake of the head resulted in the silent "squelch" as the screen went dark.

There was a companionable silence in the room, broken only by the discreet tick of the clock on the living room wall. Phil and Kate remained closely entwined, scarcely able to credit their good fortune but each planning in their minds how to use their unexpected windfall to benefit as many people as possible.

It was against this calm, quiet, relaxed background that the telephone began to shrill, shattering the silence, sounding preternaturally loud.