The Lotto party

My friends could not possibly keep their secret to themselves for long. After several emails, texts, SMSs and the like - going "Ha bloody Ha" and "U just don't no do u" - they finally front up. "As it is your birthday," says their first honest message - " we'd better tell you what is going on." They claim to be in the "only eight star hotel in the southern hemisphere" and living on champagne and dangerous chemicals. How come this change in lifestyle for a bunch who would certainly have struggled to keep their rust bucket car in petrol if they had stuck to the original plan and driven Nottingham to Sydney. "Kate's cousin who is not on her Christmas card list after he fails her dramatically one long evening of drink and all the rest is one of an extended family who win that big prize on the Euro Lotto and her lets her have a tiny bit as part of his divi up and she asks for more and says 'you are on a permanent promise' and he sends along a few bobs. So the four of us - Kate, the lad, the vet and the other waitress known as Busty - fly here first class, book into this nice, highly-recommended hotel and party." And finally "Send us your tip for a good bet and we will put a few bobs on for you as well as us." I am thinking about it.