Деньги - Money. Невежина С.Б - 28 стр.

         2. Where is Carinthia from? Where had she been for the                      3. Seventy passengers in anoraks and baseball caps turned to
            weekend?                                                         stare. I was about to shout 'I've won the Lottery!' when I realised how
         3. Which do you think is the best subtitle for the article?         easy it would be for me to go overboard. I could see the headlines:
         Life is unfair                                                      'Mysterious drowning off Portsmouth ferry. Seventy strangers share
         Dreams can come true                                                Lottery Win'. Suddenly, perfectly ordinary people turned into a snarling
         Hitting the jackpot                                                 pack of wolves. My war whoop tailed off and I tried to pretend that I'd
                                                                             read something frightfully funny in the newspaper (this is rather hard
      2. Compare your answers with a partner.                                when you are reading The Mail on Sunday), and I subtly transferred
                                                                             the ticket (by now burning in my hand like green kryptonite) to a position
                  HOW I WON THE LOTTERY10                                    of safety under my bottom.
                (and also managed to top up the money                                4. I was still 20 minutes from port, and you never know what
                   by selling my story to the Tatler)                        might happen. It's amazing what the mind can do. Five minutes earlier, I
                                                                             was your regular law-abiding citizen. Now I was plotting like a hardened
       1. Winning the Lottery is one of those things that only happens
                                                                             criminal, prepared to protect that piece of paper and already planning
to other people. That's what I thought as I peered yet again at the
                                                                             spending sprees in Harvey Nicks, dawn raids on Hermes and Gucci,
winning numbers published in The Mail on Sunday and then once
                                                                             and Gulfstream getaways to Rio.
more at the ticket stub clenched in my hand. I might have been in a
                                                                                     5. But you know what girls are like. I had to tell someone, and I
front-row seat on the Centre Court, so fast was my head flicking
                                                                             knew exactly who. My mobile phone, amazingly, works in the middle
between the two, checking over and over again the fact that I held the
                                                                             of the Solent (but not at Hyde Park Corner), so I rang my friend
winning numbers in my hand. It couldn't be true, but it was. I had
                                                                             Mr Evans in Wales. I wanted to know how much I'd won, and he
picked five of the six Lottery numbers. I had hit the jackpot! I let out
                                                                             studies Lottery wins assiduously. I slunk furtively down behind my
what can only be described as a bloodcurdling war whoop – and then
                                                                             paper and whispered my amazing news. 'Five numbers, is it, Cariad?'
remembered where I was. I was sitting in the 23rd row of the 3pm Isle
                                                                             he said in his lilting Welsh voice. 'Just a minute, while I look it up.' He
of Wight ferry, heading back to London after a jolly weekend. The day
                                                                             was gone long enough for more visions to flit through my mind: Lear
before, I had popped into a Spar supermarket just outside Ryde for
                                                                             jets this time, and top-of-the-range Mercedes and summer homes in
some milk. I had been in a hurry, but my eye caught the Saturday
                                                                             Sardinia. 'Are you sitting down?' he said when he returned, sounding
Lottery display at the entrance to the shop, and having only seconds to
                                                                             super-excited. 'You lucky girl, you've won £1,700. Think what you can
spare, I abandoned my usual tactic of waiting for numbers to float
                                                                             do with that.' He went on to explain that because the bonus ball was
down to me by divine inspiration ('Carinthia,' booms an Olympian
                                                                             included in my winning five I'd just missed the £14 million jackpot,
voice, 'I see a 10, a 24, and possibly a 36'), or even that old standby of
                                                                             but he was sure I was on a winning streak and it was only a matter of
my birthday, the ideal age for a partner, my bra size, the number of my
                                                                             time before I would win 'the Big One'.
godchildren, and so on, and just dashed off the first six numbers my
                                                                                     6. When I lived in Los Angeles in the Eighties and people talked
pen touched (for the record: 4, 11, 14, 30, 32 and 43). The ticket went
                                                                             about 'the Big One', they meant the giant earthquake that was due to
into the pocket of my coat, and I forgot about it.
                                                                             hit. I felt as if I'd been hit by it as I switched off the mobile phone and
       2. So there I sat on the ferry, scrabbling about for my gloves,
                                                                             sensed the smile slipping off my face. The green kryptonite stopped
when my fingers touched the ticket. With nothing better to do than
                                                                             burning and began to feel like an uncomfortable, crumpled bump
read about some Spice Girl and her new sporting 'friend', I turned to
the page with the numbers published on it. Cue the war whoop.
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