A Message in a Bottle

How I Won (and Maybe Lost) a Round-the-World Trip

In 1994, I spent two weeks doing work experience in the post room of The Sunday Times in London. I was 15 and had vague ambitions of trying to pursue a career in journalism. These ambitions faded pretty quickly after seeing how stressed and sleep-deprived everyone at the paper seemed to be.

It was a fascinating couple of weeks, though, and my post room duties meant I got to visit every corner of the newspaper's offices, as well as those of News International’s other papers in the neighbouring building: The Times, The Sun, and The News of the World.

Each morning, we sorted through the day’s mail sacks, filled the relevant pigeonholes, and spent the rest of the day pushing a trolley around, delivering and collecting mail from people’s desks.

The Sunday Times was one of the last papers to go digital with its print layout. While I was there, the pages were still being assembled with scalpels and glue, often in a frantic scramble just minutes before the print deadline. Witnessing this frenzy confirmed that I wasn’t cut out for the high-pressure world of tight, immovable deadlines.

I still struggle with my own self-imposed publishing deadlines, which are entirely flexible and can be infinitely extended by weeks and sometimes months.

One of the most common items of mail were the entries to the various competitions, and in particular The Sunday Times crossword. Hundreds of hopeful participants mailed in their completed crosswords each week, vying for what I think was a bottle of champagne.

I used to chat each day to the woman who compiled the various puzzles. She was like a character from a Thomas Hardy novel, and I am pretty sure she’d been working there since the time of the Gutenberg printing press. While the rest of the building was in a constant whirlwind of chaos, she had this serene, zen-like calm, as she diligently prepared the week’s puzzles.

‘When does the draw take place?’ I asked, as I handed her another stack of the previous week’s entries.

‘Draw, dear?’ she said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The draw. When do you pick the winners?’

‘Oh, no, there’s no draw. I just choose my favourite. Maybe someone who has doodled a nice picture, used a fancy envelope, or sent their entry from abroad.’

‘Oh. So, it’s not random?’

‘No, no, it’s not random. It seems fairer to reward those who have put in the extra effort.’

This revelation blew my mind.

This was The Sunday Times crossword. Respected around the world. And the winner was chosen based on how pretty their envelope was. Surely that wasn’t right? Surely it wasn’t legal?

I decided to investigate (my budding journalistic instincts were clearly kicking in). It turned out that not only was this practice common with other competitions, but it was also entirely above board. The key was in the terms and conditions. If a competition explicitly stated that ‘winners will be chosen at random,’ then legally, it had to be random. But, if that clause was not included, the organiser could choose the winner based on whatever criteria they liked – even something as superficial as the design of the envelope.

While the rest of my work experience was extremely exciting and character-building (staying with some friends of friends of friends in London, and commuting across the city each day), it was the revelation from the crossword lady that was my most valuable takeaway from those two weeks.

As soon as I got home, I began testing out this theory for myself. I entered as many competitions as I could find, and tried to make my entries stand out. Sometimes I’d decorate my envelope. Other times I’d include a little drawing or a creative touch. And when lacking in inspiration, I tried a begging letter-style addition, (PLEASE let me win because…)

And it worked. I won quite a lot of competitions: T-shirts, food, gig tickets and various other small prizes.

My sister got in on the act too and had even more success than me. She won a big television, in those years when TVs got big, but flat screens hadn’t been invented. It was twice as deep as it was wide and took up most of her room, but I was still envious.

A UK national newspaper ran a week of competitions to win Spice Girls prizes, including merchandise and a VIP trip to see the group in Istanbul. My sister is a talented artist and created an impressive caricature drawing of the Spice Girls, which she mailed in as her entry. And she won.

But, unfortunately, she hadn’t realised that each day had a unique competition code, and while she thought she’d entered the competition to win a VIP trip to see the Spice Girls in Istanbul, she’d actually entered and won the competition for a comically hideous, metallic silver, Spice Girls puffa jacket.

She sold it at a car-boot sale a few months later for £2. It’s probably (unlikely) an extremely valuable collector’s item now.

As well as the Spice Girls, my sister was a big fan of the band Reef. Our local paper ran a competition to win tickets to see them at Northampton Roadmender. She was desperate to win. I hated Reef (or thought I was too cool to admit liking them), but loved going to gigs, and, even more so, loved annoying my sister. So, I entered too.

Much to my sister’s frustration, I won – probably thanks to my tried-and-tested begging letter technique.

She still holds a grudge about it, even though she ended up going to the gig too.

I then took a break from entering competitions, matured a little, married Rachel, and we bought a house together (unfortunately, I never found a viable competition to win a house).

It was 2006. I was working in a job I hated and craving some escape and adventure. I was flicking through a copy of New Woman magazine that Rachel had left lying around. She still denies ever buying a copy, but it was in our house, and it certainly wasn’t mine.

While flicking through articles like How to Look Effortlessly Stylish (By Literally Not Trying at All) and What Your Coffee Order Really Says About You, I stumbled upon the mother of all competitions.

**WIN**

Round-the-World Trip for TWO

The prize included flights, some spending money, clothes, and also three nights at a five-star hotel in Cape Town and three nights in Sydney.

I scoured the terms and conditions.

‘Winners will be chosen after the closing date on…’

Chosen. Not picked at random. It had to be worth a try.

To enter the competition, you had to say in 25 words or fewer, why you deserved to win a trip around the world.

This was a different league to the sort of competitions I had previously entered. A begging letter or pretty envelope wouldn't suffice. I needed to up my game.

After a little daydreaming, I came up with what I thought was a genius idea.

I would send them my entry as a message-in-a-bottle.

I wrote an SOS note on a piece of paper in charcoal, stating that I was stranded on an island (called Great Britain) and that I needed a round-the-world flight to help me escape. I stained the piece of paper with tea, burned the edges (because shipwrecked people always seem to have mishaps with tea and candles before sending their pleas for help), rolled up the piece of paper, stuck it into an empty plastic bottle, wrote the address directly onto the bottle, added a stamp, and squashed the bottle into a post box.

I then thought nothing else of it.

Several weeks later, I got home from playing five-a-side football late one Wednesday evening and Rachel told me she’d had a random phone call from someone telling her she’d won a round-the-world trip.

‘What? I WON?’ I shrieked.

‘Won what? They said that I won. It sounded well dodgy.’

‘I entered a competition a few weeks ago to try and win a trip around the world.’

‘But they asked to speak to me,’ said Rachel.

‘Ah, yes. The competition was in New Woman magazine, and I thought it would be a bit weird a bloke entering. So I gave them your details.’

‘Wait… so it’s real? You’ve won a trip around the world?’

‘Yes, I think so. We both have. It’s a trip for two!’

‘Oh my god. That’s amazing.’

Rachel suddenly paused and put her hand to her mouth.

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘I hope I didn’t scare them off.’

‘Why? What did you say?’

‘Well, because I thought it was a scam, I just sort of laughed at them. They said they would send me an email, so I just said fine and then hung up.’

‘You got told you had won a trip around the world, and you said ‘fine’ and hung up?’

‘How was I supposed to know it was real? I hadn’t entered a competition, and you hadn’t told me you’d entered.’

There was silence between us for a few seconds.

The truth is, I hadn’t told Rachel I had entered the competition because I felt a little ashamed. She had recently handed in her notice from the tedious job she'd been doing and was about to embark on her new and exciting career as a teacher. Meanwhile, I was still dragging myself through a job I hated as a Data Information Officer, too fearful to walk away from the security of a monthly pay check.

I had entered the New Woman competition in a desperate bid for something – anything – to jolt me into action, to break free from the monotony. It could be life changing. Round the world flights! So many opportunities. I had told myself that winning this prize could be the catalyst for change, for the start of a new adventure, for stepping into the unknown.

But now, as I stared at Rachel, a feeling of dread pressed down on me.

Had I (with a little help from Rachel’s poor phone manner) just ruined it all? Had I lost us this once-in-a-lifetime chance simply because I couldn’t bring myself to share something so insignificant, yet so important?

Had this opportunity for adventure slipped through our fingers before it was even ours?

‘Have they sent you an email yet?’ I asked, tentatively.

‘No, not yet.’

To be continued….

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Have you ever entered a competition and won something memorable – or hilariously crap? Or maybe you’ve got a competition strategy of your own? I’d love to hear your stories.