I had a year left on my contract but feared the worst everytime I went in to work. The chairman, when he couldn't avoid me, failed to look me in the eye, and my back room staff were caught in huddled whisper on more than one occasion.

It was a lonely day when the chairman stepped into my office and asked if I could join him for a 'drink and a chat'

I knew this was going to be something out the ordinary. The last time he invited me out like this he asked me for a £50 loan to pay for the kit washing. But he was smiling and looking out the window at the sea, I began to wonder if this may just be another loan request. When he returned and pushed a neat scotch towards me I knew that this was not good...he looked nervous now and his smile replaced by a more serious expression.

'As you know' he started, 'the club has had a dissapointing campaign, and perhaps more concerning, it is facing a real threat of administration'...I shuffled uneasily in my seat and moved my glass around the table. 'You can imagine my dismay then Jon when I was handed some information relating to your petrol expenses....on 3 seperate occasions you made fraudulant claims. Now this leaves me with a difficult choice. I could of course go down the route of legal proceedings...or perhaps you could find the good grace to avoid such unpleasantness and step down'.

I'd finished my Scotch before he got to the bit about legal proceedings....the club was broke...what else could they do? pay me off? with what?...He pushed another drink my way and left....I necked it in one and dialled my wife's number.

I walked back to the ground and headed for my office. I passed some of my back room staff and saw in thier eyes the obvious signs of betrayal...it was no secret anymore as to how the 'information' had landed on the Chairman's desk.

I swept everything off my desk into a bag and waited in the gathering dusk of the car park for my wife to drive me home. A lone bored journalist sauntered over to me. He asked me a few lame questions but didn't write any of it down. As I got into the car he shouted 'good luck...I'm sure something will turn up'...I thought this was a nice gesture until I turned to see the smirk on his face....I threw my bag of belongings onto the back seat but somehow most of the contents fell out onto the car park. I sighed heavily and climbed in the car. "aren't you going to pick them up?' asked my wife...

"just go" I replied...."let's get away from this place".

Later that night as I nursed a nagging headache and a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the local paper fell through the door....



Axe falls on corrupt Mills

It emerged today that AFC Bournemouth have parted company with local failure Jon Mills. The Echo learned that the ex-boss had been forging personal expenses from the cash strapped club on more than 80 occassions. The club were not willing to comment but a conveinient bystander said 'good, he was crap'.

It seems unlikely football will see Mills again.

My wife had tried to keep me from seeing it but a phone call from a well meaning friend had alerted me...I poured another drink and went to bed...'they're right' I slurred to no-one...'I'm done with football'

The following month was spent in self-indulgent self pity. The horror of day time TV was only broken up by a brief walk around the block. I couldn't even think of football let alone read or watch anything about it.

This went on for longer than it should have and although patient at first my wife began mentioning the job pages more and more. Eventually it was her brother who came to my rescue. Mark ran a very lucrative business selling hot tubs to the rich and famous of Europe. Now I'd never done anything like this before but the bills were mounting up and saying no was not really an option open to me anymore.

Within 2 weeks I was in Spain for a 3 day Hot Tub sales convention. I must admit I wasn't very good at selling but I did (with a little help and a lot of persistence) sell 2. One to someone representing a well known actor living in Barcelona and another to Villareal footballer Matias Fernandez....I wanted to say to him that I'd been in football too but I don't think our 2 worlds were exactly alike....my brother in law mentioned it as the deal was closed and Mr Fernandez smiles politely...a hot tub saleaman now....football was then....

Another 4 months went by and I sold more hot tubs. I still wasn't good but I was making enough to pay the council tax. But somehow it wasn't making me happy...I was getting restless. I began to watch Sky Sports News for 10 seconds at a time...then it became a minute...before long I was getting swept up in the pre-season gossip frenzy...it felt like waking up...one evening my wife walked into the lounge as I was shouting at John Gregory's comments...she stood watching for a while...suddenly aware she was there I turned to look at her...she smiled to herself for a second and walked back into the kitchen.

Another 2 weeks had passed...I went through the motions at work, taking on a more important role as my brother in law spent more and more time in Spain.

I began to read the back pages of the papers for the first time again, I was so out of touch with events....I certainly wasn't surprised to see that one of my back room staff at Bournemouth had replaced me....neither was I surprised to see them struggling in the league. I searched the internet for references to myself but it looked like I'd been forgotten fairly quickly...in fact a Google search showed my Hot Tub sales advert before my football achievements....

I was about to log off...it was late and I had work again the next day...I took a quick glance at SkySports.com long enough to see thier lead story...

I went to bed but for some reason sleep was hard to come by....

Life went on without event. Work was dull.....there was no denying that I missed football more and more. I began to follow the latest transfers and even went to see my first game in a long time....driving down the coast to see Southampton play a pre-season friendly with Maidenhead. I spent the whole 90 minutes watching the managers, lost in the memories of my time in football.

Sky Sports News was now a regular sight on our TV. During one of the advert breaks in one of my wife's favourite programmes I flicked back over just as the Villareal story went by on the news ticker.

"ooh, Mark has something to do with them" She said

"What, Sky?"

"No, that Villaroyal team"

"how come?" I asked

"He said something about it on the phone the other day, said he sold lots of those things to the club or the players or something...they all know him there"

"blimey, bet he did well out of that" I said, turning the channel back over in time to see another argument break out on Big Brother.

That was Monday. It was 7.14am on Wednesday when the phone rang.

I was going to leave it but my wife, already ready for work caught it just in time and walked towards me with her hand over the reciever and a puzzled look on her face.

"It's for you, it's Spain...Villaroyal...."

I stood there for a second blurry eyed and scratching myself...

"Mark?" I asked grabbing the phone from her...

"No...it was a woma...."

"Alright Marky you old slag...what's new mate?"

My wife looked at me in dismay as I was cut short by the broken English of a woman on the other end.

"Mr Mills? My name is Isabella Rodrigues, I work for Villareal Football Club"

I stopped scratching myself and grabbed a pen, I scrawled down a few words and grinned as I pushed the paper towards my wife...

All I'd written was Mark - wind-up - gonna kill him

My confusion grew as the conversation went on. Mark seemed to be going to great lengths to play this joke on me, the woman was struggling a little with her English but wasn't showing any signs of giving the game away and laughing. The problem was that I hadn't entirely been listening, my wife had left the room to answer a call on her mobile.

Little by little I picked up the gist of what she was trying to say. Twice she had asked me if I had a passport, the first time of course I'd answered in a dismissive way, trying not to sound like I'd been tricked, but she was persevering, it wasn't adding up.

As she began to ask my availability for the next few days my wife walked back into the kitchen still talking on her mobile. I tried my best to pick up snippets of her conversation but this only meant that I missed more of my own. But what I did catch was her farewell "bye Mark". My brain tuned into my telephone conversation again. I looked at my wife's face and saw an expression of confused concern on her face...she had gone quite pale.

I began to feel a little sick and took a deep breath before saying quietly into the telephone "errr, Miss Rodrigues, could I possibly ask you to repeat everything to me again, I'm not sure I've properly taken it in"

As she painfully and reluctantly repeated her conversation to me my wife scribbled something on the piece of paper and pushed it back my way.

It read - No wind-up - what's going on??? Don't say yes to anything!

5 minutes later I put the phone down and poured a whiskey. My wife took it out my hand and threw it down the sink.

"well?" she said

"umm, do you know where my passport is darling?"

I wont pretend it was easy expalining what was going on, afterall I wasn't 100% sure either. Between the 2 conversations we had managed to acertain that Mark's connections at Villareal were a great deal stronger than we had realised. Pellegrini's exit had sparked a wave of activity at the club, and somehow Mark was actually getting an input into what was going on which said a lot about the chaos that must have been going on there.

My name had been thrown into a hat full of credible candidates, perhaps Mark had done it as a joke to start with, but as the situation obviously snow-balled he called my wife to warn me that the club were going to call me up and arrange a chat about a possible role at the club.

I had, in the blur of the confusion agreed to a meeting with the club on Friday. I had no idea when, I'd missed that part. My wife found my passport before she went off to work, her parting shot was "you know, it is still probably a joke you know"

I called into work with my best 'really not good today' voice and booted up the laptop. I googled Villareal and looked at some of the details of the club -how the hell would I fit into that set up? I can't speak Spanish (apart from the tourist basics) and let's face it, my football manager history was hardly glittering.

Convinced that Mark would greet me at the airport with the biggest 'got you' grin ever, I booked an easy-jet ticket to Spain for tomorrow and booked myself up with a bed and breakfast place that seemed suspiciously cheap.

If it was all an elaborate joke the least I could do was go along with the whole thing and bill Mark for the plane ticket.

Leaving the house before having to face my wife, I headed off to watch Eastleigh v Romsey in a friendly. For the first time in a long time I was recognised by a supporter.

"Hey, Jon Mills right? the old Bournemouth boss?"

"yes mate, that's me" I replied

"cool, who are you with now?"

"err....Hot-Tub Europa"

"what league they in then mate?"

"no, it's not a footba....ummm, dutch mate, second division"

I walked off to find my seat with a head full of tomorrow's flight to Spain...what the hell is this all about? I muttered to myself as the rain began to fall.

Originally Posted by John10 *searches for hot tub europa on fm* lmfao this is great mate, just read it today and i love it :D

I wont lie to you, the wife wasn't pleased. Despite me pointing out that it was her who had helped find my passport she still managed to dish out her full wrath for booking the flight and accommodation without even discussing it. Perhaps the hours that had passed had put events into a starker light. We had no intention of moving to Spain, I could get some coaching job in this country if that's what I wanted but I didn't feel ready yet. My wife was settled, she had a career, we had friends here.

The whole thing was pointless and we both knew it.

After an hour of heated discussion I managed to convince her that I had nothing to lose by going over and hearing what was on offer. Mark had been in touch an was meeting me at the airport, one night and I'll be back by Friday night and we can laugh about the whole thing by the weekend.

7.00am the next day and I'm in the car heading to Stanstead.

The flight delayed by an hour, not the best start to the adventure but you get what you pay for. I felt no nerves, I'd expected to but the more time had passed since the phone call the more this felt like a little holiday...if anyone had stopped me and asked why I was going to Spain I can't imagine anything more ludicrous than telling them I had a job interview at Villareal Football Club.

I spotted Mark a mile off, no sooner had I got through customs and I was sat in the airport bar having a coffee and getting the low-down on what was going to happen tomorrow. He did indeed have an influence in the club, not perhaps on the footballing side, but his business skills had found themselves being used in trying to re-build the clubs situation.

I was simply here to discuss options apparently, maybe an assistant to an assistant.

By the afternoon we were in Mark's lexus heading towards Villareal.

"you know I've got no intention of moving out here don't you? I'm not really sure why I'm even over here to be honest"

Mark, unusually quiet just agreed with everything and tried to steer the conversation onto other things. He was expecting me to stay at his place of course but I was insistent on staying at the place I'd booked, especially as there seemed to be an uneasy feeling in the car.

He eventually found the place I was staying and said that he would call me later. He was definatley on edge but was giving no clues as to what was wrong.

I checked into my accommodation, run by an elderly couple un-accostomed to visitors and amused by my attempts at Spanish. They showed me to my room at the back of the building, a sparse space with an old broken chair, a desk and a bed as hard as rock. I took a quick shower and called my wife. I told her about Mark but she had no better idea than me what was going on.

I arranged with Mark the pick up time for the morning before turning on the dusty television in the corner. A barely watchable picture buzzed on the screen, no sound.

It was the last thing I remeber before falling into a deep sleep.

Blissfully sleeping I was woken at first light and kept awake...I tried everything to get back to sleep but the noise was relentless.

I heaved myself out of bed with the intent of shutting up whoever it was...I pulled back the curtains and peered out.

I groaned, fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling until my alarm went off at 7.

The donkey was still going strong as Mark and I left the place and headed for the ground. This felt real for the first time.

"I don't feel so good Mark"

I didn't, it was my own fault. The bottle of water I got at the airport had run out long before I went to bed last night. Waking with a raging thirst I filled it back up from the tap in the bathroom across the hall. Big mistake.

"probably just nerves my son, just relax"

"look, if I relax at this precise moment this car is gonna need a serious clean"

He could see in my eyes that I wasn't joking and swerved accross lanes towards a retail park on the edge of town. I sprinted from the car and made it to the toilet with seconds to spare. I came back out as white as a sheet to wash my hands only to find a woman doing her make-up at the sink. She turned on me with venom, speaking so fast at me that all I could do was leg it...(note to self- learn the Spanish word for Men's toilet).

I walked back to the car, Mark was on his phone but cut the conversation short as soon as I opened the door.

"better?" he asked

"yeah, it was an experience"

He raised an eyebrow at this and started up the car.

"who were you talking to?"

"just your boss mate...umm, the boss mate...we're running a little late and may need to change our route" he said looking as secretive as he had yesterday.

We got another 10km down the road before I broke the silence once more....

"sorry mate....can we stop again?"

"listen, you can't just walk around this place, stopping off at shopping centres, people are going to see you" he snapped back

45 minutes later I understood what he meant.

Before too long the recognizable road signs for the stadium were frequent. My Spanish was poor but even I could read the various Villarael and Valencia grafitti that was daubed over the walls that surrounded some of the larger building complexes.

Mark drove into the main entrance with a nod to the attendant. He seemed to know where he was heading but made a last second change of direction after spotting a group of men gathered in the car park. A marshall made a gesture to suggest that another place to park would be a great idea.

"what's up?" I asked

"nothing, it's quite normal here"

After a brief mobile call to someone inside Mark finds a place to park and we are both ushered inside by a man in dark glasses, rather odd for a cloudy day such as this.

We are met by a lady who indroduced herself as Isabella (could have been the one who rang..is it a common name out here?) and I'm offered refreshments. I decline and take that much need toilet break.

When I come out 2 guys I'd not yet met were waiting for me.They were both dressed in summer suits and had friendly smiles.

"Senor Mills? would you please walk with us, we, errr....no tenemos muchos tiempo"

I looked around for Mark but he was nowhere to be seen. I followed them down the corridor until we came to a door. They opened it for me and left back down the hall.

I was confronted by a long table, behind it sat 2 men, one had the unmistakable look of wealth about him, the other, younger, less so, in fact he looked a little unsure of the surroundings and as nervous as me. Again I scanned the room for Mark but he seemed to have completly vanished.

"Jon, Mr Mills, we are so happy that you could meet with us today, I hope that the staff here have made you feel most welcome"

I began to speak but my throat was dry, anyhow, before I could force any words out the rich guy starts up again, gesturing for me to sit as he makes his introduction.

"Mr Mills, Jon, my name is Fernando Roig, I am chairman of this football club. Sat behind this desk with me is Senor Cousillas"

Again I went to reply but was stopped in my tracks by the door opening behind me. I crane my neck round to see Mark striding into the room with a broad smile. He shook hands vigoursly with the chairman and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Jon...Mr Mills....today is a very important day. You know why is important day huh?" he said before breaking into a laugh which ended in a coughing fit and some nose blowing. It broke the tension and I forced a smile.

"to be honest Mr Roig, I don't really know why I'm here at all" I looked at Mark as I said it, I'm not sure how I'd ended up in this uncomfortable situation but all I knew was that I wanted it over and to be back on that plane.

"Mr Mills...today is an important day for you and for me and for all the people involved in Villareal Football Club. Mr Mills, I have for you today a proposition, one I have been assured, you are not likely to refuse"

I took a deep breath and looked at Mark for help but he was reaching for some paperwork and arranging it on the desk.

I looked back at Fernando Roig. His yellow stained teeth were all on display as he gave me a sickly grin. I looked over at the other chap but for some reason he couldn't even look me in the eye.