Fundraising Tips For The Vacationally-Challenged.

Dear Readers, husband Helmut and I are often asked by friends, acquaintances and fellow inmates of Happy Meadows Rehab (when they are sober enough to even string a sentence together), how we are able to jet off so frequently to such exotic locations around the globe. “How the f*** do you do it?” they slur.

For old crocs like us, traveling has been a constant and reliable source of pleasure, but acquiring funds for our well deserved lifestyle-on-the-move, can sometimes prove tricky. This is especially true if one’s offspring are reluctant to cough up the expenses for business-class flights. Yes, dear readers, sadly this does happen, and I deal with this very issue, in a post from August, 2012 (

When, on the odd occasion, family members have been particularly parsimonious or ‘stingy gits‘ as Helmut prefers to call them, our entire neighborhood has been known to club together – all domestic disputes forgotten – to collect the money needed to see us swiftly on our way to sunnier climes! I do believe this noble gesture on the part of the local community, is the result of our ‘charm offensive’, although certain humorless types tend to use only one of those two words, when referring to Helmut.

Sadly, in this modern day era of vulgar materialism, one cannot always rely on community or kin to help find one’s ‘place in the sun’. Therefore, in this post, I have meticulously compiled three tried and tested methods of raising travel funds for the vacationally-challenged among us. Here they are, in no fixed order of preference. Enjoy!


Helmut ADORES insurance scams! Well, who doesn’t? Before every holiday, he stages one or two of the following ‘accidents’ : a)  kitchen flood   b)  car crash  c)  break-in

What makes our ‘accidents’ so convincing? Well, dear readers, it’s our attention to detail. For example, just before the flood/crash/break-in, we fill all the cupboards, wardrobes and filing cabinets throughout Happy Meadows, with copious amounts of fake blood, stage make-up, joke shop bandages, hosepipes, balaclavas and ‘hoodies’. This level of commitment to props perhaps gives you an insight into Helmut’s dogged determination to shaft the insurance companies. Not to harp on about one’s personal sacrifice, but this valuable cupboard space is usually meant for our ‘empties’.


Hubby Helmut is far too modest to admit that he’s rather good at this money-making scheme, but let’s be honest dear readers, keeping rooms or ‘padded suites’ as Helmut jokingly calls them, at Happy Meadows Rehab, does give one the inside scoop when it comes to personal and business secrets. How does our blackmail method work? Quite simply, we ply our fellow inmates or staff members with illicit alcohol, and with the aid of a board game (Truth or Dare) and a hidden recording device, pretend to be thoroughly SHOCKED the next day by their sordid confessions. Frankly, it’s a relief when they hand over their hush-money.


Impersonating one of your retired friends or family members in order to cash their pension cheque, while satisfying, is not hugely rewarding from a financial point of view. Nevertheless, in a cheap country such as Thailand, even a stolen UK pension can go a long way towards paying for that first round of Bubbly!

Cheers, and Happy Holidaying!

Helga & Helmut

Dear Readers, if you too, have any suggestions or advice regarding traveling the world at other people’s expense, please share your ideas by clicking below on REPLY.




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Dear Tony, I Love Your Butt….

Roving Reporter, Helga Hewston, interviews Rupert Murdoch’s estranged wife, Wendi Deng and learns more about her shallow infatuation for beleaguered Special Envoy for the Middle East, Tony Blair – a man who has a gold-digger at his feet and a bounty on his head.

Dear Readers, where on earth, apart from Happy Meadows Rehab, does one have a chance to view the world through the clear glass lens of a smuggled-in gin bottle? And what a world! Sensational stories abound, but this week, one in particular caught my bleary eyes. Yes, the fairy tale legend of Wendi Deng – that gerontophilic ‘Shanghai Lily’ of a woman, who was so obviously schooled in the ancient art of note-writing. Below, is her note, in all its Zen-inspired glory, dedicated to sartorial giant and former UK Prime Minister – Tony Blair:

“Oh, shit, oh, shit.”  “Whatever why I’m so so missing Tony. Because he is so so charming and his clothes are so good. He has such good body and he has really really good legs Butt . . . And he is slim tall and good skin. Pierce blue eyes which I love. Love his eyes. Also I love his power on the stage . . . and what else and what else and what else . . . ”

Dear readers, I have ALWAYS adored gold-diggers, but Wendi D has raised the gold bar unusually high. She also has a solid history of clawing her way to the top by means of sleeping with suspecting older men. But with no hugely discernible age difference between her and Tony, one has to ask: Can it work? I telephone-interview Ms. Deng to ask her about a future without Rupert, and if she would care to elaborate on ‘that note’ she penned to Tony Blair.

Helga: Ms. Deng, it is true th…?

Wendi: No, no, you call me Wendi

Helga: OK. Whatever. So, um….Mrs. Murdoch, which is true – that Tony has really good legs or really really good legs?

Wendi: Love his Butt also…

Helga: Yes, I can see that from your note. Is Tony old enough for you?

Wendi: Why you ask?

Helga: When you say you are “so so missing Tony”, do you mean that you are so-so missing him, or that you are soooooo missing him? It’s hard to tell from your writing.

Wendi: Why you give me hard time? Did Rupert hack phone?

Helga: And erm, Mrs. Murdoch-Deng dear, what else do you love about Mr. Blair?

Wendi: I so so love he play games. We play ‘You Under Citizen Arrest!’ Hours of fun. When he pretend angry, his pierce blue eyes very sexy.

Helga: Yes. One can only imagine. Thank you, Ms. Deng. Always a pleasure….





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Ms Jones Gives Birth

In Wigan town, in Compton Street

The patter made by tiny feet

Had blessed each occupant in turn,

With only two to cause concern

Miss Pattie Jones, and boyfriend Ben

(That Yuppie pair at number ten)

Had waited SO LONG for the stork

That neighbours had begun to talk

One fateful day Miss Jones declared

“NO MORE maternally impaired!”

And spent the morning being sick

And testing urine with a stick

Once done, she cried, “it’s turning blue”,

I’m up the spout – about time too!”

Ms Jones forthwith kicked drugs and booze

Told the neighborhood her news

And, as soon as she had viewed the scan

Gestation for Miss Jones began

As weeks went by, her symptoms changed

She first grew placid, then deranged

The strangest food would pass her lips

To form perhaps child-bearing hips

In weight, in size, Miss Jones increased

This was the nurture of the beast

She next moved to the heartburn stage

Which only ice-cream could assuage

She asked, “can this – impending motherhood,

So adversely affect one’s mood?”

“Oh yes”, friends cried, “completely  normal

To act psychotic, mad, hormonal!

Just wait until your last few weeks

Insomnia, hiccups, awkward leaks!”

‘Friends’ gleefully spelled out her fate

While Miss Jones, anxious, ate and ate!

And so she reached the final stage

When all her organs (plus ribcage)

Had moved aside to make more room

For Junior, inside her womb

By now she looked a sorry sight

Who’d grown in every way, but height

With bloated body, aching back

Ms Jones could only snooze and snack

So when her due date loomed at last

This mum-to-be was simply VAST!

The next day when Ms Jones awoke

As if on cue, her water broke

“TODAY!” she gushed, triumphantly


 But at the actual time of birth

The stork could hardly lift from earth

And neighbours joked with mild distain

“T’was less a stork, and more a crane”

 So if you’re passing Wigan town

By air, and happen to look down

You’ll spot a HUGE pram far below

And a figure pacing to and fro

A figure with loose flaps of skin

Desperate to look lithe and thin

But ‘Junior’ has no such aims     

As his hunger to Ms Jones proclaims

Proud mum peers in the pram with pride,

…Smiles at the behemoth babe inside 

But, staring back the giant head,

Just screams and screams until it’s fed…

Helga Hewston 2013



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