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

“TODAY MY INNER CHILD BREAKS FREE!!”

 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

David Beckham, Cultural Icon And Father Of Four, Comments On The Surprise Resignation Of Pope Benedict XV1

Ratzi, me old mate, wot is goin’ on wiv you? Me an’ the Missus was well shocked when we ‘eard you ‘ad resigned from yer cushy job awl of a sudden. Is there sumfink you ain’t told us?

Despite awl them scandawls, wot wiv them kiddies an’ them poor sods in Africa, I fink you ‘ave dun MORE fer red lev-va SHOES than any man on this EARF. So ‘ere comes a pun: that ain’t no mean feet! 

Wot is ‘ard, is dealing wiv life in the media spotlight, innit? Was it them adorin’ fans wot made you do a runner? Victoria finks you should move sharpish to Sowf America, seein’ as there are ‘eaps of ex you-know-wot Germans in them countries. An’ the fact that you tawk Latin so effluently, ‘as gotta be a plus, right?

‘Ave a good life, Pope B

David B

Glossary

‘Ad = had

‘Adorin’ = adoring

Ain’t = haven’t/hasn’t

‘As = has

‘Ard = hard

‘Ave = have

Awl = all

Cushy job = well paid job, with perks

Dun = done

‘Eaps = heaps /lots

Earf = earth

‘Ere = here

Ex you-know-wot Germans = Nazis

Fer = for

Finks = thinks

Innit = isn’t it?/isn’t there?

Lev-va = leather

Me Old Mate = my old friend

Poor sods in Africa = Africans with HIV/AIDS

Seein’ = seeing

Sharpish = as soon as possible

Sowf = south

Sumfink = something

Tawk = talk

The Missus = my wife

Them scandawls = those scandals

Well shocked = very surprised

Wiv = with

Wot = what

BELOW, Helga Interviews Pope Benedict

With The News That Pope Benedict Will Shortly Become Ex-Benedict, Roving Reporter, Helga Hewston Manages To Squeeze Some Retirement Tit-Bits Out Of God’s Earthly Representative

HH: Your Holiness, your recent resignation has caused more than a few ripples within the church. The official reason is your failing health – is there an unofficial reason?

PB:  Ah, Ms Hewston, or may I call you Helga?

HH: No.

PB: Grazie tanto for this chance to ‘come clean’. Why did I resign? Well, the real reason is that I want to spend more time with my shoe collection, especially the reddish, leathery, pointy variety…

 HH: But why now, and why shoes?

PB: Well, I’ve been told so many times to ‘buckle-up’, that I decided to take the advice literally

 HH: That’s very witty, Your Holiness. And don’t tell me – you wanted to save your sole?

PB: Ha! You divine creature!

HH: Ok, I see where this is going…. It’s no secret that well-heeled Dutch Queen Beatrix is resigning this year and that you two have been seeing quite a lot of each other. Did you, by any chance, GET THE BOOT for this liaison dangereuse?

PB: Oh, I love wagging tongues!

 HH: Hmmm. Who will be chosen as your successor?

PB: Whoever it is, I think he’ll be a shoe-in. Ah-hahahahahahaha!

HH: Always a pleasure to have an audience with you, Your Hole….

Flying: Helga & Helmut’s Tried & Tested Travel Tips 
Dear readers, this latest post has been rather a long time brewing, but with the holiday season soon upon us, I believe its message will serve as an important guide to help you, along with other inebriates on life’s bleary flight path, to avoid annoying people, whose sole intent is to pester you for the entire duration of your plane journey. Who are these irksome people? Well, due to our extensive globetrotting experience – financed most recently by a successful insurance scam – Helmut and I have conveniently managed to pin-point the two personality types most likely to cause irritation while flying

Annoying Personality Types

Who Are They?

Look below, dear readers. Does this type of obnoxious character look disturbingly familiar? If the answer is yes, then reacquaint yourself with Annoying Personality Type 1: The Super Upbeat & Chatty Traveler

Without a moment’s hesitation, Helmut and I will concur that, on a long-haul flight, our biggest dread is being seated next to that overly cheerful, loquacious passenger, who SELFISHLY insists on interrupting quality nap and drinking time, in order to impart his or her entire life story.

And what of that mean and judgmental flight attendant, who refuses to serve you just one more eensy-weensy bottle of wine, and who, in front of the entire cabin exclaims: “And don’t we think we’ve had more than enough, Madam?” Does this uppity trolley-dolly, who takes excess pleasure in withholding in-flight fluids, chill your blood? If the answer is again yes, then welcome to the world of Annoying Personality Type 2: The Condescending & Miserly Flight Attendant

Yes, dear readers, scary people like these abound, but fortunately, help is at hand for dealing with these bothersome and parsimonious types – the same types in fact, who have no qualms whatsoever, about irritating you!

Fighting Back

After a great deal of trial and error and may I say personal sacrifice, Helmut and I have devised the most effective way for us Seniors to fight back, reclaim our dignity and enjoy our excesses. Below, we share a couple of our hard-earned pearls of wisdom, and set out a couple of strategies for dealing with those intrusive and patronizing personalities, who seem to have a knack for getting right up one’s aisle!

Tip 1 – The Skinflint Flight Attendant

In order to consume more in-flight drinks and avoid supercilious comments from any trumped-up attendant, Helmut and I prefer to use the technique we call the Prison Camp Roll-Call strategy for getting our needs met. The idea, based on the Colditz escape story, entails Helmut ordering drinks in one seat, and then nipping off ahead of the drinks trolley, finding an empty seat, and ordering drinks again as a different passenger. This strategy usually works well, because to most people, ALL OLD PEOPLE LOOK ALIKE! Helmut helps the deception along for the second ordering, by donning a suit jacket and greasing back what’s left of his hair

Helmut Disguises Himself With Hair-Gel

Tip 2 – The Perky Passenger

Over the years, Helmut and I have developed the following successful strategy, appropriately called the Intendo Wee technique, which works especially well during those long-haul flights, when, by an unfortunate cast of the seating die, we are placed next to an overly perky and talkative passenger. How does it work? Well, once this disagreeable personality type is fully engaged in boring us with his or her mundane life story, we casually whip out the packet of clearly-marked, disposable, padded senior products that we keep in our carry-ons, and simply sit back and enjoy as our travel companion’s conversation grinds to an embarrassing halt. But, why stop there, dear readers? After noting our fellow passenger’s awkward silence Helmut cheerfully hammers the point home by explaining, in lurid detail, the EXACT nature and unpleasant consequences of our bladder problems

Cheers & Happy Holidaying!

Helga and Helmut

If you have any handy tips you would like to share with fellow travelers, please hit the REPLY button below and make a comment.

In this post, Helmut and I visit the Philosopher’s Path, used for meditation by 20th Century Japanese philosopher, Nishida Kitaro, and end up drawing inspiration ourselves from the great drinkers of western philosophy.

Dear readers, if you recall from my last post, Helmut and I – two dotty old relics with bladder issues and only a few decent drinking years left  – are just getting to grips with our harrowing Kyoto experience, i.e. spending an uncomfortable night on a futon.

However, Kyoto is such a spectacular destination, that we are determined to shrug off any physical challenges! After all, who in their right body would pass up on the chance to sleep on a stone-hard ryokan floor? For us hapless old dipsomaniancs, it’s merely a matter of time before we fall into the same legless state as our furniture….

The following day, despite our severe aches and pains, or hangover, as Helmut prefers to call it, we venture out to the station and take the bus to the Philosopher’s Trail (tetsugaku no michi), a well-known canal-side walk on the outskirts of Kyoto, famous for its spectacular temples and natural beauty spots.

Because this is the height of the tourist season, the bus fills up rapidly, and Helmut and I are squashed awkwardly against our fellow passengers, with only our trusty hip-flask to serve as a protective barrier

Oh dear, will this chaotic bus-ride adversely affect the cocktails inside? No, dear readers, because our flasks have special customized features, which include an anti-loss flip-cap and a doubly insulated outer pouch!

It is worth noting, however, that those who are ‘chronologically impaired’ (old), ‘abstemiously challenged’ (drunk), or ‘accident-prone’ (prone to embarrassing accidents), should make suitable stopping-off arrangements, as the journey is rather lengthy and uncomfortable.

Luckily, thanks to our other trusty product – the padded variety with a plastic-lined inner pouch, we avoid having to deal with even more pressing bodily issues.

The Philosopher’s Trail

Accidents averted, we two old crocs thoroughly enjoy treading the Philosopher’s Trail, a three-kilometer walk that prompts Helmut to suddenly yell out, “I DRINK, THEREFORE I AM” to scared passers-by. Dear readers, how absolutely appropriate and ORIGINAL of Helmut to quote drunken French philosopher, René Descartes!

Helmut scares an unsuspecting passer-by

In spring – the most popular time for visitors – the picturesque trail is lined with cherry trees in blossom, but in November, leaves turn bright red, yellow and orange. The afternoon spent enjoying the autumnal colours, irritating fellow tourists and visiting the various Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines along the route, is certainly the highlight of our Kyoto tour!

All that culture and leaf-watching is exhausting and as Helmut and I contemplate the tedious bus journey back to our hotel, we turn to yet another great western philosopher for inspiration – Johnnie Walker

That evening, we set off for Kyoto’s nightlife district, in search of our favourite Japanese cultural icon  – the Geisha. But did you know, dear readers, that, according to tradition, the very first Geishas were MEN?

Yes, it’s true and we begin looking frantically for geishas, male or otherwise. Alas, thanks to Helmut’s highly evolved skill at asking for directions, this is the closest we come to spotting one…

Next Posting: Who knows dears?

In this post, Helmut & I get bendy in the bathroom, become shocked by socks and flummoxed by a futon

Dear readers, after a perfectly bibulous week in Shanghai, ensconced in our room at the Astor House Hotel, Helmut and I are ready for our return visit to Japan, but this time, we are heading for Kyoto, Japan’s former imperial capital. To fully appreciate the Kyoto experience, Helmut and I reserve a room in a ryokan, a traditional Japanese Guest-House

How do we plan for Kyoto? Well, before we set off for this picturesque city, we accustom ourselves to being squashed and uncomfortable on the floor of a teensy-weensy ryokan, by practicing a series of bends and contortions in the privacy and restricted dimensions of our hotel bathroom. Believe me dear readers, at our age, this is no small feat and we are forced to call upon the consolatory aid of painkillers and gin, especially the latter.

After touching down at Tokyo’s Narita airport, Helmut and I are eager to catch the Shinkansen, the famous high-speed or ‘bullet’ train, to our final destination. The advantage of the Shinkansen, is of course, that it is fast, spotlessly clean and punctual to the minute, but surprisingly, we don’t find our hard-back seats comfortable. No matter, as we ADORE the attentive service we receive from our cheerful conductor who bows graciously to us, and our fellow passengers, every time she enters or exits the carriage.

But, dear readers, all that bowing is exhausting, and as we rush noiselessly through the Japanese countryside at 300 kilometers per hour, we come across a crumpled commuter who has obviously given in to either bowing fatigue, or a vulgar display of white socks. Either way, it’s not a pretty sight

Tucked away in the back streets of Kyoto, our ryokan is everything we imagine it to be, that is to say – tiny. Did I say tiny? I meant miniscule, and devoid of furniture apart from two legless chairs and matching table. But, oh dear, where is our sleeping space? Looking around for our beds – in this case futons – we sober up immediately when we realize they are stored in the cupboard, and worse – that we will have to unroll them ourselves! Hubby Helmut, never lost for words, emits one that is very much like ‘FUTON’, in that it begins with ‘F‘, followed by a ‘U’

Next Posting: The Philosopher’s Trail

Dear Readers, our guest blogger, David Beckham, father of four and underwear model ordinaire, has some words of advice for Britain’s Prince Harry, who was snapped cavorting in the nude last week, while on holiday in Las Vegas.

 ‘Arry, ‘Arry, ‘Arry! Wot the ‘ell is goin’ on wiv you ol’ mate? Swingin’ around in the awl-togevva in that ‘ot city of Vegas? An’ wot will ‘er Madge say? Jus’ fink of yer granddad ‘oo ‘as bin in the ‘ospital! ‘Ee ain’t goin’ to get back on ‘is perch when ‘ee ‘ears you ‘ave bin showin’ off them crown jewels to them yanks!

Wot about William, yer bruvva? Wot about Kate, ‘is missus? Wot about yer entire famlee? WOT WAS YOU FINKIN’? 

My advice is to get back on yer ‘orse, get back in the saddle an’ get stuck into sum ‘andsomely paid work like wot I do! Listen ‘Arry, if you ain’t bovvered about showin’ off yer tackle, there ain’t nuffink better than gettin’ paid for it….I know mate – I get  paid a bloody kings ransom to show off mine, even if it ‘appens to ‘ave a bit of cotton stuck to it.

Oh by the way, that underwear gear wot I model, is now goin’ be called the ‘Dirty ‘Arry’ range, so well done mate!

Cheers, David B

Dear readers, one of the more satisfying aspects of being a serious travel writer, is that one is required to interview all kinds of wonderful, interesting people. One such person of interest is the resourceful Air France pilot, who recently managed to squeeze cash money out of his unsuspecting passengers to pay for fuel, after landing his plane in a war zone.

On Wednesday August 15th, Air France flight 562, originally destined for Beirut (the frying pan) set off from Paris, and then went slightly astray when it ended up landing in an even more troubled capital – Damascus (the fire).

How did this happen dear readers? Well, an unwholesome series of events had been set in motion earlier that evening when dangerous protests forced a close-down at Beirut International Airport. The problem? Members of an infamous Lebanese clan had taken several hostages on the Beirut airport road, in retaliation for the capture of another family member in Syria.

The Air France plane, a Boeing 777, nearing its approach, and carrying around 174 passengers, at first planned to divert to Jordan, but the pilot, realizing there was not enough fuel to reach Amman, decided to land in Damascus.

Are you following me so far, dear readers?

So picture this: The plane lands in Damascus and nervous passengers are instructed to keep the blinds down on their porthole windows and not take any photos or videos. But in order to leave Damascus and head for yet ANOTHER destination on the island of Cyprus, the plane needs to refuel.

However, the pilot’s Air France credit card is not accepted in Damascus airport because of US sanctions against Syria.

What to do? Why, ask the passengers to COUGH UP THEIR OWN CASH to pay for the fuel! So starting with First Class and Business Class passengers, the whip-round begins, and according to one news source, the tally reaches $17,000. One cannot make these stories (or totals) up, dear readers!

Fortunately for the stranded, and by this time fleeced, passengers, an alternative, and as yet undisclosed, solution is found and the plane finally takes off for Cyprus. The following day, the same plane lands in Beirut without incident. Below is an extract of my interview with the pilot, a man who knows this part of the Mediterranean like the back of his Landing Gear.

THE INTERVIEW

Helga: Captain, when did first you realize that you, along with your crew and passengers were NOT going to wake up in Beirut and smell the burning tires?

Captain: ‘Alors, ‘Elga cherie, eet iz ze moment we ‘ear zat terrible zings are ‘appening in Beirut and zat ze airport is closed.

Helga: Don’t call me ‘cherie’. So you decided to land in an even more dodgy capital, Damascus?

Captain: Eh bien, c’est because we did not ‘ave enough fuel for Amman…..

Helga: But Really! Damascus! One hasn’t been able to get a decent Gin & Tonic there for some time…..WHAT WERE YOU THINKING??

Captain: C’est Vrai!!! Mon Dieu! I must ‘ave been blinded!

By ze way, ‘ave you seen my photo in ze Air France Magazine for July?

Helga: No. So how did passengers react when you told them you needed their cash to get the plane off the ground?

Captain: ‘Elga, at ze start, ze passengers were very – ooh, ‘ow shall I say zis -’timide’ to make ze ‘whip-ronde’, but when faced wiz ze alternateeve terrible – une night in Damas – zay were VERY ‘appy to cough!

Helga: Did you find it surprising that you were able to collect a grand total of $17,000 in cash from the passengers?

Captain: Non, non, not surprising at all! Zees Lebanese ‘ave too much monee and are very riche….In fact, wiz ze ‘elp of zis big naughty clan, I am arranging for another ‘refueling’ next month…

Helga: Good to know that Air France is ‘above board’ in its dealings Captain

Dear readers, although it seems from our Going Global travel blog, that Helmut and I are constantly jetting off to exotic locations, I can assure you, that due to restrictions imposed upon us by our humorless probation officer, we find ourselves spending a fair amount of time at home, in our cozy lock-up at Happy Meadows.

But even within this safe harbor, or sofa rehab (which is Helmut’s preferred anagram), I am far too often cajoled out of my comfortable camping chair with its customized built-in mini-bar, to respond to readers’ questions.

The ‘Send Us Packing’ Campaign

Again and again, I am asked by clueless, and quite often toothless, elderly parents, for advice on how to get the most out of their offspring and enjoy a perpetual holiday at their expense. Why ask us, dear readers? Well, I firmly believe it is because Helmut and I are known for having raised progeny who are totally committed to providing us scary old coffin-dodgers with enough money to keep us on the move, on the bottle and out of their lives!

In this post I share a few of my Hand-Out Hints in the hope that you too, will be able to successfully sponge/freeload off your nearest and dearest and elicit sufficient cash, first-class airline tickets and above all, a steady supply of gin, to keep you blotto and airborne well into your twilight years!

Is it that simple? Yes! Begin your campaign by paying your offspring a lengthy and unplanned visit, choose a prominent place to soak your dentures and refuse to leave until you have convinced them just how inexpensive your binge-drinking, jet-setting life would be compared to time spent in a correctional facility, rehab or nursing home.

Irritate Your Offspring!

One of the best ways to make your tight-fisted offspring desperate to send you packing on an extensive, one-way, all-expenses paid trip to the other side of the globe, is to irritate them as much as possible. To follow, some tried and tested methods:

• Block things up. When visiting the offspring, remember to pack your essential senior products, such as dentures, prosthetics, hairpieces and ‘padded products’, then accidentally lodge them in a drain, toilet bowl or toaster, where they can easily burn or clog up the system.

• Wildly exaggerate your declining mental abilities. From misplacing your door keys to forgetting where you last left the grandkids or the car, a sudden ‘memory lapse’ can be fun and, if carried out correctly, will induce apoplexy in your offspring as well as an overwhelming desire to see the back of you.

• Act demented. Another enjoyable ploy is to wander disheveled and zombie-like around your offspring’s garden, in full view of the neighbors, carrying a spade and searching for the last place you buried your gin bottles.

In this posting, Helmut and I are ‘Shanghaied’ without the help of drugs, appear unannounced in wedding photos and send up acrophobes at the Orient Pearl Tower

Dear Readers, it should come as no surprise to those who have experienced the deliciousness of living or visiting Shanghai, that the city is too vast, too complex, and too inscrutable to be described or reviewed concisely in a travel guidebook or magazine article. Indeed, at this very moment, with more than a few bottles of wine and ‘mother’s ruin’ drained to the dregs and littering our Astor House Hotel room floor, it seems clear that this megalopolis deserves to be honored with an entire library section! Unfortunately, a discerning imbiber like myself, or ‘lush’ as Helmut often prefers to call me, can only manage a limited piece of text, so a blog entry or two will have to suffice…

Now, dear readers, which city in the world – apart from this one – can lay claim to its very own glamorous and rather wicked English language expression? To ‘Shanghai someone’ is said to have been first used in this context in the mid nineteenth century and means to drug a man unconscious, without his knowing, and ship him unwillingly as a sailor. Isn’t it MARVELOUS how a simple two-syllable word like Shanghai can boast such an intricate and exciting meaning? Yes, the expression originated from the illegal kidnapping to fill the crews of ships making extended voyages, such as to the Chinese seaport of Shanghai. 

Hubby Helmut is quite taken with this expression and harbours romantic ideas of being ‘Shanghaied’ himself. Sadly for Helmut, his travel experiences thus far, do not conform to the word’s strict definition, although he insists he HAS been called  ‘Sailor’ on a few rowdy occasions!

Parks

Parks in China provide a welcome refuge from the noise and bustle of city life, and those in Shanghai are no exception. Park visitors, particularly the elderly, can be found there performing martial arts such as Tai Chi and Qi Gong. Others go to dance, meditate, fly kites and play badminton or mahjong. A ‘must-see’ for us old crocs is Fuxing Park, an expanse of green, situated in the former colonial ‘French Concession’ area of Shanghai called Luwan. This delightful park is designed in the French style with a centre lake, fountains, covered pavilions and flowerbeds and provides the perfect place for a quiet tipple! In a romantic setting, underneath the spreading sycamore trees, Chinese couples of a certain age meet up to dance the afternoon away, surrounded by statues of Marx and Lenin.

Helmut and I become rather nostalgic watching the happy, waltzing couples

Oh how their dancing takes us back through the years, back to our fumbling courtship, or to what our local law enforcers preferred to call ‘disturbing the peace’…Dear readers, to this day, we keep a framed copy of our mug shots, next to the wet bar, to remind us of that wonderful, intoxicating time!

Wedding Photos

On the subject of sentiment, Shanghai’s Bund area, with its magnificent art deco buildings on one side of the Huangpu River, and futuristic vistas on the other bank, provides young couples, especially newlyweds, with the perfect backdrop for their romantic souvenir pictures.

It is not uncommon during the weekend to see an entire assortment of brides and grooms, clad in western-style wedding garb, posing in front of a camera.

Helmut ADORES being a show-off and always tries to worm his way into their shots. Just imagine dear readers, the delightful surprise of the happy pairs when they develop their wedding pictures, only to spot what appears to be an elderly, inebriated Westerner, waving two bony fingers and pulling his best ‘zombie face’ in the background! What an auspicious start to their married life!

The Orient Pearl Tower

Opposite the Bund and across the Huangpu River, is Shanghai’s gleaming and opulent landmark, the Oriental Pearl Tower. Built as a radio and TV tower, the Oriental Pearl was completed in 1994 and at 1,535 feet high, used to be the tallest structure in China until it was surpassed by the Shanghai World Financial Centre in 2007. Hubby Helmut and I are eager to see the Observation Deck on the 88th floor, and we wait in line with hundreds of tiresome tourists for our designated lift. When it arrives, complete with a uniformed ‘lift hostess’, we are subjected to a lecture in English, lasting for the ENTIRE duration of our upward journey!

On the way out, waggish Helmut tells her that if this is the Chinese version of the ‘Elevator Pitch’, he’ll take 1.4 billion of whatever she is selling. What a razor-sharp wit! 

At the summit, the lifts open out into a vast hall with floor to ceiling glass windows and a 360-degree panoramic view of the sprawling city below. Outside and encircling the Observation Deck is the ‘skywalk’ – a glass ledge full of visitors, apparently standing in mid-air

Helmut, who has an uncanny gift for sniffing out anyone with a phobia, in this case acrophobia or fear of heights, offers those who are clutching at the railings and exhibiting a green or white pallor, a swig from his hip-flask, while asking if they need a parachute with that! Strangely enough, we are the only ones amused at his little joke! What a dull lot!

This type of light-hearted banter seems to give Helmut an enormous appetite. Outside the Oriental Pearl, while jokingly asking a few Shanghai families if they could recommend a good restaurant apart from McDonald’s, Helmut reaffirms his natural ability to communicate with their children.