Occasionally one comes across some weird things in the email inbox. How both sides of this correspondence got into ours, I have no idea:
I really hope you get this fast. I could not inform anyone about our trip, because it was impromptu. we had to be in Philippines for Tour.. The program was successful, but our journey has turned sour. we misplaced our wallet and cell phone on our way back to the hotel we lodge in after we went for sight seeing. The wallet contained all the valuables we had. Now, our passport is in custody of the hotel management pending when we make payment.
I am sorry if i am inconveniencing you, but i have only very few people to run to now. i will be indeed very grateful if i can get a short term loan from you($2,200)USD. this will enable me sort our hotel bills and get my sorry self back home. I will really appreciate whatever you can afford in assisting me with. I promise to refund it in full as soon as soon as I return. let me know if you can be of any assistance. Please, let me know soonest. Thanks so much.
Poor you! What an awful predicament and, of course, I shall pull out all the stops to assist you right away. It’s a pleasure to help out an old chum in his time of need. Is $2,200 really enough??
And I hope that I won’t sound rather sanctimonious when I say that now you’ll appreciate the full value of travel insurance!
May I recommend:
I cannot praise them enough, since only 18 months ago we were in a situation strikingly similar to yours, however my darling Marianne had mercifully been wise enough to take out a blanket insurance policy on our trip. It certainly came in useful! We were given an absolutely red carpet treatment and flown home from Goa (where the ‘misplacement’ took place) first class, but before that were first able to complete our holidays in a different, upgraded hotel.
On a more serious note, I’m so sorry that you decided to leave Julie after so many years of (apparently) happy marriage. She came round to see us last week and seemed absolutely devastated by the situation. She told Marianne that your children are also utterly devastated by this decision and that she is now completely reliant on strong anti-depressants, though judging by the amount of water-works going on, I’d say she was hitting the bottle rather hard, too.
Of course, I understand that your relationship was under strain, compounded, to say the least, by the affair you were having behind Julie’s back with the Philippina nanny. Neither Marianne nor I can understand why you had to broadcast this to the rest of the world, tell your spouse you were divorcing her and take off with Samiya to Manila for a sex-change. (Honestly – are you having just a boob-job or are you going the whole hog and having your dangly bits turned into a ladygarden? Do tell!). But then we heard that Samiya herself is, in fact, a post-op transsexual, but with lesbian tendencies. What a tangled web you have woven yourself! If only you’d been more discreet: round these parts I doubt if anyone would have noticed the sex change thing – the women all have moustaches anyway. Still, you’ve made your bed and now you have to lie thereon (no doubt with Samiya panting for it beside you! What on earth do you naughty chaps get up to? When you get back, you really must give me a blow-by-blow!)
Now, about that loan. I’ve just asked Marianne if she would be happy with you being advanced that figure, but unfortunately she says that the appalling way you have treated her sister means that she never wants anything more to do with you, that she thinks you are a complete stinker and she hopes you will rot in hell and never darken our doorstep again. Ever. A bit strong, I know, but there you are. I really don’t think it’s worth my while alienating both her and Julie, do you?
Have you tried the British Embassy in Manila? They’ve been known to help out in these sticky situations, although, God knows, the Foreign Office just isn’t what it used to be. Sometimes I wonder if immigration isn’t the cause of this as these days you’re more likely to have, shall we say, a Commonwealth-type chappie attempting to help you out in the more exotic tourist locations, than not.
Anyway, best of British, etc., and you and I must go and have a jar or two down at the local when you’re back. I think it will have to be the local, given Marianne’s embargo on you stepping over the threshold of Number 227 Bishop’s Road, Royal Tunbridge Wells. By the local, I mean our Golf Club’s clubhouse, which as only too well you know, is spitting distance from us. Then we could have a round and something to eat afterwards.
Well, chin up, Old Man. Hope you sort yourself out, you silly old goat! Or should I say silly old ‘nanny-goat’ now – ha ha? Well, perhaps not, given Samiya’s erstwhile job.
I expect you’ll need to change your dress code a smidgeon now: sensible shoes, blouse and thick tweed skirt? Or will it be slacks? (I’m pretty sure they’re allowed in the clubhouse these days…)