The Darwin awards: Panama is lovely this time of year

Ladies, has the latest bank rate hike been the final straw? Well, jack your straw and don your Panama because it’s time for hubby to go canoeing.

While the world is aghast at the dastardly fraud committed by John and Anne Darwin, you have bigger fish to fry: not only the 50-basis-point increase, the Eskom hike and soaring medical-aid and petrol prices, but also everything else that is hitting the roof.

Besides, with the crime stats having just been released, Panama looks lovely this time of year.

No, I’m afraid there’s only one thing for it — hubby has to learn to paddle, turning this year’s holiday in Umhlanga into a life-changing event.

NB: Jewish husbands are at a distinct advantage here — 99% of them can’t swim or do watersports to save their lives. So while you stand there sobbing: “And I told Mark to take a scarf and a jersey and a thick jacket in the canoe to stop him catching cold … I never dreamt it would make the canoe too heavy,” the insurance assessor will be writing the cheque.

Of course, ladies, there are a number of things you have to factor in before sending your genius out on to the water:

1. If like the Darwins you have children named Mark and Anthony, then like Caeser you may well end up being disowned by the kids. With the price of schooling, PlayStations and clothing, is this really a bad thing?

2. If hubby is not insured, then the exercise becomes rather pointless, although some of you may be drooling at the prospect of a five-year sabbatical regardless. Tell him he is insured and help him push the canoe into the water.

3. If your Jewish husband is like me, he will have the sense of direction of the East Timorian hunting bat. I’m the only person who, when I stop to ask for directions, is told: “You’re still in the driveway, dad, go straight until you hit the gate then turn right and take it from there.” The problem is that it would be difficult to pretend your genius has drowned if his canoe is plonk in the middle of Durban harbour, with half the sailors in the southern hemisphere swearing at him for blocking the exit.

4. Make sure that you remind hubby that after he has abandoned the canoe, he has to disappear. I mean what is the point of going to all that trouble of faking his death if the genius turns out to be a homing pigeon?

If he returns home then you may want to try out the other top British financial planning and hubby removing package — the Heather Mook gambit.

Just cut his spaghetti with rat poison and Bob’s your tyrant; Mark and Anthony can go and bury him in the back garden. Most of you are used to cutting your drugs with rat poison anyway, so this shouldn’t be too difficult.

5. If he somehow survives being Mooked and the canoe, you might just have to go with him to Panama. This leaves one final tricky decision: Will your new outfits look better in Panama this fall or is Medium B Diepkloof (prison) the place to be? If it’s the latter, don’t forget to pose for a photograph with the Panamanian estate agent.

One final word of caution: as it turns out, Darwin spent most of the time living next door while they pretended he was dead.

It is no defence in terms of our law for you to allege that because he does so little about the house anyway, it’s difficult to tell whether he’s alive or dead at the best of times.

When the police raid your home and find him alive and well and ask you to comment on this, we highly recommend you refrain from using: “How can you tell?”