Escape to Beestonia, Part 5: Just When You Thought It Was Safe To Go Into Your Inbox.

Oh Teri, how I miss you. Not only did you propel my blog into the stratosphere, gaining more hits in a day than ever before, being bigged up on B3TA, Urban75 and the very wonderful people at LeftLion, and being read worldwide, you also gave me a very good reason to drink a ridiculous amount of red wine late into the night while I awaited for Kuala Lumpar to come on-line. Those nights will always be precious to me, dear Teri. In a different world we could have been something. You, me , a sofa crammed full of money and maybe some goats. Sadly it was not to be. Shes gone. Or so I thought.

After publishing the epilogue to the story, she sent me this email as way of closure

I have been through alot lately
And the last thing i need is someone oversea threating me okay
My fears dont exist no more simply because my life is to hardened to suck in any fearI will go to any extent to get a new life for myself.
I hope your friend Matt gets well soon
He really cared about me and i appreciated the fact for once in my life a man wasnt trying to take advantage of me


Teri Lou.

Im almost touched. I resist temptation to write back claiming I have made a miraculous recovery after being read her emails to induce me from my coma. Enoughs enough, I figure, one doesn’t want to jump the shark with this. I’ve had my fun, I wasted her time, thats enough. Goodbye, sweet Theresa Lou.

There is a more practical purpose to this. Anyone sticking an ad on Gumtree who is subsequently contacted by Miss Lou can cut and paste her text into google and up pops my story, and they can choose to ignore her, or, if they have as twisted a mind as I, play around with her and waste her time.

Credit then to Gareth Davies, who as I have previously mentioned was the first person to get in touch and let me know hes counter-scamming Teri, and it seems he still is, with him now screaming vitriol at her in some hilariously sweary emails.

And then there is the less crude, but absolutely genius work of Peter Hassett, who encountered Teri a few weeks ago. The full text is here . Its quite an epic read, and you can possibly skip by the bits where she sends the same emails as she sent me, but do read the little notes on the text. The sheer joy Peter has in writing Welsh poetry at her shines through, and his brilliant ploy to make her lose money and time is truly genius, and I’m mildly envious I didn’t think of it.

And that is the end, right? Teri Lou keeps on scamming, the Malaysian police are hardly  following my tip with any great enthusiasm, but now if anyone wants to check to see who this mysterious Malaysian is they can with ease. Life gets back to normal, Beestonia returns to its normal few hits a day. I split up with my girlfriend, get back to work, break all my new year resolutions, the usual. I meet a man who looks incredibly like Herc from The Wire:

And then, three weeks after i bid farewell to Teri Lou, im browsing my email and this pops up

I got to see your post Matt
Very funny and nice.But what you fail to know is i make nothing less than 7000 pounds a week from the UK
I guess you are just wasting your time playing around.

I got many clients to attend to
See u in the next world

Teri Wong

Bejesus! shes alive! And shes  cottoned on to me! My heart flutters, this is joy, pure joy.

Im quick to reply

Terry!I have really missed you! No, honestly. Whoever you are, I had the BEST fun talking to you.

As you can see, Im not dead, or in hospital. I have all my limbs, and haven’t done anything obscene to a goat for years. My cover is blown. Oh well.

£7000 is a very decent wage! How many people do you do a week for that type of money?

I am very impressed with your tactics, but think you could do this a lot more efficently, and credibly. I have a few ideas on how you could make this a lot more profitable….wanna hear?

Still holding a dripping candle for you

And now the story gets truly bizarre. Lukas Begg comes into my life.

Wow this is very interesting
I almost got duped by this same lady

nothing special, as mentioned before, I get a lot of these, Teri is a prolific lady

Then he sent this, and my socks were quite literally blown off:

I even spoke to her via skpye and it was kindda real seeing her
But my instincts just wasnt feeling right

Skype! Skype! He chatted to her via video? This is totally unprecedented. I need to know what she looks like. It suddenly takes on a greater degree of reality. I fire off a response to Mr Begg, asking a plethora of questions, press send and erm…nothing. The email pops straight back. The email address is invalid. I need to contact him though, so I first check Facebook. No joy. Theres a Lukas Berg, a Lukas Bugg…but no Lukas Begg. Fair enough, the whole world isn’t on Facebook. I google him. No results. I try resending the email. Again, it pings back.

Its should be noted here that ‘Lukas’ posted these comments on the blog on the same day as Teri resumed contact. I re-read the comments. He sounds a bit like…well, he sounds like Teri. Or is my imagination tipping into the paranoid?

Another email appears. Its Teri again.
Well Matt
If you take a moment and look at this World
No money is clean Money.I have been duped of all my savings by a british National whom promised me visa and marriage
I sent him a total of 4875pounds all for this process
I loaned money and alot at stake

But here i am duped
This is just a pay back

But i wish you well
And nice Beestonia site


Thanks Teri, thats very kind. Check the wording, the use of the word ‘dupe’. I will don my deerstalker, chuff my pipe and conclude, my dear Watson’s, that  ‘Lukas Begg’ is Teri Lou. Which means that Teri Lou has actually posted on my site. This is far too post-modern. Which also leads me to the conclusion Teri Lou is bonkers. Absolute nut-nut.  She also starts emailing Gareth Davies with a renewed fervour.  Gareth Davies, who is mentioned a few times in the blog, which she has read. He is shocked too, after she had disappeared on him. She claims to him that she has been ill. He points out that the room is taken, and in no uncertain terms, go away. She doesn’t. Teri Lou shall not be ignored.

And there lies the state of play. A Malaysian national, Tim, has been in contact, offering to help me get this to the Malaysian police more effectively. I may have tried ringing her a few times. I may have left her some voicemails. Theres talk about adapting this into a magazine article or radio play. Its all very fun, but bewildering. All I can do is sit by my laptop, awaiting for her to get back in touch.

Or I could fly out to Kuala Lumpur and try and find Miss Lou….that might be fun…

Jan 29, 2010

Many thanks to Gareth Davies, Phil Ward, Peter Hassett, Tim,my lovely ex who had to put up with my love for another woman, Jon Taylor, Moira Kean, Aras Off-License, my housemates for putting up with all of this, you for reading this epic tale and most of all, Teresa Lou, whoever you are.

Beestonian Food Porn.

Despite the fact I look like I live exclusively on cheese Quavers and McCain’s oven chips thanks to an ever so slightly vitamin-light and wan complexion, I love me food. Honest. And despite having a body that is rakishly emaciated and periodically concave, I eat a lot of it too. So what with all the usual chat at this time of year about detoxing, dieting, Special K-ing and Slimfasting squished ever so faintly ridiculously up against comfort food recipes for half a pig and three sides of dumplings, my mind naturally turns to foraging for vittles.

I’m a man of eclectic tastes, having eaten most meats available in a large supermarket, and a fair few that aren’t (horse is gorgeous, as is kangaroo. Crocodile is like eating your dad’s slipper, salted). French, Italian, Chinese, Indian, Thai, Mexican…my taste buds have travelled further and wider than my passport, though I have sat on the Atlas Mountains and ate goat tagine in the snow, ate kebap (not a typo) on the dockside of Istanbul’s Golden Horn, and had a cheese and ham toastie in coffee bars all over Amsterdam. I even ate a rather unfortunate bull’s balls in Lisbon once, after misreading a menu and thinking that ‘swinging beef’ meant it had been well hung in a totally different way.

So lucky me, living in Beeston, surely the countries culinary heartland. The Michelin Guide may have been a little slack in dishing out the stars (though I like to think Sat Bain’s expensive little hut by the Trent is technically Beestonia…you can reach it from the Rylands without crossing a road, so that’s good enough for me), but where else could boast so many fine Chinese restaurants, a happy by-product of the East Asian student influx towards Broadgate. Have you ever been to the supermarket at the corner of Marlborough Road? Then do so, now, and pick up a three-kilo bag of chicken feet and a sack of pig uteri. Dunno what you’ll do with them, but they’ll liven up your fridge no end.

Pub grub is of a grade well beyond what should be expected. 90% of pub meals are dished out by Wetherspoons, true, but the other ten percent more than make up for that. The Victoria is long famous for its food, winning loads of awards and being so packed on a Sunday two hour waits are not uncommon. The veg burritos are simply proof that meat isn’t necessary every meal and the puddings have been known to make grown men weep. Plus, they have the best beer in town. So, up its own arse and full of people who don’t really do pubs so look baffled by the bar area it may be, but I still can’t knock its food.

Another star (not The Star, where fusion-cuisine means dry-roasted AND salted nuts on the bar) is the newly reopened Royal Oak. Yes, the Royal Oak, formally Beeston’s roughest pub, has now transformed from a place where the most likely thing you’d end up eating would be your own teeth, into a very smart, very clean bar-cum-restaurant. I ventured in with great trepidation recently, and had a splendid breakfast for a fiver, with free filter coffee. Once I got over the paranoia that this wasn’t a trap and the locals weren’t going to burst from the walls and feast on our flesh, I felt a flush of optimism. You can polish a turd after all.

The real gem for the ravenous Beestonian is the HUGE amount of takeaways: fresh-made pizza places that give you a good nine inches for the price of a mere slice of a chain establishment; Middle-Eastern palaces of rotating elephant legs and chilli sauces developed at Portnum Down, straightforward no-nonsense burger and chips places that flourish happily in their artery-hardening greasy glory since McDonalds was viciously ousted from the High Street.

But much as I often leave the last plump king prawn of any curry to the very last morsel on my plate, I’m saving the best till last, can you tell? Are you salivating with anticipation yet? Well, get to it Pavlov’s pet, for now it is time to talk about the pinnacle, the zenith, the very summit of Beestonian FineDining…The Chippies.

But tease that I am, here’s an aperitif before we get down to the main course. I was tipped off recently about a very fine blog on grub which is found right here: , by a friend of the blogger who set it up. Written with real verve and passion about snap, I assumed that when I sent said friend a menu for Humber Road Chippy: they’d balk at its contents. These are people who lose sleep and exchange multiple Facebook postings over the consistency of their roux, think nothing about paying more in a week on olive oil than wine and don’t feel, as I often do, like they’re utterly blagging it in fancy restaurants. Self-confessed gastro-tarts and food nerds the both of them. And Londoners too. Need I say more?

So, its a surprise when I get a message ‘Been with Miss Gin’n’Crumpets today, we spent all afternoon salivating over the Humber Rd menu’. Women who can actually pronounce Blumenthal without spitting; moistening, nay lubricating, at the just the thought of pea fritters, cheese ‘n onion fry-its and fishcake surprise? What madness is this? These are people, nay, gourmets, bon viveurs, with the whole of London’s seven and a half trillion restaurants just a stroll away, and they are feeling groovy over Beeston gravy. These are not people who eat, no, they deliberate, cogitate and digest.

Once I’d ascertained that they were honest, I gave thought to why. It can’t be right that given the option of the multiple tried and tasted permutations of all the world’s ingredients, they can get so very het up about that most base of meals, the fish supper. However.

I once lived, when an exiled Beestonian, in Tunbridge Wells, where 50% of the population have the surname ‘disgruntled’ and the rest have so many hyphens in their name their keyboards ‘-‘ key has worn down to a stump. Restaurants proliferate, and working in the service industry as a pub assistant landlord I could regularly call in favours and eat super food on the cheap.

Great for dates, I soon realised, despite having to slip the Maitre’d a note at bill time ‘YOUR BOSS PUKED ON MY FLOOR LAST WEEK. REDUCE BILL ACCORDINGLY’ but I craved grease. I would mop my lips after a fine Lobster Thermidor, eat cheese made by cows long extinct and nibble on the goodbye mint handcrafted by Swiss artisanal virgins, and then, with a goodnight kiss and like a Premier footballer drawn ever so inexorably towards fake-breasted blondes and supercars, straight to the chippy.

It was a source of great guilt. Did my prole roots simply predestine me to be inescapably attracted to food fried in tallow? Apparently it’s more complex than that.

Feed us Mediterranean delights, Oriental wonders, South American spice-fests, and we will, from the Lord to the Lidl stacker, from the High Court Judge to the High on Skunk Jeremy Kyle-phile, default eventually to the call of the fried. Oh, it’s so bad, but who hasn’t read reports of Glaswegian deep fried Mars bars and pizzas and felt their mouth dripping slightly? Yeah, well, baste me in Balsamic, sauté me in sun-dried tomato juice, but I know that somewhere, deep in the jungle of British DNA, is that love of nothing else but a bubbly battered cod.

Thus, Beeston’s Humber Road chippy, apparently the best in the East Midlands, is truly a Palace of Delights. Skip the invite to World Service, claim you are washing your hair when called to Harts, and go and get some greasy glory. And if you work there and read this, yes, I would like some free mushy peas.

A GooldBell Production, 2010.

Little Note:

If you’ve been directed here by a link to Beestonia, you might find the story seems to start at Part Four. This is not a homage to Star Wars, more the fact that I can’t be bothered work out how to swop it all round. So to read this epic tale from start to finish, click the ‘Theresa Lou’ button above and you’ll get the menu to read it from start to finish…thanks, Matt.

Escape to Beestonia: Part four: Epilogue.

Its been two weeks now since Teri first came into my life, but now its time to say goodbye. I’m not one for long term relationships, plus, its starting to affect me in some bizarre ways. I find my heart jumping when her emails appear in my inbox. I get butterflies at every text. And on New Years Eve, I’m walking across Beeston Square, and sitting alone in the icy cold is a girl, who turns to look at me…and for a terrifying moment I think its Teri, before reality floods back in and I realise it isn’t her. Its enough though to make me think that its time to call time.

Terry!!! Whats happening? I wanted to go to Malaysia but they wouldn’t let me on the plane in my Special Clothes, as I was a ‘hygiene risk’ this is crazy! You must come to me. I ache for you, all over, but mostly THERE.

What are we to do?





Listen my love. Go outside your city and look for 2 Western Union stores. Split the money into 2 and send 700 pounds each to me from 2 different locations. I have two identities now, Teresa Lou and Teri Goold, I get the ID card from the court as I said I am your wife. Dopn’t let me down.



Wow. I like that. We are in the eyes of  the Malaysian courts man and wife.


I am married to you! My dream is true! Come quick to Beeston and we will have our honeymoon here. I will take you to the BEST restaurants and drink the FINEST OF WINES ( Lidl have a sale on, its the BEST timing).

I love your new name! How about you change your middle name to Orl? Its a family tradition here. Terry Orl Goold….its so beautiful I could, no, I will cry.

Ok my darling, I have your details. I’m off right now to the Western Union.

I quiver, Mrs Goold, I quiver.

Matt, your loving husband.


I go quiet here. I correspond with Gareth Davies, the man who Teri is also corresponding with, and am delighted to find hes doing much the same as me. Its time to pass the baton and let him play with her from now on. I need to wrap this up.

I receive many  fine ideas from people, all brilliant, all considered. While I’m debating my next move, Teri writes:


You have not only disappoint me
But you disappointed yourselfI will be away from the city to a safe place where i can settle down and think before i fly to maybe another country
I knew all your feelings and words were all liesTHANK YOU


Well thats not very nice.  I fire off the following. Many thanks to Adele (an Australian friend, not the pavement-chasing popstrel) for this idea.

Teresa? Is that you? The girl in the picture? Matt has had a bad accident involving a car and a dog…hes in hospital, unconscious. Doctors say he has a tanked spleen, a broken leg and some serious tearing of the epididymis. He is is a very bad shape.

He was found with a large amount of cash in his bag, a photo of a pretty girl with a rose, and some details about making a payment to a Western Union shop, which seems to be where he was heading, the dog attacked him just outside the shop, possibly through the smell of meat.

I found his hotmail account details to find out more, as its a mystery. We haven’t seen Matt for month, ever since he won the money. We think he went a little mad with that religion thing. I visited his house earlier to pick up some stuff he’ll need, it was in a very bad state, blood on the walls, bits of animal on the floor.  Flies, lots of flies and MARRY ME written in tiny letters all over the furniture.

We are truly baffled about this. Do you know where the money is going? Is it you, I dont understand. If he owes it to you I will ensure you will get it. I have his phone and will check this account here and there. Let me know.

We just hope he pulls through. Since he lost his leg hes not had a lot of luck. Send your prayers to him.

Sorry to break this to you.

God bless you

David Diddyman
(matt’s friend)

Theres a quiet period. Teri is having trouble with this. Maybe shes heartbroken.



How much money?

Theresa Lou


Or not.


Hi Teri

Over £3,000. He’d drawn a love heart on near enough every note…still legal tender though.

I dont understand. Did Matt have the money for a flight?? Do you need me to send the cash on. Matt is still very ill, and has yet to wake up.



I am scared now. Please do not talk to me any more. I am not here.


Blimey. Have I been hallucinating her?

I do a little research of the address she gives, via google maps. It seems a quiet smart area, in central Kuala Lumpur. I  also do some research into the Malaysian Police, the RMP, and send them a detailed email containing certain phone numbers and addresses. I then write back to the hologram that is Teri.


Hi Teri

I’m only here to help.

I have business interests in Kuala Lumpur, so I’m sending someone round to the address Matt had in his hand when he was struck by the car/dog, they will have the money he owed to you, in US dollars. For security purposes, he will be accompanied by two members of the RMP, please do not be alarmed to find two members of the police at your door, they are only ensuring you get this money.

I have gave them your phone number, just in case you don’t hear the door.

To an interesting future

Teri doesn’t like this

I dont know you
I dont want you to send anything


Oh, how could she do this? How could she deny me. Oh well. An email comes from Malaysia. Its the RMP

Terima kasih di atas e-mel anda. Tindakan susulan akan diambil dengan segera. Terima kasih.


Oh, thats a translation below

Thank you for your email. Further action will be taken as soon as possible. Thank you.


And that is the story of Theresa Lou. I shall miss her.

Theres is a small post-script though. I write her an email, to be sent at a later date:

Hello Teri, or whoever you are.

First, I’d like to thank you. Your attempts to get money out of me has made my Christmas a very special one. Without you, I’d be forced into watching rubbish movies on tv while cramming my gut with Quality Street like a foie-gras goose. But no, you came into my life and lit it up. The hours I’ve spent with a bottle of grubby corner-shop red wine, some music on and our email exchanges have been precious ones, that I shall forever treasure. However. All this must come to and end. Its not you, its me.

I’ve been living a lie Teri. I realised from the third email that you were not really in need. I checked out your details and saw you’d done this a few times, often under different names. You’ve probably got away with it a few times, and if so, fair enough. But enough now. You have at least three on the go now. You know Gareth Davies, a teacher with a room to let? So do I. We got you.

You won’t receive this till after I get the go-ahead from the RMP. They should be round soon.

I’m sorry to say goodbye. Its been fun. Keep in touch!

Your ever loving

Matt Goold.

Ps. The room was quite drafty anyway, and has some dry rot. You deserve better. I’m sure you will, very soon.


New year, new challenges. I just hope something as fun as Teri lands into my lap soon. Thank you all for the support, the emails, the ideas, and for reading this all in such droves I have had more hits over the past week than in the combined past seven months of this blog.

There might be more developments, if so, I’ll update here. If you want to be kept in touch, you can be kept informed of developments by joining my Beestonia! Facebook group, where I mail all members whenever I get my arse in  gear and knock out an article.

Thank you Beestonians. Be seeing you. x