Wednesday, 29 May 2013

Dear Lady Violet,

I think I may be on the verge of finding true love and romance. I met this studmuffin in a colonic irrigation parlour and he bought me a cappucino with sprinkles. In a coffee shop, not the colonic irrigation parlour. He wants me to get his name tattooed on my arm as a token of my love for him. His name is Bonky Chinkakronk McWhirter-Faradaddles (or so he says). I'm worried that I may not be able to fit it in between the names of my other lovers, the names of my pet sheep and the tattoo of a guinea pig.  Should I do it?


The Rt Hon Kylie Bimblethorpe, MA (Cantab)

Lady V:

My Dear, dear, dear Kylie!

Can this be you? Oh hush, ravaged heart! My fruit of a different orange! Where have you been? Yes, yes, colonic irrigation, cappucino, sprinkles, (SO yesterday’s fodder, btw) But where? After that dreadful scene with my enraged father (it took two plumbers and an orthopaedic surgeon to free him) you took the invalid buggy and lit out, dude, I mean lit out!
Me? I is jus hangin’, tryin’ to chill, innit, aksin everybody and I mean simply everybody darling have they seen you.

And here you are, dropping as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.

I know Bonky Faradaddles. All that double-barrelled stuff is pish-tush. The Faradaddles have always been scum and this one is no exception. Come to me mine own, at the address provided. I’ll have my teeth power-washed!

Your own darling Vi

Dear Lady Violet,

I don't know if I am being controlled by my much older boyfriend. Every day he makes me count my cornflakes, and any over 250 have to go back in the packet.  He doesn't like me going out on my own, and he took all the wheels off my car and threw them in next door's pond.  He doesn't like other men drooling over me, so when we do go out (every three years or so) he makes me wear one of those mud facepacks with cucumber slices over my eyes.

Ooh, better go now, he's looking in my direction with a beckoning finger...

Lady V:

Dear Cucumber Victim,
Oh, I do so like a simple problem from time to time. This is what you must do. First, start eating Weetabix. Second, always go out with a friend. Third, buy a sledge. Fourth, always carry a can of Drool-Be-Gone (readily available at Help the Aged). Fifth, take the mudpack prior to deployment and the cucumber pre slicing and shove both smartly up your boyfriend’s hooter. This usually cures finger beckoning.

Ever yours,

Lady V.

1 comment:

  1. This is a vile calumny ! I wrote to this deluded woman seeking advice. I have never met her.Now, that is the last thing I would want to do. She's obviously a roaring, ocean-going nutjob. Makes me feel reassuringly normal.
    You will be hearing from my legal team
    Yours etc
    Kylie Bimblethorpe.


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