Dear Dreary.
I'm married to a cannibal and although I love him very much he is making life very awkward and I'm quickly running out of friends to confide in.
I first met him on a safari trip in the darkest regions of the Limpoopoo undergrowth. He impressed me with his blowpipe and he was a dab hand with a meat cleaver and moving silently through the bush.
When I first took him to meet my parents they were gutted. Literally!
When I brought him home I got him a job in ArkWrights' Butchers.
He was dismissed after Mrs Arkwright spotted her husbands' pocket watch hanging off the rack of ribs in the shop window for three shillings, tuppence apeny. Further, Mrs Arkwright went on to say that her late husband wasn't a fan of oranges which at least went some way to explaining the look of surprise on the butchers face as he gazed blankly in to the high street atop his silver platter.
On a positive note he did get his picture in the paper showing off his collection of shrunken heads. On the downside he's presently helping police with their enquires thumbing through the missing persons register.
Do you think I should mention to the plump desk sergeant not to look my husband in the eye?
Yours,
Joy Tickle.
Peel em Under Shaft.

Dear Joy,
I sense an opportunity here. Perhaps your husband's peculiar 'talents' could actually be beneficial and also save him from the inevitable arrest .I do hope be enjoys a range of world cuisines, as they are all readily available here. Mexican, Indian, Chinese, African, Middle-Eastern, the list is endless, and the fact that they are illegal immigrants would, i imagine, only add to the culinary experience. How about a sweet and sour Chinky scrounger, or maybe a curried Indian illegal, or even a pan-fried spicy Mexican dosser? He could eat out (or even order in) every night of the week and be doing the nation a great favour by reducing the number of sponging bastards we keep in benefits. He's hardly in a position to refuse is he?
Think it over. D.