Dear Dreary.
Can you help please. It's actually my girlfriend who has the problem but she is far too embarassed to contact you. It's a noise problem. She's always suffered with this but recently there has been a strange development. Whenever she has sex, her lady part makes noises. It used to be more like a little windypops escaping, but now its just weird. During a session last weekend i heard a strange, haunting call that i eventually realised had come from her vaggie. It was the mating call from Free Willy.
This was not the first time this has happened though. Over the last few months we've heard Woody Woodpecker, Simba the lion, Digby the biggest dog in the world, and even the bugle call from the jungle book dawn patrol. Each time this happens i become seriously distracted and rapidly lose both interest and erection. We've had Champion the wonder horse, Tony the tiger, and Yogi bear and Boo-Boo. It's all very off-putting and the stress is affecting my sexual performance.
The other night it was praying on my mind and i ended up coming way too soon. The moment i shot my load i heard a hyena laugh and then Bugs Bunny cheerily announced '' er,that's all folks!!''.
Once i had regained my composure, i got going again,but then there was a rustling in the undergrowth, and a funny high-pitched squeak, and a friggin merekat popped its head out and said 'Simples'! It's got to the point where i'm not sure if i'm imagining all this.
I swear during one early morning shagburst i heard a cock crow, then when we had a quickie on the settee during the Grand National i suddenly heard Mr.Ed shouting 'jump boy,jump!', and on holiday once,whilst fooling around on Dartmoor, as i climaxed,i'm convinced a wolf howled! Is there anything you could suggest? Regards, Desmond Morris, Whipsnade.
PS It must be me! : just had a wafty crank in the reptile house, and as i waggled it about i heard a rattlesnake! Arghhhh.......

Dear Desmond.
You could harness this little problem and turn it to your advantage.
If for instance you were woken in the wee hours by a burglar trying to access your premises you could simply pop your arse out if the bedroom window and make a police siren noise and perhaps a few gun shots. That should get shut of 'em!
If, for example you went along to watch the Halle orchestra and they were a trumpet short you could oblige them with your anal antics.
Struggling to get to the bar? Sound the fire alarm!! Self service and you'll be pissed in no time!
You could offer yourself as a mobile dj. Weddings, birthdays etc. Get one of them little microphones attached to your bum and you could cavort around the stage like Madonna. You'd even look like her come to think of it.
Could you do me an impression of Troy Tempest?
Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
You may have heard of my blog, 'keeping itallinplace.com'. I conduct research into male underwear and pass on the findings to my loyal band of followers. I thought your readership may be interested in my latest trials. I spent last weekend wearing a pair called 'Loving Cup'. With their feature 'snuggles' front lining, they give the impression of the swannicles being stroked ever so tenderly by a cupped palm of fur fingers. Comfortable in the extreme, but there is a good chance that in warm weather betty swallocks will put in an unwanted appearance. Do NOT exercise whilst wearing these pants as there is a risk of genitalia combustiosis. In complete contrast, 'The Vice', an online purchase, lift and separate the testicles by use of a tight band of elastic that runs from anus to waistband, pinning them, in effect, to the lower torso. In a non-physical setting there is a certain pleasure to be had, but any type of exertion or unexpected arousal can result in a traumatic entrapment of the cheesestring. or even worse, chaffing of the foreskin. The resulting medical examination, believe me, is as painful as it is embarrassing.
'Trapdoor' by the Boxer Company, are much more to my liking. Their 'airflow' split-crotch technique allows for natural hang and a hands free approach to urination. Part of the fun in wearing these is the fact that you can never be quite 100% sure how the little buggers are going to hang, giving scope for endless hours of fun in business meetings or when watching antiques roadshow. 'The Hammock' also allows the wind to cool the trossuchs, but does so by employing drawstrings around the top of the thighs.
If one cuts off the bottom of one's trouser pockets, these can be released at a moments notice. M + S have recently introduced a new 'Peek-A-Boo' range that includes a new version of the old elephant's trunk posing pouch. The end of the penis protrudes through a fine-mesh panel, pulling the foreskin back so that 'jumbo' is ready for action. The kosher version is slightly cheaper. Always be aware of the danger of the zip. Perhaps advisable not to wear these if you are drinking alcohol. designed for use with the current trend of wearing trousers on or below the hips where the crotch hangs low,between the thighs. Be aware, it is worryingly easy to 'bollock' oneself by walking too quickly. This can cause the chariot to swing TOO low, especially when the testicles are heavily-laden. The 'Egg Poacher' briefs, however, are ideal for breeding purposes as the scrotum is kept at a constant temperature by an insert of plastic insulation. The insert also catches any wayward emmissions, but always remember to remove it before washing the pants as the insert is not washable.
That's it for now! I always get to keep the pants after i've trialled them. Would you or the current Mr. Dreary be interested in a pair or two? I can wash them if you prefer.
Regards, Dick Hare, Phallus-On-The-Mound.

Dear Dick.
Fantastic ideas! There's certainly a gap in the market.
At the minute you can't move for ladies pantie lines.
The Hamsters Hammock is popular with the girls at the moment as is the Smugglers Cave.
The Drip Tray and Hoof Slipper are another popular choice.
Fingals cave is fashionable for snooty musical types whilst Cripple Creek is a rest home 'must have'.
For night time we have the Beavers Retreat and Fishermans Friend.
I could go on but I'm late for work.
Carry on!!
Dreary. xxxxxxx

Dear Dreary.
There's been a terrible outbreak of Legionnaires disease at the village hospital.
Old Stan and his pals have barricaded themselves in the east wing and refuse to surrender to the fuzzy wuzzys.
They do look jolly smart in their blue great coats, White trousers and sun hats blowing bugles and firing their rifles out of every window.
Most of the old buggers do sound a little depressed. Not one of them speaks fondly of women, choosing instead to 'forget'.
'We have come here to forget' they all shout.
Which is why they are in the dementia unit and not Fort Sand Dune as they think they are.
Moaning about a lack of water supplies is their main gripe. There's thee water machines in there wing with handy disposable cups.
I'm sure that trip to Blackpool's had something to do with all this!
Do you think it's hygienic having a camel in a hospital corridor? There's shit everywhere and he's eaten all the patients flowers.
Yours,
Bo Peep.

Dear Bo.
I have every sympathy. I remember all too vividly the 1980's outbreak of Parkinson's Disease that originated in the Shepherd's Bush area. I was working as a BBC researcher at the time and i recall the shock at the severity of the symptoms and how quickly it seemed to affect its victims. Without any prior warning, previously boring ,ignorant cockneys suddenly developed a dry Yorkshire wit and the ability to interview celebrities and entertain an audience. An endless stream of superstars amazingly volunteered their services to help out. There were serious side-effects however. Patients suffered an overwhelming desire to purchase flat caps as cheaply as possible and to race whippets. They then suffered the disgrace of a pronounced 'Professionalitis Yorkshiritis' and attempted to convince the world that the white rose county had become fashionable and interesting. Later in life these poor souls ended up advertising over-priced insurance policies to pensioners and even resorted t
o giving away free biros in order to attract business. So beware
the possible long-term effects of Legionnaires and resist any inkling to roam the desert or to eat copious amounts of garlic.
Given the choice, i'd rather be a Yorkshireman. D.

Dear Dreary.
After nearly 70 years' trying, i have finally achieved my burning ambition. I have escaped from Colditz castle. I have been hiding in a loft above what used to be the officer's mess,but what over the years has become a cafe for,i assume,new German recruits. The place appears to show films about the prison and has leaflets,books,and even items like mugs and tea towels with pictures of the castle on them. I kept myself hidden during the day, then at night i raided the mess for food and for matches,which i used to construct a small glider. My two pals,Ginger and Carruthers,didn't make it,as they never quite reached the loft during our escape attempt. I can only imagine what must have happened to them. In the end i didn't need the glider. You wouldn't believe what a stroke of luck i had. I think it was Christmas Day as all the church bells were ringing,so i sneaked down to the mess for something to eat and realised that a guard had left a door open! The place was as quiet as a museum, and,after a couple of days,when a chap in civvies unlocked the main gate, i simply walked out! He seemed extremely apologetic for me being 'locked in' as he put it. Nice chap for a bosch (had a badge that said his name was Karl Guide) and his English was excellent. Here, though, is my problem. My disguise has got me to the station,but i am unable to buy my train ticket to Switzerland as the local currency now appears to be something called euros. I still have my forged ID in my briefcase,so do you think i should try to blag it on the train, or revert to plan B and pinch the vicar's bike? Please call me back on the telephone at Cafe Fritz. (The owners are French Resistance).
Colonel Pat Head. VCE,DSM,CDM.
ps: what news of tunnel 'Harry'?
Did the escape committee make it over the Alps?

My dear Pat.
I'm afraid I have some very disturbing news and you may wish to be seated whilst I explain a few things.
The loft you have been hiding in was found to contain substantial amounts of asbestos resulting in early death to all those who come into contact with it.
The vicar doesn't ride a bike anymore, he's bought a nippy little VW to run around in. Great cars those Germans make! Now, if you havn't taken your driving test for some time you will have to send away for your provisional from DVLA in Swansea.
If you pick things up quickly you could pass within a few weeks and drive home safely. However, as you don't appear to have any money, can't figure out how to hop on a train and talking about gliders and escaping I would suggest that you are in the early stages of dementia.
If I were you I'd head over the boarder to Switzerland and have a lethal injection.
Well done though for escaping or whatever it is you think you did.
If you want to find out what happened to Harry watch the Great Escape. That's the one with Steve McQueen and not an escape to the countryside light entertainment programme as popularised on such channels (tv) as E.
Hande Hoch swinehund!!
Dreary. xx

Dear Dreary.
I've spent my life 'on the road' as a roadie and am thinking of writing my memoirs. I've worked with some of the biggest names in the business and some of the things I've seen would certainly make you blush.
I first started roadie-ing for Pam Ayres back in the seventies, arranging her stool, ironing her dresses and carrying all her poetry books around in a little leather satchel. That wry smile as she began her recital? Me, pulling a moony behind the camera.
After Pam I did a tour with Paper Lace. Billy, Don't Be A Hero was written about me. They used to call me Billy. Billy Whizz, on account if all the speed I'd take. 'Don't be a hero' they'd shout as I ran to the shop for some paper doyleys to decorate the stage.
My biggest stint was touring with Leftenant Pidgeon.
Mouldy Old Dough was written about the old dears gussett who played the piano. I used to have to run on stage during their set and change her bag.
Orville and Keith were shaggin' her back then too.
Too much information? Want to read more?
Call me.
Yours,
Dickie Crumpler

Oh dear Dickie. More information? I'd rather give up the g and t for a weekend. When will your mob of ageing, boring sherpas realise that the hippy thing has been done to death, and we have no interest in reading such purile fantasies or how you still need to finance your pathetic drug habit. We already know all about Mick and Keef's 'secret' passion for rafia mats, we've been friggin force-fed Mary Hopkins' altar-ego as a bearded Greek-Cypriot bishop, the nation has had it to the back fuckin teeth with boring tales of Lemmy's cross-dressing dwarf, Rod's incontinence chair, Dana's conviction for bull abuse, Peters and Lee's role reversal, Francis Rossi's crab-laden pubic wig, and, of course, Les Gray's 'sponsorship' of St. Wilfred's school choir. No Dickie ,let it drop. Inform your ghost writer his services are no longer required and give us all a fucking break.

So, not a good idea then?
I know your roadie actually and he's thinking about writing a book!
Lettuce licker!!

Old news Rambo. Ozzie says to ask you about how you 'sacrficed' the goat and the subsequent kids. Nice goattee,by the way.
Dreary.x

Dear Dreary.
My name is Kevin. I am a 37 year old bachelor who lives with his elderley parents. I believe i have never quite conquered my extreme shyness that haunted my teenage years and have never managed any type of relationship. There have been, however, many females i have obsessed over, and i often find myself re-visiting the places i originally was attracted to them in order to re-enact the scenario in my head. Invariably, wherever these places are, i find myself masturbating. As a result, i have now been arrested for exposing myself in the playground at Dickens Primary (little Jenny Robinson), the gymnasium at St.Magdelene's Secondary (Miss Jones,P.E. teacher), upstairs on the no.14 (big Chelsee Lard), my local library (Mrs. Angela Bristol, assistant librarian),the waiting room in the village surgery (Dr.Ursula Overend), our back garden (old Miss Tibbs next door), from the top diving board, community swimming baths (Dorothy, lifeguard), the font at St.Peter's (choirmistress Ms. Clarissa Eisenhower), the Top Class bingo hall ('Legs Eleven' Lorraine), 'Wool World' on the high street (weekend assistant Lindsey Langtree), on the dentist's chair (blonde dental assitant),my Auntie Val's bedroom,(Auntie Val), the pharmacy department at Asda (Pharmacist, Miss Parfitt), the bus shelter at the top of our street (girl in Aldi advert), and the broom cupboard in the church hall ( 5th St.Mary's Girl Guides). I have also asked for 78 other offences to be taken into consideration. Can you offer any advice?
Kevin Bater, Palmers Green.

Dear Kevin.
At least rest in the knowledge that you havn't put yourself or anyone else in danger whilst pumping your fist in the name of love.
There have been some horror stories I can tell you.
I thought that my grandad died bravely in WWII at the Battle if Britain fighting off the Bosch! Turned out he was pulling more than out of a dive, jizzed all over his cockpit and crashed in to the Channel.
Then there was that Donald chap in his Blue bird. If he hadn't been knocking one out and died then there wouldn't be a real ale named after him I suppose!
And, Jimmy Dean would probably be still here today had he not insisted in 'Brylcreaming' his hair whilst in charge if a moving vehicle.
Count yourself lucky and carry on!!!
Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
My boyfriend of nearly three months is making me mad and I might stop going out with him if he doesn't grow up and stop being a big baby.
He still lives at home with his mum and her boyfriend and he never has any money. He's always playing computer games or out with his mates. When he does hang with me he never seems to make the effort. Runny nose, grubby hands, shirt hanging out and a hole in his pants just above the knee.
He took me out one night. I didn't even get a drink out of him. He reckoned that if he got one raspberry puppy slush he could just about afford two packets of stickers for his football album.
And as far as 'heavy petting' goes I was hardly impressed with his sex knowledge and experience when he dropped his pants, farted and tried to stick his cheesy dinky in my eye.
I'm not going out with him ever again.
You tell him Dreary.
His name is Anthony Jarvis.

Geraldine Dooney. Age 10.

Dear Geraldine.
Was Anthony adopted as a baby do you know? He reminds me very much of my first husband - also an Anthony. How strange! - whose young baby was adopted after the divorce as both parents were classed unfit. I was the un-named 'other party'
and the root cause, so he said, of his mental illness. Anyway, your problem is easy to solve. Take him swimming! Communal changing areas are a fab idea, and if you swim at the best times (the last hour before closing on a monday, i find), you will have ample opportunity to give him a glimpse of what could be his. As he has already obviously joined the male world of night time emissions and cheese production, your firm, pert, downy features will interest even him. This is the time to remind him about how a girl expects to be treated and to hint at what his reward could be. This will introduce
both of you to the real world and how relationships work. In no time at all he'll be buying you ice creams and taking you to the movies.
Then, as things come up, and your silky, virginal, pink pleasure palace develops, you can raise the stakes and explore each other fully and show him how to please you . I am sending you my leaflet on how to avoid pregnancy. D.
PS: can you make a mental note to give me his number in a couple of years?
PPS: his dad had a birth mark halfway up his winky.
Have you noticed anything similar?

Dear Dreary.
Can you dispel an urban myth for me please? Personally I am sure that this cannot be true,but several friends insist that if you focus your mind intensely it is possible to whistle through the end of your erect penis. I have tried hard myself many times, and cannot even manage to blow any air out of the thing let alone summon up random tunes. Am i doing it wrong? I hold my aroused chap gently in my palm and try to will any gas in my body towards my groin, whilst adjusting the tip and eye into the shape of puckered lips. I love nothing more than a carefree whistle, i do not have a problem maintaining the erection and i like to think i have a wide-ranging knowledge of popular songs, but alas, nothing. A work colleague, however, has shown me video footage he recorded in the shower of his member happily whistling ''raindrops keep falling on my head'', and my carer Julian has a clip on his phone of his todger chirping away to ''don't let the sun go down on me''. They have both also pointed me in the direction of the website http://www.thehappywhistler.com/, which has footage of variously coloured and sized willies performing such classics as ''I shot the sheriff'', ''If i'd known you were coming i'd a baked a cake'', ''Up up and away'', and even ''There is nothing like a dame''. My friend Alan can whistle ''I've got a lovely bunch of coconuts'' and ''A hard day's night'' and he has now asked me round to his place to show me his technique and his collection of Barry Manilow dvd's. Am i right to feel a little concerned that he'll expect me to perform ''Copacabana'' or something for him? I'm really not up for this.
Yours, Roger Whittaker, Durham.

Dear Roger.
If you're to make it as a willy whistler you're going to have to leave old Durham town and it might just get you down.
The golden rule is to not let anyone else play your willy for you unless of course you're that way inclined. Blowing us NOT the whistling way!!
There are several good books out there teaching the basics from how to hold it, warm up techniques, fingering exercises and improvisation.
Once you've mastered these you can progress to such delights as '101 hits for willy whistlers', ' blow your cock off 'and 'Andy Stewart plays his bagpipes' for the more senior players.
Please be aware that you should not, under any circumstances play it outside schools, whilst driving or at the zoo.
I have a friend, Pasqueflower, who's a grade eight and could certainly show you a thing or two.
Whistle while you work!
Dreary.
Actually, don't whistle at work, you might just get the 'sack'!