Dear Dreary.
I live in the country, a little village called Bumming. I'm quite old fashioned and also an avid gardener. My back garden slopes down to the river which can make it awfully difficult when mowing the lawn etc, but it's a labour of love.
Smallbuoys, my sheepdog is a constant companion these days.
My Spanish pen pal Quan King has been staying with me until recently too.
All's been going swimmingly until a recent trip into the city gave me a bloody nose and a lynch mob after me.
I was having a drink in the local pub when I got chatting with a group of rugby players from Wales who were on tour. We were
having a nice chat until I'd finished telling them all about myself when one of them shouted nonce! and hit me with his stool.
I'd only said I was an up hill gardener who was particularly fond of Bumming, Quan King and Smallbuoys.
What's the matter with people these days? I blame Colour telly!
George Pennis
Much Bumming
Lube.

Dear George.
I know exactly where you're coming from. People seem to live on a knife edge these days, ready to kick off at the drop of a feather boa. My cousin Vinny got in a right pickle at the weekend just walking down the high street. He saw a friendly looking woman leaning against a lampost.
On it was a sign that read "Have You Seen My Pussy?". Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he lifted up the womans skirt and turned on his miner's helmet.
Well, you would, wouldn’t you? She poleaxed him with a swift, well-aimed kick to the unmentionables.
How was he supposed to know that a kitten had been lost in the vicinity? Now he's scared to leave the house and completely unable to play his favourite game, Erecting A Tent Under The Duvet.
All you can do George is keep smiling whilst you recover.
Bumming can wait.
Toodles!! D.