Dear Dreary.
I'm head of gynaecology studies at Rimmington Hospital College.
I'm concerned about one of my pupils and don't know how best to tackle the situation.
Charlie is a very keen little chap, a chimney sweep by trade, and herein lies the problem.
He keeps bringing his old job skills into his new one and is really upsetting some patients and becoming a danger to others.
When Mrs Winston - Pettigrew popped in for a smear she didn't take to kindly to Charlie referring to the procedure as 'scraping your grate out'!
Another time I caught Charlie lighting a small fire between Dorothy Cummings legs using her pubic hair as kindling. In his defence he was convinced there was a magpie nesting up Mrs Cummings flu and was determined to smoke the begger out.
He's been caught plugging Miss Beavers back side to avoid seappage and choking Milly Muffet with his stiff brush.
To top it all he's just had a disciplinary at work for being caught with his trousers down trying to fuck a fireplace in my parlour at a recent dinner party I was throwing.
Any tips for exam success?
Prof. Patricia Pending.

Dear Professor.
Don't be too hard on the poor lad. Just show a little sympathy. To get a job these days you need to diversify so you can't blame him for wanting to keep his hand in. It's an opportunity for him to keep a few fingers in a few pies so why not? Thankfully the days of sending small children up chimneys are long gone. He just requires guiding gently into the right area and i'm sure he'll emerge eventually covered in glory. Reminds me of a gardener i once had. He had previously worked as a de-forestation expert for the forestry commission. He cut my front lawn that short i felt every slash of his scythe, and my sweet honeysuckle bush was singed into submission. Once i calmed him down he put his rugged hands to much better use. He stayed on for many years before his bck went.
Take care. Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
I've just been released from prison and wish to make a name for myself in the world of professional golf.
I've been knocked back by several clubs so far but I'm determined to succeed!
Whilst doing time I gained a considerable amount of experience honing my golfing skills.
I would often get a hole in one whilst tee ing off in the shower for example. 18 holes in an afternoon wasn't unusual and stretching back with with my shaft in hand to get my balls out of the rough and stubborn undergrowth was a daily occurrence.
My boyfriend, Farmer Parr, was a constant source of support. If I wasn't over Parr one minute then I'd certainly be under Parr the next.
At parties I was always in charge of 'putting on the green', a fancy way of saying I put the pot in the space cakes.
I've done my birdie!
Help me taste hapenis at the 19th?
Roger Ramjet.

Dear Rog.

By all means follow your instincts with your plan. let's face it,with a 50 % re-offending rate in the UK,what the fuck other options do you have? My colleague in our sports department,Will Eager,tells me that a living can be made on the celebrity pro-am circuit,especially if you can promote yourself as representative of gay/lesbian golfers, i.e. wear garish,brightly-coloured clothing,spike up your hair,get sponsored by Nivea For Men etc etc. There are snatchplay tournaments, mixed threesomes, an annual round Robin competition organised by the Gibb brothers, and many four-ball events for the freakish and disabled. One tip from Will : if up end up in a deep trap be careful not to end up with sand on your balls as this may cost you an extra stroke.

Fore!! D.

ps: are you by any chance related to the great texan lady golfer Fanny Blinkers-Ramjet,the first Indo-Chinese lady pro?

Dear Dreary.
I have been suffering from a heavy cold recently and my girlfriend realised yesterday morning that she had a tampon missing. I remember sniffing up a lot the previous evening whilst performing oral sex on her. Could this cause any lasting damage to me? I have coughed up a little blood since. Could this be from the tampon? By the way, this is not the first time that my flared nostrils
have created problems for me. A fly once flew up there and i swallowed it. I don't know why i swallowed the fly,but a small bird followed it and before i knew what the hell was going on i swallowed a cat to catch the bird and then a dog to catch the cat that caught the bird that ate the fly that then wriggled and tickled inside me. I am now thinking of taking advantage of these strange events by marketing this idea as the latest fad diet. It's kinda like the Atkins in that it's mostly protein, but it is made up entirely of small livestock. It kills your appetite as it takes so long to digest, and I've been spitting feathers (and bones!) ever since. My breath smells something rotten, I am horrendously constipated, my teeth are falling out, and i've started sneaking out at night to bring presents back for my wife such as live mice and insects. I've lost half a stone in two weeks. Do you think it might catch on? i'm also thinking of writing a song about it.
Burl Ives, Dallas.

My dear Burl.
It sounds alot more sensible than some if the diets I've read about that are out there.
In Australia one woman ate a crocodile that ate an aborigine that ate skippy that ate a banana out of the aborigines' tucker box down by the billabong.
In the USA Godzilla ate king kong who ate that bird he was fiddling with up the tower who ate a dodgy curry that soiled king kongs finger which made him really cross.
Then of course in Blackpool there was Darren who ate Simon who ate Rubin who ate Tarquin who ate Barry who ate Sacha and Julian, oh they lapped it up.
Your's is quite boring in comparison.
Yawn, NEXT!!!
Dreary. x
Sorry if i've bored you. You have tho reminded me of an old Abo i bumped into once in the sixties, on a lonely dirt track just outside Gundaguy in the Northern Territories. He taught me this poem:
'It was'nt that the track was wet,or that my throat was dry. But my dog shat in my tuckerbox,on the road to Gundaguy.'

Dear Dreary.
Can you help? I am desperate. My hair growth is totally out of control. I have had all sorts of tests and visited dozens of experts and clinics, but, if anything, it seems to be growing faster than ever. I am now trimming twice a day every day, and frankly it's all getting me down. It's forced me to take early retirement as i no longer feel confident in public. People point at me in the street and shout things. I locked myself away for a week to see if the growth would slow down if i stopped cutting. By the fifth morning my ear and nasal hair were tied together in a knot, and by the end of the week my short and curlies were long and platted. Do you know that the longest human body hairs are those in and around the anal area? Mine now run up and down each leg and up my back before disappearing up the hairy hole of Calcutta, no doubt tiying my innards in knots as i speak. I was once visiting London zoo when a member of the public mistakenly took me to be an escaped bear and sent the whole place into a panic. Underarm, i have to use my specially designed mini-strim before there's any chance of applying deodorant. T-shirts are a definite no-no as they give the impression that Sherwood Forest is attempting to break out from the sleeves. There must be something i can do. When i unzip my flies its like stuffing falling out of a cushion and locating my willy requires a either an extensive rumage or a machete. I can only imagine what might be living down there. Maybe Bear Grylls, who knows? My doctor told me that native Africans don't have as much body hair as their skin adapted to the sun and the lack of clothes. Surely relocating to Kenya as a naturist can't be the only solution?
Dave Lee travis, Bushey.


My dear Dave, or should I call you Daisy?
It's not uncommon for a lady to have a little more testosterone than other girls and therefore, perhaps one has to tend to her 'garden' and 'shrubberies' a tad more attentively than others.
Your's, however, does appear to be a very extreme case. But, let's get some 'girl power' going here shall we. Be proud! Underneath you are a princess and finding a frog to kiss you is the least of your worries.
Get in front of that mirror, sing along to king if the swingers whilst you're getting ready and paint the town red.
Don't bother if one if your bollocks is hanging out of your knickers or you look like a scaffolder in fancy dress. You're gorgeous. You'll get a shag at the end of the night, everyone does. Mind you, I think a family ticket at Wipsnade might be cheaper.
Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
Me and my mate, Long John Black Crack, have set up a pirate radio station and it's not been without it's teething troubles.
For one thing I'm sea sick so we've had to borrow my mates barge on the canal and if I'm completely honest I'm not convinced we're far enough away from the long arm of the law. I don't think that being moored on the canal next to the 'running pump' public house is classed as international waters.
Anyway, it seems that the only pirates we're appealing to are from Somalia and phone ins for quizzes and requests are quite frankly a nightmare.
Our playlist is minimal with Friggin' In The Riggin', the theme tune to Captain Pugwash and We Are Sailing basically being it.
We've tried poaching listeners from Desert Island Disks but to no avail.
On the up turn we do have the Tom Robinson Crusoe Band coming on Friday playing a rendition of message in a bottle.
Is it still politically correct to ejaculate over a man servant performing a cover version of a popular known hit?
Yours,
Peg Leg Willy.

My dear P-L.
I can't help but think you're very close to a brilliant idea here. Your obviously gay love boat set up would be a sensation with a bit of tweaking. Sail the barge to Manchester. Mooring charges are dirt cheap on the back end of Canal street where you can set yourselves up as Blackbeard's Gay Cruises and party up + down the city's dark satanic passageways and damp tunnels, making a fortune as you go. Just add a man-o-war and a black pearl to your crew and you'lI have them queing up to mince the plank. I would also imagine that having a glass bottom could add another dimension to the experience, and that a Jolly Rogering could be had by all.
Bon Voyage!
Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
I am a very worried and confused 30 year old male. Two years ago I was diagnosed with a rare neurological illness called Anal Anaglyptic Shock. My sphincter muscle goes out of control each time i hear decorating mentioned. It can easily lead to very messy incidents. I was once driving past an advertising hoarding that displayed a massive photo of Laurence Llewellyn-Thingy. I violently messed myself and collided with a number 2 bus coming the other way. The smell lingered for weeks. I eventually discovered hardened remains in the grooves of the driver's floor mat. Watching ITV is out of the question with all those adverts for B&Q and Homebase, and any time i smell paint i get that old familiar warm trickle down the leg. I was once bent over in my doctor's surgery, having my annual pile inspection, when he happened to mention the words plumb and line in the same sentence. He copped the full projectile evacuation right in the face bless him. Springtime is particularly difficult.
I usually take a few weeks off work as everyone discusses changes to the house or decking or new colour schemes. Somebody was once talking at lunchtime about doing a car boot and mentioned pasting tables. I have been banned from the canteen ever since. I think the problem goes back to the time i watched the wife paint the kitchen ceiling. As she stretched to reach a corner, the ladders gave way, and she belly-flopped onto the paint tray. I was covered, and subsequently found out that i was allergic to the colour Creeping Beige. It's so serious that whenever the missus wants to decorate I have to go on holiday somewhere. Please help. I've tried nappies but nothing on the market is big enough to contain the problem. Why is it that fear smells so bad?
Dai 0'Rea, Rimington-On-The-Bog, Norfolk.
　
Dear Dai.
My ex husband had similar reactions to many things during our two month relationship.
The thought of having sex with me often caused him to soil the sheets so he had to sleep in the spare room with our Swedish au pair girl.
Shopping, washing up, ironing all resulted in Rupert touching cloth.
Poor thing, I blame myself. By the end of our relationship the very sight of me made him pebble dash his shorts.
Steer clear of that paint brush and why not treat yourself to bleaching your bum hole.
Dreary. X

Dear Dreary.
I've got a Jeanie who lives in a lamp. He's been in the family since my great gran bought him from a sex stall on the market.
As a hormonal teenager nan would rub his lamp until he burst from his spout all red, sweaty and unnecessary.
He would pleasure both her and her friends at regular sleep over parties in her private chambers.
As he's been past down from generation to generation he's got older, fatter and and has lost his sexual appetite altogether. I can rub him all day long and not a sausage.
I've taken him out on bike rides and walks to encourage exercise but this often fails to stimulate him.
I always leave him on my bedside cabinet so he can watch me undressing in the hope that I might catch a glimpse of his watery eye at the end of his spout, but, alas not.
It can't be healthy for him stuck in that old tea pot. For all I know he could have dropped dead.
Any ideas? I'm desperate for three wishes!
Yours,
Tammy Millett.

　
Dear Tammy.
Perhaps your are expecting too much of the old man ,or maybe you're just rubbing him up the wrong way. You need to reassure him every now and then at his age, don't put him under any undue pressure. Give him the occasional treat and he may just respond. Let him watch the
football, pour him a malt, buy him this month's Railway Modeller, let him caress his Vera Lynn photo, rest him on your bosom. It works for my old fella, bless him. In no time he'll perk up and remember his vibrant youth. Stroke him gently first thing in the morning then lie back and dream of genie.
Dreary.x