Dear Dreary,
I'm very keen to join the magic circle however I'm not convinced my tricks are up to scratch.
I'm finding it very difficult to keep my wand up long enough to tap the rim of Mr Wilsons titfer and produce anything at all.
I think I need to brush up on my 'saw a person in half' trick as my mum is currently at rest in No.12s wheelie bin at the minute and not due to be put out till Monday.
'Now you see it, now you don't' has caused quite a stir. Apparently, 'dad, I'm doing this in the name of art' is not a legitimate excuse for shagging the Sunday roast.
Have you got Paul Daniels phone number? I've got a pair of Debbie McGees knickers under my pillow.
Yours,
Tommy Drooper.

Dear Tommy.
It is not in anyone's interests for us to pussyfoot around our readers' problems. There is no need to spin this cock and bull story about "tricks" you cannot manage with your "wand". We can cut to the chase here.
Up to 50% of men suffèr erectile difficulties at some point in their lives so there is no stigma involved. Don't, however, expect any of that usual condescending, sympathy claptrap from me. I prefer to face facts. You have failed as a man and will never perform your primary role, to continue the species. Put away the fez, put on the dvd enclosed,"Sister Act Dirty Habits, uncut and Unshaved". If that fails to lift your spirits contact me for delivery of "Thelma And Louise, The Hole Truth" or maybe "Shirley Valentine-Lesbos Nights Unwashed".
If still no movement below decks, ring my helpline and order "St.Trinians, Dildos At The Ready" or "Enid Blyton's Five OnTop, Underneath, And Everywhichway".
If there is still nothing stirring in the undergrowth, then perhaps you were right. Sniff Debbie's knix, tap your wand on the kitchen table, shout IZZYWIZZYGETFUCKINBIZZY and hope for the best.
Have you tried Speedy Scaffolding?
Dreary.x
　
　
　

Dear Dreary.
You won't see my dad's name in the gossip columns any more, but believe me, he plays a small but vital part in the lives of many well known stars. He was briefly a film star himself, but has since developed a particular skill to the point where celebs are never 100% confident in their ability unless they've had an appointment with my dad. His area of expertise? He calls it pubic topiary. It was his idea for Victoria Beckham to grow the words ''Way in'' when David was struggling to get her pregnant. The rest is history. Mrs. Bear Gryls maintains a thick, tangled undergrowth, but once a month gets dad to cut an obscure, well-hidden path for her husband to discover. Nigella Lawson has a cherry pie design, Wayne Rooney has had a transplant, Kate Middleton requested a crown, Lawrence Llewelyn-Bowen has a lovely colourful patch of paisley, and Alan Titchmarsh a neat row of sweet-smelling begonias set against a backdrop of Lily Of The Valley.
All of which leads to the problem. Dad was truly blessed with a god-given gift, but a couple of months ago dad's clients suddenly started to cancel their appointments and before long he admitted that he was working less and less.
I was puzzled. He finally admitted to me that he'd been diagnosed with Parkinsons disease and was struggling to perform his duties. On top of everything else, dad had a slight mishap whilst working on porn star Ivor Biggun, and he is now suing dad for loss of earnings as he's now not quite as big as he used to be.
Can you point me in the direction of a help group or someone who could help my dad. He is devastated and really wants to keep his hand in. Here's hoping.
Suzie Scissorhands,
Nutbush, California.

Dear Suzie.
From what you are saying it does appear that your dad has reached his nutbush city limits. It doesn't, however, mean that he can't still be involved.
I'm sure directors would be clambering for his expertise. I know for a fact that there's going to be a remake of The Secret Garden, Alvin and the Chipmunks Down-under and The Grapes of Wrath, a documentary about piles. Your dad could be in charge of set design, c*nt stunt co-ordinator or anything.
He could even take on an apprentice. I'm sure there's lots of young lads out there who'd like to tinker with a ladies privets.
There's rising demand at the moment for old age pensioners wanting their bits tending to. Anything from a bikini wax to back, sack and crack. Some want a Vera Lynne or a Max Bygraves design. I know one randy old chap wanted a Pinocchio.
If there's a gap I'm sure your dad can fill it.
Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
I stand to lose millions of pounds if I don't get some help immediately.
I'm professor of bio chemistry at the University of Upper Millfe and have stumbled across an anti ageing formula that literally knocks 40 years off how you look.
The trouble is I'm 41 yrs old on the inside but since I've applied the ointment I've taken on the appearance of a twelve month old toddler. It's a nightmare. People think I've gone missing, it's in all the papers.
I'm currently in foster care as they think I'm just some random child who's been dumped by his mum.
I can't get to work presently as I can't drive. It's all I can do to crawl around the living room at the moment smelling of breast milk and shit. I suppose there are some perks, my surrogate mum's only 22 and fit as!!
What if someone steals my formulas? I need to find an antidote to reverse the process. Truth is, I'm too young for a chemistry set now.
My wife's already run off with her body pump instructor whilst I lie flat on my back cooing and booing, wondering what to do whilst looking forward to supper.
Please help me, I can make you rich!
Yours,
Professor Tiny Timmy Twickle-Snuggles
BSc. PHD


Ok prof here's the deal.
You tell me where the formula is. I then try it out on some ageing relic, say Bruce Forsth or Terry Wogan, to prove that it works. Next, I pose as your long-lost aunt + kidnap you. You move into my place and work on the antidote. I only wish to be comfortably off and to drive a modest car. This is how you can repay me :
i want you to restore me to how i looked at age twenty one. I also require introductions to the 25 year old Paul Newman and 22 year old Robert Redford in cowboy gear. Oh,and first class train tickets to Bolivia.
Oh, go on then, chuck in the teenage Katherine Ross to even things up. And, if you insist, thirty year old Sacha Distel to sing to us as we trundle around playfully on our bikes before the boys bang my brains out in the barn.
See you soon. Auntie D.

Dear Dreary.
Question : When is a sport not a sport?
Answer : When your doctor says so! Allow me to expand. Following my annual 'MOT' at the local surgery, my doc suggested i needed to lose a little weight. He said i should exercise more and eat healthier. As a clever way of combining the two, i took up fishing. I also discovered darts, doms, + snooker by joining my local British Legion. I was so pleased with myself. I was suddenly a committed all-round sportsman and a regular fish eater. After three months i made a follow-up appointment at the doctor's. Imagine my bewilderment when the doc weighed me. I had put on two stone! Now he's told me i should be playing some sport called cardigan vascular or something. Trouble is i don't own a cardigan. Would my tank top be ok do you think? He also put me on medication for high potention, whatever that is. Finally, and i thought he was quite rude at this point and started shouting at me, he thinks i'm ready for a new hearing aid.
It's very confusing getting old! Can you help at all? Love, Albert Pierjoint, Hanging Rock.


Dear Albert.
If you haven't got a cardigan why not take up knitting and make your own? Kills two birds with one stone. Well, in your case, two stone!
Knitting is one of the newer sports being introduced into the modern Olympic Games this year.
As well as speed knitting there's also cross country stitch, cox less crochet for women and endurance embroidery.
Then you've got the thimble relay, pin vaulting onto a lovely soft cushion and the bobble hat sleigh team where you've got to knit a bobble hat whilst careering down an icy slope.
Give it a go. You could be one if the nations national treasures by the end of the summer.
Just a warning, take regular breaks from exercise or you may suffer from pins and needles.　
Dreary. x
Thanks D. Strangely enough, prior to the offensive on El Alamein, we were trained up as speed milliners as the army ran out of suitable headgear. My favourite creation was a lovely pink fedora. Unfortunately, i was shot in the head twenty minutes after i first wore it. Could'nt understand it.

Dear Dreary.
I need some advice regarding my career. When i left school i was forced to become a carer for my elderly aunt. She had a reputation as being something of a witch but we generally got on well enough to get by. Then one day she suddenly turned on me. Although bed-ridden, she forced me out to work and then spent what little money i earnt.
Fortunatey i became good friends with my workmates down the mine. They are something of an odd bunch though. Between them they're either child-like, stupid, reclusive, germ-ridden, depressed, or hopelessly shy. It all makes for an interesting day at work and at least they all spend the day with a tune in their heads.
I do need a change though and would appreciate any advice. I get so tired that some days i feel like going home and sleeping forever.
Can you suggest where i can turn?
Yours, Miss S.white

Dear Miss White.
A change is as good as a rest.
There's a castle just up the road from you. You can sleep all day there and get a shag off a fine Prince afterwards.
If you fancy a bit of rough you could stay over at the Beasts house. He has some amusing crockery.
If you fancy somewhere a little more exotic why not take a trip to the jungle. They like big pussy there and you could happily hang upside down from a tree with the king of the swingers.
Personally I'd stay where you are with your little friends and get the witch 'round. You could all pile on your bed and play bedknobs and broomsticks all night long!
Dreary. x
　
Ahhh thanks Dreary.
I'm off to work in a mo but i'll think about what you've said. Like the idea of shagging the Prince.
Now, just going to have this apple for breakfast........

Dear Dreary.
I am the Governor of the local prison in the village and am very troubled as I seem to be losing an awful lot of inmates. I can't for the life of me think where they might be and therefore I wonder if you might shed any light on the matter.
All my prisoners are very well behaved and always impeccably dressed. They favour a white, chunky knit, role neck jumper and smoke a pipe.
They're all very religious too, holding daily choir practice in the exercise yard.
Many enjoy tending to their allotments often producing award winning turnips and other seasonal veg. Mind you, we have a mole problem presently. You should see the size of the holes they leave outside the perimeter fence! You could fit a man down there.
Anyway, any suggestions you may have as to where they might have got to would be greatly appreciated.
PS. I don't know if this helps or not but there are an awful lot of strange men walking around the village carrying battered old suitcases dressed in long macs, a silly hat and wearing a fake moustache and glasses. It's probably nothing.
Yours,
Rudolph Vest
Cold Tits Castle.
Little Divett.


Dear Rudi.
You seem to be taking your position a little too seriously. Here's a reality check: yes, you are governor, but merely an employee of The Disney Corporation. You are a second rate Kraut actor in need of a steady job, much like those around you. Disney built Camp Coldtits on the site of the famous casle ten years ago and it has since become a major tourist attraction. Did you not see Robert Vaughan and David McCallum wondering round the village in their cool Yankee uniforms when the place first opened? They're long gone of course, like Richard Attenbrough and Phillip Madoc. The yanks now only employ stereotypical stupid yet impeccably-mannered English actors who bumble round town like they're in a Monty Python sketch or something. None of it is real Fritz ok? It's just people being paid to play out a part. Not understand the concept blockhead? Is this thy there's never been a decent German actor? The prisoners are now SUPPOSED to escape. The war is over. The Boschboys were marched out of Coldtits in disgrace. And - get this - many of your visitors are Jews driving VW's.
So get real Rudi.
You lost again.
Dreary. x

Dear Dreary.
Do you know anything about employment law? I am considering a claim of constructive against my recent employer, Dreem Bathrooms.
Up until recently i was employed there as a toilet seat tester. I am a rather large lady and they apparently saw me as the ideal guinea pig. What attracted me was the healthy diet as i am trying to shed some of my 20 stone. In order to test as many seats as possible (and i had to clean them all myself!), i had to constantly drink water and eat only muesli, prunes, mixed nuts and seeds, and soft licquorice. Apart from the inevitable ringwurt, all went well for the first month. I lost 2 stone, i tested hundreds of seats, and as a result of my efforts, the company's top seller, the Thunderbox, achieved a world record straining weight.
But my talent dried up. My intestines refused to co-operate any further, the fruit no longer had any effect, and my new career slowly trickled away through my fingers. I received a letter from the company informing me that i was in breach of contract as i could no longer perform my duties. As i had nothing further to go on, and not having the stomach for a fight, i reluctantly accepted their judgement. I just felt so empty, but, even though i found it near impossible to get anything down on paper, i began to realise that my Dreem job had suddenly gone down the pan through no fault of my own, and that my employer's actions had put me on shit street.
Can you offer any advice? I feel like the bottom's fallen out of my world and the world's fallen out of my bottom.
Yours, Sue Wurr, Wookey Hole.

Dear Sue.
There's a job going at Boggs & Son down the high street next to the Charity shop and Pound World. It's not really a bathroom centre as people around here are unlikely to bathe however, ones and twos recognise no class boundaries. In short, everyone needs a shit!
To get you regular again you need to start consuming like the locals to 'get your bot ready for the pot'! So, breakfast usually starts with last nights pot noodle, a can of strong cider, a couple of e's and a spliff.
Carry on drinking through till dinner time where you can look forward to chips and curry sauce washed down with a bottle of lighter fluid, a bomb of whizz and another spliff.
You should have the munchies by this point so enjoy hearty helpings of cakes and sweets.
Your tummy should be rumbling by now and your new employers at Boggs should be eagerly anticipating your first test emissions. Still not quite there yet? Then tuck in to a local delicacy of fish fingers and another pot noodle, a bottle of sherry and another spliff. E's and whizz optional depending on whether your children have any money left in the piggy bank.
You're ready to go. If that toilet seat survives that lot it can stand anything. You in turn should win employee of the month which should allow you to make a large deposit in the bank and not just in the bog.
Good luck.
Dreary. x
PS Can you get me a tenner bag and an eighth of green? :-)