New Statesman -- agony aunt letters -- September 26 deadline
 

No 4293
By Leonora Casement
We want letters from people in literature (“I was very silly when younger and sold my soul to the devil . . . What can I do?”) asking for help from an agony aunt in a newspaper/magazine of your choice (Irma? Deirdre? Zelda? Pamela?), as well as their answer (“My advice would be: ‘Brave it out and make the best of it’ ”).
Max 150 words by 26 September comp@newstatesman.co.uk

Dear Ariadne

I'm as corny as Kansas in August. I'm as normal, but you know how it goes. I'm in love thricely with a wonderful gal (I have never been tempted to an invert's sad passion) and she loves me. But there is just the teeniest rift within the lute (else why should I write you) that, while my downy darling is May, I am, no not December by any manner of means, but perhaps the first tremble of the descendant leaf. Yes, there is an age gap. And further (alas for further) there is another woman in the case. She loves me, tempestuously, irredeemably, and (again alas) my heart is pledged. Besides, she is my darling's mother. How can I, in the nicest possible way, tell her to back off. Vile phrase but there it is?

Ariadne (from Naxos): Follow your heart, dear double Humbert. I did.

Nice, John. I believe the first sentence alludes to one of Nabokov's great interviews where he declares that despite his love of America he has never "experienced pumpkin pie on a spiritual plane." I put it in quotes, but don't quote me.

I'm a little puzzled by this one. Do they expect us to name an actual agony aunt from an actual newspaper? If so, the task is well beyond me. Or do you think we can simply invent something that sounds plausible?

I think we can invent someone, Brian. As I have with Ariadne. Does anyone know if Theseus was much older than her? Similarly with Medea and Jason. I'm looking for a marriage with a child-bride which went spectacularly wrong.

'The Strand' magazine

Dear Fanny,

I am a successful private investigator living alone in Marylebone. Although I have always professed a disinterest in women that borders on contempt, the real reason why I have never married is of a somewhat darker nature. I have for a period of some years felt a strong romantic attraction to my best friend, a medical man of excellent character. By dint of extrapolating from current socio-political trends I have deduced that homosexuality is overwhelmingly likely to be legalised in eighty years’ time, but neither of us will live long enough to see this day dawn and I have no reason to suspect that my affections are returned in any case. What am I to do?

Yours, Mr H.

Fanny says: These unnatural urges might just be down to stress. Have you considered smoking a pipe? Or, failing that, injecting cocaine?

Dear Denise,

When I woke up the other morning, I wasn’t myself. I could hardly move or speak and, from the expressions of my family members, I must have looked repulsive. I could only lie there and ponder my predicament. Now people shun me, and I depend on my sister for everything. After being a travelling salesman, this isolation is killing me. I’m literally climbing walls, and my only pleasure is in trash food and my sister’s violin music. How can I lift my armour and enjoy life?

Gregor

Denise says:

Doooooon’t worry, Gregor, and don’t bug your family! Your situation isn’t unique. To overcome loneliness, you must find true companionship. Human contact isn’t enough. Crawl out of hiding, spread your wings and beetle off to your local library, where they have a list of friendship groups. Who knows? A red-hot lady(bird) could be in your future!


(Agony aunt: Denise Robertson - DearDenise online and Candis magazine)

Very good, Lois. You beat me to it!

Thank you Rob! I hope they like it, too. (Sorry to have beaten you to it, but the character was irresistible).

Dear Deirdre ('The Sun'),

My husband has kept me locked in the attic for the last decade on the flimsy pretext that I spend all day crawling around on all fours and snarling like a wild animal. I have recently discovered that he is embarking on a bigamous relationship with the new governess and naturally I am extremely hurt. I do my best to disrupt proceedings on those few occasions when I manage to escape for a short time, but my ability to influence matters is severely limited by my situation. What am I to do?

Yours, Bertha (the first Mrs Rochester)

Deirdre says: Your violent insanity in no way excuses your husband’s behaviour. You really need to find time for a frank, polite chat about how his actions make you feel. If the bastard still won’t listen, burn the house down.

I have just thought of a terrible joke. My entry now runs thuswise.

Dear Polly

I'm as corny as Kansas in August. I'm as normal, but you know how it goes. I'm in love thricely with a wonderful gal (I have never been tempted to an invert's sad passion) and she loves me. But there is just the teeniest rift within the lute (else why should I write you) that, while my downy darling is May, I am, no not December by any manner of means, but perhaps the first tremble of the descendent leaf. Yes, there is an age gap. And further (alas for further) there is another woman in the case. She loves me, tempestuously, irredeemably, and (again alas) my heart is pledged. Besides, she is my darling's mother. How can I, in the nicest possible way, tell her to back off. Vile phrase but there it is?

Polly Gamist (Mormon Times) Marry them both and live happily ever after.

Dear Baboochka,
A real steinburg-like bloke made me viddy a no-horrorshow-like horror show with malchicks and votchkas splooming guttiwuts all over the earth and howitzing at the moon. Usually lubbilubbing to such scenes of ultra-violence, like glass in my glazzies, it was, with a soundtrack from Bog Himself Mr. Beethoven's I-didn't-do-nothin-m'am-I-plead-the-5th symphony. Din, din, din, and Dim himself couldn't screw back my gulliver after such strack-attack on lubby Ludwig. Is music snuffed and sealed for Your Humble Narrator or will it rise, Lazarus-like, to live again?

Baboochka (World Gazetta): Alex, I am afraid I do not understand a word of your letter. Please consult a dictionary and write back.

Orwn, that's a real kick and good for laughs and lashings of the old ultraviolent.

Dear Deidre,
There’s this girl, see. Not that I like girls or anything, in fact me and my Outlaws can’t stand them ‘cept for dipping their pigtails in ink and putting frogs down their backs and suchlike. Only there’s this one girl and she won’t leave me alone. Says she’ll thcream and thcream until she’s thick if I won’t play with her. And I don’t want to play with her, not really, but I do. Except now I’ve started having sort of Thoughts about her, even when she isn’t there. Specially then, in fact. I don’t feel like doing dares anymore and my game of conkers has gone right off. Help!
William Brown

Dear William,
I advise soaking your conkers in vinegar.