MonkeyBroth’s own agony uncle, lifestyle guru and part time Penguinologist, Simon Thrombosis sorts your life right out. More than likely. Possibly.
Bethan Moleskin of Winkie on the Rye writes – Dear Si, lately, I’ve become irrevocably addicted to retro comestibles. Just last week, I polished off over 60 bags of Burton’s ‘Fish and Chips’ baked snacks and I fear that it’s now getting out of control. The other day, I ate over 40 packets of Fizzers and, due to an enormous sugar high, was found passed out on the floor of our local aquatic centre spooning a puffer fish. My family are surprisingly unconcerned. Please help!
Si writes – Ah Bethan, snacks of the past eh! Remember that these rehashed favourites are never what they once were. I remember when a McVities Wagon Wheel was so large, you had to physically roll it out of the shop. It could then be used as a makeshift wheel for your BMX in the event of a puncture. Now, they are the size of a Jaffa Cake. The Japanese obsession with micro-engineering has a lot to answer for.
Back to your problem, every time you reach for a snack, just remember a deeply disturbing part of your childhood. Eventually, your brain will associate sweets of yore to your beloved cat dying or something. Good luck Bethan.
Monty Whirlygig of Mosely Grimp writes – I’m a direct man. I call a spade a spade and a hammock a tree-spanning sleeping sling. The trouble is that, for all of my honest, down-to-earth practicality and sound unsolicited advice, I just don’t seem to get along with people. I’m one of the world’s good scouts and have a 98% history of being right in all situations and I always take the time to tell people when they are wrong, which is most of the time. I’d like to get along with folks, offer my wisdom and maybe meet a lady to become Mrs. Whirlygig. I don’t expect you to be able to help as I think you’re a fraud, but hope springs eternal eh?
Si writes – I think you need to tone down your advice giving Monty. Being right all of the time is a tricky thing (I should know) and it unnerves people. Oh, and saying ‘I call a spade a spade’ is essentially just telling people that you are bloody rude.
For the record, I’m not a fraud Monty. Which means one of us is wrong.
Little hint, it’s not me.
Matthew Damppatch of Frottington writes – Hi Si, the other week, I day-dreamed that I was flying a hang glider with Graham Gooch. Since then, I’ve been able to think of nothing else. I’m not in love with Mr. Gooch,(impressive as his cricketing achievements are), or hang gliders (although I admit I adore the feel of ripstop nylon), but for some reason the thought of the two of us flying high above the wonderful Biffordshire countryside is impossible to shift. Help me Si, I can’t sleep and my work as a subeditor for Vauxhall Zafira Monthly is suffering.
Si writes – Oh Matthew, this is a difficult one. For some reason, it’s a mental image that really does stick in the old noggin. So much in fact, that since reading your letter, all I can think of is catching a warm current and soaring across the sky with Graham’s manly arms next to my own, stretched out in front of us and contrasting the azure blue of infinity…
Can someone go and get Si down from the roof please? Yeah, he’s up there singing that Berlin song again. No let him keep the cricketer effigy otherwise he starts sobbing…