Dear Miley

Thank you for your letter and for the photographs you sent me. What lovely teeth you have! I'm sorry your letter took so long to reach me; can I suggest you apply some postage next time? To answer your questions in order:

No dear, that’s not very attractive.
No, I definitely wouldn't do that.
No, but that’s not really an outfit, is it?
No, I think you've outgrown those pants. 
No, dear, not everyone does it like that.
Yes, you will need to do some tweaking.

I do hope you’ll take my advice, dear.

Yours, Eunice

Dear Ted

Thank you for your letter – I’m so sorry that you’re not enjoying your retirement as much as you’d hoped. It is an adjustment, isn’t it? My Girl Guide Unit Leader asked me when I planned to retire, but I reassured her I would stay forever; she was so thrilled she almost skipped into the path of a juggernaut! Luckily, I managed to grab her woggle, so no damage was done.

Your wife sounds like a very caring individual to me and has recognised the need for a routine; her daily task list will insure you do not get bored. How clever of her to wire up the garden chairs to alert her when you sit down on them! That will certainly keep you on schedule. And perhaps you’d better steer clear of the sofa too dear, if dents in the cushions infuriate her to the point of actual violence.

I think your wife was right to remove the satellite dish - life’s far too short to sit and watch cricket all day! It’s a shame you can’t find your golf clubs but in the meantime, you’ve got all those renovations to keep you fit! Aren’t you the lucky one?!

I’ve every confidence you will soon settle into your new schedule, Ted. I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to your question ‘how long does a body take to decompose?’ but as a general rule of thumb, whatever material has gone into your compost pile should be chopped into 1 inch pieces before you do your first hot pile turn. 

Hope that helps, dear! All the best to you and your lovely wife.

Yours, Eunice

Dear Vladimir

Thank you so much for your letter. Poor you! I’m sorry that you are feeling so troubled and confused, but I really don’t think you have anything to feel anxious about. It is perfectly natural to enjoy some good-natured rufty-tufty with your buddies out in the healthy mountain air and why not wrestle naked if it is warm enough to do so? At guide summer camp, we often took dips in the lake without any clothes on; in fact, the land owner Mr Preecy, insisted on it. He took his health and safety regulations extremely seriously and personally watched over us as we practised our duck-diving. What a conscientious man!
I think Will Young is a lovely young person, and although I am not familiar with his music myself, I’m quite sure there is no shame in “prancing” around to his songs. Play them loud and proud, as my nephew Elton would say! But perhaps you should refrain from listening to Will on your headphones when you are working, dear – those conferences you mentioned sound rather weighty, and might require a little more concentration.
I hope I have, in some small way, put your mind at rest, Vladimir. And thank you so much for the beaver fur-lined knickers you sent me; I’m sorry but I won’t be sending back a pair of my pants as you requested, however I have enclosed a commemorative guide badge “I’d Rather Be Camping” which I hope you will enjoy!

Yours, Eunice

Dear Demented

I referred your letter to my niece, who herself has been rather unlucky in her romantic attachments. She was kind enough to provide you with the following reassurance:

“If you suspect your husband of cheating, he probably is.”

There you are, you see! You’re not going mad!

 

Yours, Eunice

Dear Agonised of Derbyshire

Thank you for your brave letter - of course I don’t think you are a terrible person! Unrequited love is one of the hardest things to bear; I can still recall the heady rush of excitement when Hamish Lock asked me to go to the village dance with him, but watching him do the Highland Fling with Fanny McBarrow was simply heartbreaking. Luckily, my friend Madman Flasher McTosh was there to walk me home.
You say you are in love with the beautiful Daisy, but I’m wondering if it is more of an infatuation? The fact that you can’t keep your eyes off her ‘luscious, long, brown legs’ is wholly inappropriate for the workplace and you must try to keep your mind fixed firmly on your job. I think you may be reading too much into her ‘come-hither’ eyes - perhaps she is simply shortsighted, or has a stigmatism. 
You describe her as having ‘overtly seductive’ eyelashes, which I’m sure are extremely enticing but how can you be so certain that she flutters them just to torment you? It might be to keep the flies out of her eyes. I must confess I felt rather uncomfortable reading, in such graphic detail, how you squeeze and caress her teats at milking time and I don’t think squirting them into your face is such a good idea, not prior to pasteurisation, dear.
I know that life in the country can be very isolating – during the war, I was evacuated to my uncle’s farm in Yorkshire. My only friend was Winston, a delightful bronze turkey, who I raised from a chick until my uncle sent him to live in a lovely turkey sanctuary, just before Christmas.
What you need is some bracing walks, wholesome cooking and plenty of cold baths! May I recommend a great scouting book “101 Ways To Have Fun With a Tennis Ball” – it’s guaranteed to take your mind off Daisy!

Wishing you the very best of luck

Yours, Eunice

 

Dear Apple  

What an unusual nickname you have, my dear! Thank you for your letter - I don’t get many from nine year olds, and I’m sorry that the Childline adviser hung up on you. I’m not completely sure what a ‘douche bag’ is but perhaps she didn’t take too kindly to being called one, dear. Neither am I convinced that having to eat your mother’s “hippy beany shit” can really be classed as child abuse. Quinoa with buckwheat pasta sounds absolutely scrummy! I haven’t tried twig tea myself, but I’m sure I’d love it and being forced to chew each mouthful thirty-eight times is fabulous for your digestion, as borne out by your comment that you are “never off the crapper”. 
You really are a lucky little girl to live in a house filled with music! Perhaps you are not yet old enough to fully appreciate your Dad’s “suicidal cat” singing, but I don’t feel this is strong enough reason for you to be fostered. I’m sorry you are so unhappy, Apple my dear but your parents sound like nice, normal, well-adjusted people to me and they just have your best interests at heart. One must count one’s blessings and be thankful that Apple is not your real name! Imagine how tiresome life would be if it was!

All the best, dear.

Yours Eunice

Thank you for your moving letter. I do so feel for you - I know just what it’s like to be publicly shamed; my knicker elastic completely gave way during PE once. At the time, I was halfway up the rope ladder, but fortunately, our teacher Mr Riddler was standing directly beneath me and caught my knickers in his out-stretched hand. What luck!
You say you have been humiliated by a “moaning, miserable, pube-headed twonk” but I sense you are just feeling a little over-sensitive right now. It was lovely that you had dinner together last night, as this will start the healing process, although I’m not sure what you mean by “had a crack at his girlfriend”? It doesn't sound all that nice, dear. But it was very kind of you to take Sue Barker home; it’s not safe for the elderly to be out on their own in the dark, walking the streets.
You sound like a very lovely and caring person, Novak. Don’t let life’s little set backs set you back! Always keep a stiff upper lip, as Tracy Austin would say!

Yours, Eunice

Dear Tu Lisa

I found your letter under my pile of Quilting For You magazines and notice it is dated some time ago; I do hope my advice does not come too late!
I am unfamiliar with the act that you describe in your letter and neither could I find it in my most trusted Clare Rayner manual, the 1978 edition. But, in my opinion, I really don’t think it’s sensible to do that to your boyfriend, dear – it doesn't sound particularly hygienic.
What you need is something to keep yourself occupied and increase your sense of self-worth; I assume you have a job? May I suggest you take up a hobby; the guides always come up with some wonderful examples for their hobby badge! Just last week, one gave our group a fascinating talk on growing exotic plants in her bedroom, although between you and me, she did giggle rather too much throughout – nerves, I expect!
You could discover more about growing exotic plants by reading a book, or perhaps by mixing with people who share the same interest? And, Tu Lisa my dear, do try and remember to put some trousers on when you leave the house next time: you’d clearly forgotten in that picture you sent me of yourself, a lovely top though it was – you don’t want to catch your death of cold. And pants too, dear. Always pants. Even most scout groups insist on underwear these days, although one can still glimpse a naked beaver from time to time!

Let me know how you get on, dear. All the best!

Yours, Eunice

Dear Lady Fortesgue-Farrow
Thank you for your incredibly moving letter; I could practically feel your angst oozing from the sheets of your family-crested Smythsons of Bond Street writing paper.
I’m quite sure there is no need for alarm. Your husband holds a position of great magnitude and I do not think it at all unusual that he spends a good deal of time in the company of his advisor. He does, after all, need to be kept fully up to speed with matters of vital importance concerning the UK economy and world affairs. I must admit, I share your surprise that his advisor is a school leaver, but doesn’t that say so much about the wonderful education system in this country?
I quite understand your concern at finding your husband down on all fours; clearly, at our age, one must be mindful of one’s joints! But it was very kind of him to search for your stable boy’s contact lens, so you mustn’t be too cross – he sounds like a very considerate employer. One must also remember that an MP serves his constituents in many different ways, and although undertaking a prostate examination might seem a little beyond the call of duty to us traditionalists, your husband is obviously embracing the new, modern way of governing. What a super effort – well done him!
Yes, the world of banking is a mystery, isn’t it? I commend you for examining your statements so meticulously. I don’t know what the weekly payments to ‘Big Ben’ are for, but no doubt they will be something to do with your husband’s role in Parliament; luckily, MPs are always painstakingly transparent in their financial arrangements!
You seem concerned at seeing his car parked in the Forest Edge lay-by, but I think it’s rather lovely that he was searching for a badger’s sett, even though he voted in favour of the cull. I think one calls that a U-turn! He’s obviously a nature lover, given his penchant for all things outdoors, and I do so applaud his eager support and participation in Scout Camp. If it’s anything like Guide Camp, it will be a riot of hot sausages and squeal piggy squeal!
I can think of no better way than to leave you with some heart-warming reassurance; the first principle of scout law is “a scout is loyal and can be trusted”. There you are, you see - you can stop hiding the Vaseline now!

Yours, Eunice

Dear Anthea

I hope you don’t mind, but I was so moved by your dreadful plight that I showed your letter to my lovely niece. I knew she would understand what you are going through as the poor thing was once deceived by her husband, too. She has written this response just for you:

“So; you had an affair with a married man, his wife found out, his family split up, he got divorced, he married you, he cheated on you - he’s left you. Ha ha ha ha ha! LMFAO!”

I hope that provides you with some comfort, Anthea, dear.

Yours, Eunice