The Letters...

Dear Nixie, I write to you cool as a cucumber and looking for squares. Some months ago I was perusing a book on anti-gravity ...and simply couldn’t put it down... when an ol’ chum of mine interrupted my division of sin by tan ...just cos... I’m a problem solver at heart. Well he came by to tell me all those problems were solved and guess what? It’s all down to you Ms. Nixie. Well at least I thought so anyway. He was down with the tude and I said; “Yoh whadup? You been mixing sulphur, tungsten and silver again ma homie S.W.AG? And he slipped off the shades, rotated the veritable acetabulofemoral   joints and simply explained; “No Bro. I got it.” And i said; “What?” And he said; “ I’m now the pure hipstomatic, supersonic dudatron and I’m a gonna make the ladeez plead for me!” And I said; “Secret formula periodically on the table brother. Are we thicker than your collected works of Miss Marple anthology or what, hey?” And so he gave me the low down from wardrobe

Dear Nixie, It was once said that wisely and slow precedes those that stumble and run fast and that in hurriedly, behinder they may get. A thought before you jump into any such tardis? Yours, Mr Cocolluis Dear Mr Cocolluis, You seem different but the same as before but still different, without being so lost. I have no clear notion as to why you insist on returning to me but I would, on this occasion, perhaps have to agree with you in some regards. And what I mean to say is that those of US born of The Shire will not say anything unless it is worth taking a long time to say. Yours Ms. Nixie Dear Ms. Nixie, Precisely, what I mean to say is that life itself is rather wibbly wobbly, timey whimey and that truth may well have had the wibbles re the little black chictionary and claims of my whereabouts and whatabouts as the world’s greatest hoe. Let me put it this way, if truth lived as a serrated margin of a leaflet attached precariously to one’s darling

Dear Mr Cocolluis, Some months ago you wrote to my column relating matters of the heart with some view to advice there of. My reply was, as always, consistently prompt and swiftly magnanimous. If you might not think me a tad topsy turvy in coming forwards on this occasion, I hope you may enjoy a rather more personal offering,  from, errr, well, yours truly. At my age (Almost 42 ,without having fully moved on from the Tom Baker Episodes of Dr Who) I am in need of some continuity, a sameness in life, and I wondered if such a state might exist under our circumstances? What I mean to say Mr Cocolluis is that I did perchance sense a correlation between your situation and mine coupled with a direct interest in our rather allied past times re the 12 sides dice (and more). It seems Mr Cocolluis, as time rides on by, what is false fades to the sunrise of an invigorated truth and this does truth truly remain?  I happen to think it does. Actually, really and truthfully speaking I am not "I

Dear Nixie,  I write to you in the strictest of confidence and swamped by the unwieldy crick of a tortured ticker. Chitter chatter, nitter natter round the band camp has spread word of your golden chalice. Is it really so? May I enter the venerable tabernacle ramshackled by cool kitty cat mover and shaker?   Have you reached that snowy apogee of hyperborean cool? Will you bring me the cup of iced cube “it” crew so that I might go down, down to the wild side. You see, the truth is I really do require your assistance in such matters of cupid’s itch where the scritch tickles my fancy to the point of no return. Nixie, I’ve a certain lady in mind for some lingual intercourse followed by perhaps a little lookie at some nookie. My usual Saturday night would most likely consists of a robust jousting session at the local Medieval restoration centre with a late night rendevu skping   an intense evenings role play in the dark depths of a particularly testing dungeon (and I’m not talk