The Letters...

Dear Ms. Maid. E. N. Marion, I believe you are a time traveller filling in for the honourable columnist Ms.Nixie who is presently on hiatus, possibly seen in close proximity to the Duke of Melbourne and most probably ready to rumble (with the John Pertwee Appreciation Society). I too am a time tourist my dear lady. And on the subject of who and the time space continuum, I seem to have wormholed my way from the woods right back to the year C496 (with a wee little help from a rose and a bridge and an Einstein aka Einstein Rose Bridge.) I'm here to tell you, indeed I doth survived reasonably unscathed but for the odd sudden collapse, radiation burn and liaison with some rather exotic matter (although twas indeed the exotic matter that acted as a stabilising device). Suffice to say we did stabilise the porthole and it is bequested upon me the honour of imparting the truth now on the subject of this. Bridges are indeed essential, as alerted by yours truly my dear, and though those wit...

Dear Ms Rossetta, It's unusual for a woman such as myself to write for advice rather than remain the recipient of woes and foes and puppy dogs tails. Although, I must say, there's been plenty of snips and snails from lassies too, apposing with the most vigilant rejection, sugar and spice and everything nice and vice versa. It goes both ways. What I mean to ask is, how did you get on with Mr. S. C. Rouge? Did you manage to win his affections and where pray tell might the magical key be found now, just out of interest, er, for interest sakes or... perhaps I  might also be interested or would that vex you Ms Rosie? I hope I haven't made cause for offence and that in our correspondence, we might exist within the stylings of a Jane Austen novel. Oh I could think of nothing more romantic at all. And on the subject of hope my dear fine lady, if you were to pierce my soul I am half in agony and half in hope and so no piercings just yet. But please remember this, There is nothing ...

Dear Nixie, Although, as circumscribed in your former column, all lines to team nerd adroit have officially closed..but might I trouble you though for just one more snifter of instruction as the matter at hand will require immediate aid to avert a rather primary catastrophic heart ache. I wouldn't have troubled you at all Ms Nixie, especially under the circumstances, but I am quite convinced you might actually be the one person closest to understanding re the depths of hidden histories and secret apologues bound in abstemious persecution to the true door of this endemic soul, my soul, my calling, my soft place to fall. You see a rather charming chappy, one of those arty writer types with all manor of interesting, very interesting advice, may well have me pegged as a hard hitting journalist or something equally serious. I haven't yet had the valour or true heart to explain, or should I say lift the little red silken cover on a bonus buy. It's all to do with Antiques and Ro...

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 ward...

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 no...

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 (an...