Dear WN
The Advice Column for    
Fictional Characters    
June/July 2003    





Lucy P has an unusual problem;
Dear WN,
I have found it rather disturbing that when I opened a wardrobe the other day that I found myself in a very cold place talking to a strange person with goat's feet. Now I am worried that opening any other doors or drawers will also bring on more hallucinations.

What should I do?
Lucy.
Dear Lucy, whatever you have been taking, we think you need help to come off it. In the meantime, try to convince yourself that it isn’t real; let your brothers and sisters show you that the wardrobe hasn’t got anything in it really. Oh, and if you start to see lions, then you really are in trouble.

A lady styling herself Queen Titania writes from a wood near Athens;
Dear WN,
I have of late been sore distressed by strange emotions. I must own that I have had what can only be described as feelings of deep affection, nay, lust, for a common working man. This is not all. This man has (it gives me shame to say it) the head of an ass. (That is, a donkey, not a bottom). Are these feelings wrong? Does it mean I have tendencies of bestiality? What am I to tell my husband? Should I encourage this liaison, or should I tell my lover to Puck off?

I am much confused.
Titania, Queen of the Fairies
Well, this is an unusual case and no mistake. Perhaps you could try convincing your husband that you are under some sort of enchantment. If he believes you are the Queen of the Fairies he will clearly believe anything. Failing that, why not make a few dollars and get yourself a place on the Jerry Springer Show?

A message in a bottle arrives from a Mr. Crusoe, currently marooned in the Indian Ocean, who asks;
Dear WN,
I have lived as a solitary upon this desolate isle for many years, and nought have I seen of any other human life in all that time. Yet today I spied upon the sand the single footprint of a man. What means this? Am I to expect a visitation of one-legged devils, or is this some hallucination wrought by years of solitude?

Yrs,
Robinson Crusoe, Mariner, of York.
Well, Rob, we always say there’s never a good holesmith about when you need one. Cheer up, though; it might be the footprint of a woman, which will doubtless come as a relief to the goats. If it’s still there by Friday I should go looking for the other one if I were you.

A Mark Renton writes from Edinburgh, and once we’d fumigated the paper, we reckon he said;
Dear WN,
Ach jeez whit a bummer. Ah’ve been chasin ra dragon fae that long ah cannae stoap wi ra dry boak, an ah’m fair scunnered wi it. Is there no way oot fae me, and if no can ye spare a few quid fae a fix?

Mark.
Er, right. Have you thought of taking up a hobby? We hear trainspotting is a harmless pastime.

Finally, we also had a letter from one Humbert Humbert, but we passed that along to the Vice Squad. We blame society.