YOUR PROBLEMS SOLVED
Dear Mary. . .
More of Mary's favourite celebrities have responded to her invitation to submit queries.
From: Sir Christopher Bland, BBC Head- quarters Q. Our young son has a large and extremely ugly teddy bear made out of brown and white synthetic fur, dressed in tartan dun- garees, with a red protruding tongue and staring eyes. The bear was won in a compe- tition to find his most appropriate name. He is called Sir Grumbleweed. Attempts to point out Sir G's physical deficiencies, or to suggest that the other hedgehogs, rabbits, frogs, etc. dislike him, have been met with the reply, 'You're hurting his feelings.' How can we get rid of the bear (we draw the line at abdication or assassination)?
A. A letter must come through the post advising that all bears of the marque in question must be recalled for safety rea- sons, since wire prongs, hidden within the bears for stabilising purposes, have in one or two cases worked themselves loose and poked their way out of the body. Soften the blow by announcing that, following high- level intervention with the manufacturers, you have come to an arrangement that in your own case the bear may be kept — but only on condition he is stored in an attic out of harm's way.
From: Jools Holland, Greenwich Q. Frequently, when staying in hotel rooms and making telephone calls, I ask my inter- locutor to call me back. 'What's the num- ber?' they ask. But I cannot tell them because the hotels have cunningly failed to display it on the dial. You then have to ring out and they can charge units plus. How can I put a stop to this iniquitous practice?
A. Punish hotel-keepers by ringing the switchboard and asking them to perform gratis the service of ringing the person you have just been talking to, to inform them of the call-back number. From: The Earl of St Germans, Cornwall Q. A friend of mine once came to stay for the weekend and stayed ten years. Apart from Sunday lunch, I only saw him occa- sionally and our relationship was entirely harmonious, although once or twice a year I had to ask him to have a bath. Recently, another friend has come to stay — a foodie who insists on cooking his own dinner every night in what was once my children's nurs- ery within the curtilage of the grander rooms. Sheeps' heads being reduced for stock, fish bits being boiled for bouill- abaisse, and curried vegetables, create a miasma of cooking smells not normally associated with the piano nobile, since the kitchen is 110 yards from the dining-room. This house is Grade One listed, so I am unable to alter the windows to accommo- date a Ventaxia unit. I am looking to you for a solution.
A. Praise your friend's cooking skills to the hilt, then introduce him to a local bank manager who will be prepared to finance the setting up of his own restaurant from which he can disseminate his wares, fumes and all. This should keep him so busy that he will not have time to generate the nui- sance in your own house.
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