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Dear Aunty Graham,
I’m a hairy-eyebrowed frizzy-headed virgin from Blackburn (the Scottish one, not the one in Lancashire). The local boys throw eggs at my house and call me mean names like “Hairy-eyebrowed frizzy-headed virgin” and “Poo-face.” How can I stop myself being a figure of fun?
Yours,
SB

Dear SB,
Hmm, tricky. You do actually sound a bit of a fright, to be honest. I imagine you’re probably also socially awkward and a bit gauche. Virgins with, shall we say, unconventional looks often are.
Do you have any talents?
Yours,
Aunty Graham

Dear Aunty Graham,
I can peel an orange in my pocket and eat a Mars Bar in two bites. Is that the sort of thing you’re looking for? And I like to sing. In fact, I have the voice of an angel. But a spud-faced angel with weird hair.
Yours,
SB


Dear SB,
Ah, now that we can work with (not the orange or Mars Bar things). What you need to do is get yourself on Britain’s Got Talent. Turn up at the auditions, look rubbish, really rubbish, so the judges will be sneery, even big-hearted Amanda Holden. Then sing quite well. That’s what’ll get you through. Essentially, your selling point is “talented freak” – like a unicycling dog. If it goes a bit too well and they start to take you too seriously, go mad at the end. Thrust your crotch about a bit. If necessary, flirt with Piers Morgan.
Yours,
Aunty Graham

Dear Aunty Graham,
I am NOT flirting with that arsehole. I’m a virgin, not a moron with a dickhead fetish.
Yours,
SB

Dear SB,
Just hold your nose and do it. Let me know how you get on.
Yours,
Aunty Graham.

She never wrote back. I blame myself. I think I’d better get out of the agony aunt game.

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