Dear Hilary Tumble-Down

I wonder if your lovely readers could help me once again? My two boys have stopped wanting to ride their polo ponies and my hubbykins says he doesn’t see any point in renting the field for them any more. I suggested that the boys could still use it as a running track but apparently the ponies have started chasing them instead of the other way around, and they are frightened, poor darlings.

Does anybody know Mr Trotter’s address?

gratefully yours

Hon Meriel Appleby-Station

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Nah then, Hobnob

Ah heer tell as yon woman ‘at runs t’Transport Department fer’t Government wants to let traffic use t’motorway hard shoulder. Ah nivver heerd owt sae daft. If summat breks down, yon lane’s knackered, an’ ‘ow dis t’fire, police an’ ambulance git til an accident?

T’maist o’ spots round ‘ere nobbut has yan lane til it, an’ wi’ t’Government closing down Post Offices, there’ll be naebody sensible for firemen t’ask the way. They’ll aw hev to use yon Stat Map thingie, Tin Tin or whativver it’s called. That’ll send ‘em round be t’motorway, and we’ll all be burned in our beds.

Ah reckon she’s been at t’metal polish again.

Yrs Grimly
Nora Forthright
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Dear Hilary Tufted-Duck

May I once again ask your readers for help? I arranged to go bird-watching with my girlfriend. She arrived wearing a short red top, a brown jacket, a grey bobble hat and stonewashed jeans so I said, “Hello Robin!” She smacked my face, shouted, “Rebecca!” and left me.

Do you think she might have migrated for the winter? Any clues your readers can give would be most welcome.

Yours
Alan Eversoe-Slightly, NVQ 2 WGC