This week - Work and Life Balance
I’m an inexperienced gigolo and keep being asked to bed by beautiful women. I know what to do but not where to start. (Seymour Strumpet)
Dr Farquar says: I can’t promise to help you out, but I might be able to make a few housecalls and meet you and your clients to show you the ropes. I know you used to be a very lonely plumber and could fix hot and cold water taps, but what is the use of that if you are not a good mixer?
My husband has these obscure entries on the joint account check stubs for various items that do not relate to the bank statement. He said he was off to buy some bricks and planks for a building job but frankly they don’t stack up. Please interpret. (Oona Ware)
Dr F: I know. Mrs Smith is oblivious to my cryptic and devious cheque stub entries or 'equivalent' descriptions of transactions. Here is my guide to your thieving husband's Sinus trouble (‘Sinus a cheque for this. Sinus a cheque for that’)
"Fuel" (fags, paper, gum, crisps and chocolate)
I have to get a minder for my emotionally abandoned children when I work late in different continents to get out of cooking. I hate Babysitter Wars. Those games they play. Like, Lets see how many wrong cases we can put the DVDs in, and how many curious little white circles we can put on the French polished post modern gothic bohemian renaissance walnut two tone formica gateleg table. No other country would stand for it.. especially Cornwall. (Emma Grate)
Dr F: I recall you, Madam. You faked your hamster's death just so you could put one of its tiny limbs inside an electric pencil sharpener. How cruel. Call yourself a Nuclear parent? Well, try some plutonium and eat at a West end sushi bar then.
I’m an overworked, out of shape taxi driver. Why, when I am late for a pick up out of town and get lost, do I tend to pick the oldest deafest and most confused person on the planet for directions? Do they just want to hear another human voice? (Colin Allcars)
Dr F: Because, like cockney pub landlords and Irish Gypsies, you don’t know everything. Oh, and because you smell. Hence the little tree hanging from your rear view mirror.
I’m a fat Social services manager in a loud tie with manicured moustache and shirt bracelets. I don’t have time to spend time to make people redundant who have escalating mortgages and replace them with migrant workers already on the National minimum wage who can’t speak English. What should I do? Go on a ‘paintballing’ weekend to take my mind off it? (Horace Tories)
Dr F: If you are not listening in a doorway, I will still try and put you in the frame. My advice is to leave your job now. Next time you argue with your wife about money go to Relate and during the interview start whispering to your wife in Latvian. The counsellor will turn ashen and become forlorn and then start making phone calls on your behalf to the benefits office. It won’t solve your money or marriage problems but at least you can get free white goods.
I work as an undertaker and can have several people underneath me at any one time. I get very bored looking insincerely solemn. Should I wear a spinning bowtie? (Barry Mabody)
Dr F : Galloping Gravediggers! How insensitive! Just ask Camelot to put a lottery pay station in the Chapel of Rest and charge money to face-paint the kids at the next gig.
What’s worse? People who play your mouth organ like its a Corn on the Cob? Or, people who play a Corn on the Cob like it’s a mouth organ? (Lucinda Nuthouse)
Dr F: I’ll tell you what’s worse - People who play your mouth organ before you shove it up their arse and it’s not even a harmonica.
see also Dr Farquar-Smith on: